Chapter 17: The Man From the Warehouse

The buyer's man came to the farmhouse on the twenty-eighth, in a quarter-zip, with a laser measure clipped to his belt.

He was about forty, with white teeth and the walk of someone who has never been told no in a driveway.

"Morning, folks! Just here for the pre-closing walk-through. Won't take long."

We were all in the kitchen: Gene at the head of the table, Tressa and her husband on the bench, Rob by the stove.

I sat at Gene's elbow with a cup of coffee, because he had asked me to, and I had stopped needing a reason.

The man looked around the room and picked Tressa's husband.

"You must be the husband. Great. Sir, I'm told you'll be the point of contact on the keys."

"No," said Tressa's husband.

"Then it's the brother." He turned to Rob. "Big guy like you, I'll bet you've been handling the barn."

"I sell trucks," said Rob.

"Then what's the story with the barn?"

"I don't know. It's his barn."

The man's smile did not move, but his eyes slid to me.

"And you'd be the nurse."

"I'm the daughter-in-law."

"Right. Sweetheart, any chance of a coffee while the grown-ups talk?"

I looked at the cup in my hand.

I looked at the man.

At the head of the table, a finger came down on the tablet, very gently.

"No," said the flat voice.

The man finally looked at Gene, and I watched him decide that the old man in the good blue shirt was a piece of furniture that talked.

"Mr. Wagner. Hello. Wonderful to meet you. I understand you've been unwell."

"I am the seller," said the voice.

"Of course! And we appreciate your cooperation. Your daughter's been a pleasure."

"Revoked," said the voice. "March third. The original is at my lawyer's. She is a woman in a rain jacket. You may call her."