Chapter 17: Diane Falls

Monday morning I walked into the realty office on the square at ten past nine.

It had a glass front, a rack of glossy brochures and a bowl of mints on the counter.

Diane's face was on the wall behind the reception desk, ten feet wide.

Two couples sat on the leather sofa with coffee, waiting for her.

The receptionist stood up.

"Mrs. Wendt. I'm not sure Diane's expecting..."

"I'm here for the owner," I said. "Ms. Fessler's broker. I called Friday and she said nine-fifteen."

The broker came out of the back office, a tall woman in her seventies with reading glasses on a chain.

"Mrs. Wendt," she said. "Come in."

The back office had a window and a long table.

Tom came in behind me and stood by the door with his cap in his hands.

I had not asked him to, and I was glad of it.

I laid the folder on the table.

"This is a closing statement for my barn," I said.

"It names Mark Wendt as seller, and your agent collecting fifty-six thousand dollars."

"And the buyer?"

"A company called Garrow Barn LLC."

The broker put on her glasses and read.

"And the owner of that company?" she asked.

I slid the state record across.

"Mark Wendt."

"He sells the barn to himself."

"Yes."

"And she takes the commission."

"Yes."

"The barn is not his to sell."

"It was left to me alone by my mother. Here's the will, and here's the deed."