Page 138 of The Housekeeper

Chapter Fifty-four

By the endof the week, Stephanie had come back to my father and Elyse with a suggested asking price of five and a half million dollars, and they had agreed to sell.

“I’m sending someone in to draw up the floor plans next week, and hoping I can get Max Prescott to do a home inspection as soon as possible,” she told me, dropping by my office as I was getting ready to meet with clients.

“So when are you planning to list the house?” I asked, trying to sound as if my father had already informed me of his decision and this was old news.

“Probably not for another month. We’ll see what the home inspection turns up. You never know what unexpected issues can arise with these old houses,” she said, as if I were new to the business. “I’ve suggested that they do a few repairs to the exterior of the house, make it more welcoming, not quite so…”

“Spooky?” I volunteered, using my son’s adjective.

“Exactly,” she said. “How old’s the roof anyway? Do you have any idea how long it’s been since they replaced it?”

“None,” I said truthfully, wondering why, as the firm’s reputedly top agent, she hadn’t asked my father this question herself.

“If we need to install a new roof, that could delay things. But we’ll cross our fingers and hope for the best.”

Too late for that,I thought, crossing my fingers nonetheless.

As soon as she was gone, I called my father.

Elyse answered. “Jodi,” she said. “I assume you’ve heard we’ve decided to sell.”

“I have.”

“I hope you aren’t too upset. I really think it’s the right decision. It’s time. And it’s a good price.”

“It’s a good price,” I agreed. “Can I speak to my father?”

“I’m afraid he’s a little busy right now.”

“I can wait.”

“I wouldn’t. He’s in the shower, and he could be a while. The man loves his showers. I’ll be sure to tell him that you called.”

“You do that.” I shook my head as I replaced the receiver, amazed at the woman’s ability to carry on as if everything was normal between us. As if she hadn’t arranged for her son to seduce me, relying on information I’d been stupid enough to give her, feelings I’d been reckless enough to confide. As if she weren’t essentially blackmailing me into silence, forcing me to accept what seemed increasingly clear: she was the one in charge.

I sat at my desk for several more minutes, trying to rid my mind of all such unpleasant thoughts, before realizing that if I didn’t leave immediately, I would be late for my appointment. I was taking a married couple to their second viewing of a house in Moore Park. It was a relatively ordinary-looking three-bedroom, two-bathroom house on a dead-end street in a quiet neighborhood. The sellers were asking way too much for the place, given the amount of repairs the house required. Nonetheless, offers were being submitted on the weekend, and there were multiple buyers interested, so the odds were that the house would go for considerably more than asking, despite its condition.

My clients—Joel and Joanna Rowe, early forties, both lawyers—were parked in front of the house when I pulled intothe driveway. “Have you been waiting long?” I asked as we met at the large double doors.

“Just a few minutes,” Joel Rowe replied.

I used my key to open the lock and we stepped inside the front foyer.

“It’s smaller than I remember,” his wife said as we walked through the downstairs.

I waited in the outdated kitchen while they toured the upstairs.

“We’d like to submit an offer,” Joanna Rowe said when they were done. “How much would you recommend?”

“Well, there are already four other registered bidders,” I reminded them, “which means that the house will go for over-asking. It’s just a question of how much over you’re willing to go.”

“How much would you advise?”

I looked around the uninspired space, the walls that needed painting, the hardwood floors that needed refinishing, the kitchen that needed to be totally redone. “It’s whatever you’re comfortable with,” I said. “My guess is that the house will likely sell for at least fifty thousand dollars above the list price. Putting in anything lower than that will just be a waste of everyone’s time and energy.”Mostly mine,I thought, but didn’t say. I’d lost track of the number of times during the last year that I’d spent hours drawing up contracts and submitting offers, only to see the house go to a higher bidder.

“Okay,” Joel Rowe said. “Offer them seventy-five thousand above listing, all cash and an early closing.”