“I can clean.” A white porcelain sink flanked by two more sets of the knotty pine cupboards offered plenty of storage. The window above the sink looked out onto a large path, possibly a driveway at one time. The shrubbery was definitely in need of care. The overgrowth looked more junglelike—bamboo skirted the sides of the drive, and small shoots devoured the land, taking over the grounds. She knew bamboo was a fast-growing plant but wasn’t sure of its purpose.
Kimberly rambled on. “There is no dishwasher, but there is a hookup for a washer and dryer, off the side of the porch. It’s separate, a utility room, though the place doesn’t come with a washer or a dryer. Something else you might want to consider.”
“Is there a laundromat nearby?” She wanted to ask if one could be found near the Walmart, but she refrained from being a total smartass.
“Yes, it’s near the coffee shop.”
“Then I won’t need to consider purchasing a washer and dryer.” She actually would, but this woman irked her. Miss Snob probably had her laundry washed by a maid.
“Of course not,” Kimberly said. “The laundromat is . . . clean.”
Alison checked the main living area. Large windows offered a magnificent view of the strip of beach and the gulf. She ran her hand along the windowsill, checked the locks to make sure they worked properly. She returned to the bedrooms, repeating the process. In the bathroom, she checked the plumbing beneath a small cabinet for signs of a leak, checked the faucet to make sure it worked. She lifted the tank off the toilet, checking to see if the chain was rusted. Not that she cared, as these things were easily repaired. She just wanted to annoy Kimberly. The main attraction of the bathroom was an old cast-iron bathtub with claw footing, the back much higher than its front. The faucet was rusted. Alison tried the knob, and it turned easily. Drips of water tinged with brown trickled from the spigot.
“This needs a bit of work,” Alison stated. “I’m sure you’ll consider that in the price.” She liked the old tub. Surprisingly, it was in good shape, other than the faucet.
“I’m sure the owners are willing to negotiate the price,” Kimberly replied.
“Even though it’s only been on the market for a few days?” Alison asked. Wasn’t it usually just the opposite? “Looks like no one has lived here in a while.”
Kimberly picked at her pale pink fingernail. “You don’t have to live in a house to own it. They’re simply in a rush to sell.”
“How long has it been since someone actually lived in this house?”
“Maybe five or six years. I’m not sure.”
“Odd,” Alison muttered.
“May I ask why you find this odd?”
This woman was a real snob. “A house on the beach doesn’t usually remain empty for that long,” she said.
“As I said, I’m not sure. Does this matter to you?”
Now the woman was downright bitchy. Alison really didn’t care, but she did find it strange the place remained empty. “Actually, it does,” she said, lying through her teeth. “I would like to know the name of the seller, too. I’m sure you have this information somewhere in your office?” Seeing the snob in defense mode was entertaining.
“Of course, but I was asked to keep their identity private. Diamond Realtors is the seller to you. Or someone else,” she added, catching on to her sarcasm.
Kimberly hit a nerve.
“Okay, I get that. If I decide to buy, I’ll find out myself.”
“Do what you must. This is a good investment for anyone willing to live here and make the necessary repairs.”
“I’m sure it is,” Alison said. “Do you mind if I walk through the house alone?” She needed to imagine herself in this space. She wanted to walk through the rooms again, unobserved, without the pink snob’s smart-aleck attitude.
“Well, I’ve never been asked that before, but I suppose there is a first time for everything. I’ll be on the front porch.” She rolled her eyes as she walked out of the bathroom.
Alone, Alison walked through the rooms. She opened the closets in both bedrooms and the closet in the front living area. There was a small pantry in the kitchen, not very big, but she wanted to see the inside of that, as well. When she finished, she went to the porch, locating the small utility room. A concrete floor, with block walls, a power outlet, and a small window. Satisfied, she found Kimberly waiting.
“It’s what I’ve been looking for,” Alison told her, “but I need to think about this a little longer. Can you hold off on any other offers?”
“No, I can’t, but I’m fairly sure your offer will be the only one today.”
“Good enough,” Alison said. “What time does your office close?”
“We’re open until six on weekends, but you can call my cell number if it’s later.” She reached in her designer handbag to retrieve a business card. “Though being Saturday, I won’t be able to actually sell you the house. Well, at least as far as the banking end of things go.”
“I appreciate you showing me the place. I’ll get back to you one way or another.” Alison was confident in her decision, but she wasn’t going to jump the gun.
As soon as Kimberly left, Alison lingered behind for a few minutes, as she didn’t want her nosy ass to see where she was going. Five minutes later, she was on Dolphin Drive, headed to the souvenir store. Two cars were in the lot. She parked as far away from the door as she could. She backed into a space so she could pull onto the road quickly. If she were to encounter John Wilson again after she finished her business, she wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.
She wished she’d asked Renée for her mother’s name, then decided it didn’t matter. For now, she’d simply browse the store; then she’d decide if she dared to ask for a reading. Inside the Souvenir Store, which was actually the name of the place, she was greeted by cool air and the scent of gardenia, one she recognized, as it was her favorite flower. Soft music played in the background, which sounded Celtic. Calming, she thought, as she stood beside a display of postcards. She removed a few from the rack because she liked the pictures. Plus, they were only a quarter each. Across from the postcards was a display of mirrors with a variety of seashells glued onto the frames. Not her style, but to each his own. There were ashtrays in the shape of alligators and miniature orange crates with orange gumballs inside, which mimicked an orange, just downsized. Different sizes of starfish filled a wicker basket. A handwritten sign said they were fifty cents each. Couldn’t you find these for free on the beach? She knew these gimmicky items screamed “buy me” to tourists. Alison had seen many such items in the shops in Tampa Bay.
She lingered over the rack of T-shirts, searching for one she liked. If she was going to make this place her forever home, then she’d need a T-shirt. She found a gray shirt with a palm tree on the upper left pocket that read PALMETTO ISLAND, the letters in dark green. Basic, she thought as she took the shirt off the hanger. Seeing no one else in the store, Alison figured the two cars she saw belonged to whoever was having a reading. It would be easy to walk out the door without paying for her merchandise. Maybe this so-called psychic knew when someone was about to rip her off. Not that she had any intention of doing so. She wanted to make a purchase; then she’d decide on a reading. Her gut had always been reliable, yet it couldn’t hurt to see if this psychic picked up on her decision.