Queen Bee Goes Home Again by Haywood Smith Page B

of the Covenant.
    â€œWhat do you think so far?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s perfect,” he said. “I like to garden a bit, so the yard is great. Not too big, not too small.”
    â€œIt’s on a third of an acre.” I braked, then killed the engine. “The only downside is, the builder who redid it consolidated three small bedrooms into two larger ones with better closet space and two baths.” I let that sink in. “Still interested?”
    He nodded, getting out as I did, then followed me to the Chinese-red front door.
    Connor Allen brightened as I put the key into the lock. “Energy-efficient doors and windows. I like.”
    â€œAnd new formaldehyde-free foam insulation,” I added, turning the key. “It’s all energy efficient, from the Euro hot water system with a proper baffle, to the appliances.” I pushed open the door and stepped back. “Go in and check it out.”
    Connor Allen walked in as if he were entering a fairy tale. “Wow. This is exactly what I hoped for. Exactly.” He shook his head, grinning. “Déjà vu all over again.”
    You had to like a man who quoted Yogi Berra.
    Connor Allen just kept hugging the house with his gaze.
    I followed him inside. “There’s a large storage closet beyond the kitchen that can be easily converted to a laundry. I could have estimates for you in a couple of days from good local people.”
    He noted the built-in bookshelves that took up the whole north wall of the open living area, with a large space in the shelving for a big TV. “Plenty of room for my library and sermons.”
    He stepped into the office-turned-master bedroom. “Wow. Space for my big bed and a dresser.” He opened the walk-in closet. “Wow. My stuff will get lost in here.”
    â€œThere’s a small attic, as well,” I told him. “Fully insulated and vented.”
    He glanced into the roomy bathroom. “A separate tub that looks like I could actually fit into it, and a tall shower. Perfect.”
    I wouldn’t mind having a tub like that, myself. Jerry had found an old, extra long and deep ball-and-claw-foot tub, then had it restored like new, with a shining chrome hand shower and taps that must have cost at least seven hundred, wholesale.
    Connor Allen turned around and grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “I’ll take it.”
    I had to make sure this wasn’t a whim he’d later regret. “You haven’t even seen the other bedroom or asked how much it is.”
    â€œHow much it is?” he shot back.
    Witty. Another plus. “Ninety-nine, five.”
    â€œTwenty-five thousand under budget.” He scrubbed his hands together. “Perfect. That will leave me plenty left over to get a new mattress and set up the laundry. And pay a yard service.” He stuck out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Give me a contract, quick, before somebody else snaps it up.”
    â€œWe can do that back at the office. But I can nail this down with a phone call.” I pulled out my terrorist phone and scrolled to Jerry’s number, then hit the call button.
    He answered right away. “Hey, there, chickadee. What you got me?”
    â€œI sold your house next to Mama’s. Asking price, cash, contingent only on inspection. What do you say?”
    â€œHot dang,” he bellowed. “When do they want to close?”
    I turned the phone to my shoulder and asked Connor Allen, “When would you like to close?”
    â€œAs soon as it passes inspection,” Connor Allen said, still soaking in the details of his new house.
    â€œAs soon as the inspection clears,” I told Jerry.
    â€œHaw,” he said in delight. “It’ll clear, all right. I took that place back down to the studs. Fumigated it, remediated any mold, vented and damp-proofed the crawl space, repaired all the damage, then insulated the schmoo out of it. New wiring, new