Catharine Bramkamp [Real Esta In Good Faith (epub)

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.In Good FaithA Real Estate Diva MysteryCatharine BramkampGood Faith - Bona fide; an act is done in good faith if it is in fact done honestly,whether negligently or not.- The language of Real Estate – John W.Reilly, fifth edition, Dearborn Financial Publishing, Inc.2000.In Good FaithFirst edition copyright 2011 Catharine BramkampWrite Life, LLC Omaha, NE, August 2011Revised e-book edition, Catharine Bramkamp March 2014All rights reserved.No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the publisher and author.This is a work of fiction.Names, characters, some locations and incidents are products of the author’s fevered imagination or are used fictionally and are not be construed as real.Any resemblances to actual events, local organization or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.Really.I have no idea where these people came from.Hard copy cover design by Kristy Stark Knappe-book revised edition cover by Stacey MeinzenChapter 1I found another body.She was murdered.This was an even less pleasant experience than both times before.The fact that I have found three bodies in the course of my lifetime must be more than a coincidence.But there was no context to make sense of it.To be completely honest, and I always am, I didn’t even want meaning.What I wanted then and now was quick closure and a nice glass of Shiraz.Perhaps tranquilizers.What was my first reaction when I flung open that bedroom door? There were many options: horror, revulsion, sickness, shock, but no, my first reaction was, I do not need this.My second reaction was perhaps I should switch from selling million dollar homes to focusing exclusively on the inexpensive condo market.Nothing happens during a condo purchase.First- time home buyers purchase condos.And first-time homebuyers are too busy working to pay their new mortgage to indulge in mayhem and murder.For instance, the only thing my current condo client, Owen Spenser, inspired was aggravation, but not murder.Although, our last conversation brought me dangerously close to the latter.After a year of condo scrutiny, Owen had announced that the last condo I found for him had cracks in the soil around the foundation.“Yes,” I had explained.“There are cracks in the soil, it’s adobe, it shows cracks.” I’ve been selling real estate in Rivers Bend, California, long enough to be an authority on the solid adobe soil that covers most of the south end of town, I spoke the truth.Mr.Owen Spenser, who has only been dabbling in real estate (as a perpetual first-time homebuyer) for the last seven years, was obsessed with buying the perfect condo for the perfect price - at the very bottom of the market.Yesterday he was obsessed with cracking adobe soil.“Yes,” I assured him on a weekly basis, “I’m sure it is a good deal.And, no, you won’t be certain it’s a good deal until after you’ve missed the opportunity.”I take that back.I’m not that happy with condo buyers either.And how do I, Allison Little, know I was looking at a murder scene?Well, I’m no expert, (I am not saying that to be modest, I am really not an expert of any kind, except for real estate – and am constantly faced with situations where I have no experience, but have to act as if I do, and it’s damn annoying) but I do know that after a person has been hacked into small pieces, and those pieces are scattered liberally around the master bedroom, the cause of death was not cancer.Or suicide.We can rule out suicide and cancer.Dark stains of brown and red covered the white (of course, white) bedroom walls in fat splotches and horrible arches of smears and drips.One gruesome arch reached to the ceiling.I didn’t search for the source of all that abundance, I didn’t want to.The woman’s head was positioned in the precise center of the counterpane; the vicious stains had soaked wetly into the white bedspread.I couldn’t tell if the blood was dried or, well, damp.Not that I had any interest in approaching for a better look.Even from the doorway, where I stood frozen, I could see that her beautiful face still held an expression of complete surprise.I gripped the doorframe and stared at the scene for what felt like an hour, enough time for all those trivial thoughts to flash through my addled brain.At least, it felt like an hour.My stomach finally reacted to what my eyes were seeing and began to heave.I had to move.I uncurled my fingers from the doorframe and jerked back.I slammed the door closed for good measure, as if she was capable of pursuit (I watched a great many inappropriate-for-my-age horror movies, courtesy of my older brothers, so it could happen).I stumbled into the guest bath.The master bath was accessed through the master suite; I did not want to be that close – to any of it.The master bath opened directly to the master bedroom, as if the couple living there rose at precisely the same time so the light in the bath wouldn’t disturb the other sleeping person.This master bedroom set up was really a suite for the single.Far too many homes up on this hill have this feature.I never point it out when I’m selling property in the Villas.I think, in my muddled mind, I was afraid of discovering the murder weapon in the Master Bath.The killer could have very well rinsed off his weapon in the jetted tub and left it to dry on the heated towel rack.Why not? It made as much sense as anything else [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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