Chapter 12
TWELVE
KYRA
The left side of the porch roof sags on rotten posts, and mould is evident on the inside of the dirty window to the right.
I draw a deep breath and frown at the agent who stands before the cracked porch steps, handing out leaflets to shocked potential buyers as though they stand before the Taj Mahal.
Calvin Rivers. Mariana’s main competition. An arrogant, handsy piece of work rumored to lower the purchase price in exchange for ‘benefits’.
“Fuck this,” I mutter.
“Pardon?” Mom glances away from her discreet yet dubious study of the property.
“Nothing.” The other two houses were lackluster as well, though I could confidently wager they would pass safety inspection, unlike this monstrosity before us. “Should we skip it?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She thinks I don’t notice the way she constantly shifts her weight between her feet—a sure sign Mom’s sciatica hurts. “It all depends on how inspired you feel to…” She grimaces, and I don’t think it’s from her pain. “Make it more yours.”
“I can tell you what it doesn’t inspire, and that’s taking a step inside.”
Calvin’s gaze lifts to where we stand at the edge of the pavement, a cheesy as fuck smile stretching his mouth.
“Shit.” I turn side-on to the man to face Mom. “He’s seen us.”
“Shauna!” He exclaims, opening his arms wide to greet Mom. “I didn’t know you were looking for an investment.”
Mom dons her practiced public service smile, hands clasped low before her. “Oh, I’m not. Our daughter, Kyra, is hunting for her first home in Temperance.”
He feigns shock. “Why didn’t you call me?”
I want to scratch the look off his face. “Didn’t feel the need to.”
His cheery mask doesn’t slip, yet I catch the flash of anger behind his eyes. “Well, since you’re here, you may as well come on in. I’ll show you around myself.”
A middle-aged couple scurry down the steps behind him, darting furtive glances his way as they book it for their car while Mom and I have him distracted.
“To be honest, I can already tell it’s not for me.”
His hungry gaze sweeps down me. “Let’s be honest, darling. I don’t think you really know what you want, do you? Can’t pass judgment before you give it a try.”
I get the impression the creep talks about something other than the house.
“Five minutes, Kyra, and then you can take me to lunch.” Mom shifts her weight again.
To be fair, there’s likely to be at least one sturdy enough chair inside for her to take the weight of her feet. I guess I can put up with this creep for her sake. “Fine.”
Calvin claps his hands together and spins for the house, waving cheerily at the next failed buyer who dashes for freedom.
The smell assaults me first before I set foot anywhere on the goddamn porch. Putrid. Septic. And with a glance to my right as I approach the door, it doesn’t take much to figure out where it comes from.
Mom covers her nose with the loose fold of her blouse collar. “Oh, my. That’s an interesting place to make compost.”
Compost? Or some dead rodent that had trash thrown on top of it and leaves blown in on the wind until the drift against the wall became something that more resembles a picture from a horror story.
“The owners left in a hurry with no interest in preparing the house for sale,” Calvin explains as though the biohazard were merely a drooping houseplant. “Hence, the bargain price.”
“Why did they leave?” I step into the great room and barely manage to school my expression before he notices my shock.
A sizable hole in the ceiling provides a clear view of the room above. Well… Certainly not what I had on the cards.
“They didn’t feel inclined to say,” Calvin drones. “All our dealings have been via Zoom or phone call.”
The plot thickens. Mom lifts the hem of her skirt as she steps lightly over a pile of discolored newspaper.
I raise an eyebrow at the stack and then lean right to discern whether it’s a pattern on the wallpaper or dirt.
A broken TV sits propped against the staircase, the fireplace boarded up to my left.
The front windows are tall and would probably let in a lot of light if the sagging porch weren’t the way it is, but given the current state, shadows cloak the room in a strange sense of regretful melancholy.
“It would have been beautiful in its day,” Mom whispers while Calvin attempts to wrangle contact details from the final fleeing buyers.
She’s right. Neglect may color the walls in tobacco orange and mold green, but the bones of the house are exquisite in their detail.
Finely carved scrolls in the mantlepiece, deep cornices, and a dusty and crudely painted built-in bookcase on either side of the fire.
I tip my face to the hole in the ceiling and imagine what must lie beyond.
If it’s even safe to have a look.
“Shall we move through to the bedrooms?” Calvin asks, hands casually draped in his pockets, where he stands at the precipice of the room as though terrified the dirt will taint him should he move any further.
A mouse peeks its head out of a hole in the wall behind him and then promptly vanishes.
The moron mistakes my smile as one for him. “This here is the primary bedroom.” He gestures through a doorway to the right of the entrance.
I exchange a wary glance with Mom and then follow him through. To a more pleasant surprise, the ceiling is vaulted, sturdy beams framing the plastered peak. There’s plenty of space for furniture, yet no apparent bathroom is attached.
“What’s behind here?” I gesture to the wall, where the faded outline of a bedhead is visible.
“A bonus room. It’s accessible through the laundry, past the kitchen.”
Odd. The floorboards beneath my shoes seem solid enough and level, which is a nice change from the rest of the house. Figuring I’ve seen enough, I take myself back through the great room to said kitchen and laundry.
“Wow.”
Mom hums her agreement, arms folded lightly over herself as she stands at my shoulder to survey the mess as well.
Cupboard doors either hang off broken hinges or are missing altogether. The sink is tarnished and an interesting shade of brown, although I can tell porcelain lies beneath. Grease buildup lines the window frame above, and it appears the French doors to the back porch are nailed shut.
“Nothing a cheap flatpack couldn’t fix.” Calvin’s smile loses some of its luster.
“Provided the pipes and electrics are in good order.” Considering the mouse, I wouldn’t bet on it.
“Laundry is basic but usable,” Mom states, head poked into the adjacent room.
I slip past her and into the so-called bonus room. Pop a few bars on the sub-par window, and it would pass as a prison cell. Lord only knows what they used this space for.
“Shall we go upstairs?” Calvin presses, gaze roaming over the split and peeling wallboards.
“I might stay down here,” Mom says gently. “But you go ahead.”
I catch Calvin’s gaze and shrug. I mean, I’ve got this far into the horror show, why quit now?
The stairs are pleasantly sturdy as we make our way to the second floor, emerging onto the world’s smallest landing between three rooms and the house’s only bathroom.
I figure I may as well tear off the Band-Aid and head there first. A rusty excuse for a shower head hangs over a cracked bathtub.
I daren’t lift the lid on the toilet sandwiched between it and the pedestal basin.
“Okay.” Lips pressed tight, I back out of the room to a much less amenable Calvin, who waits impatiently in the tiny hall.
“I’m not sure you’ll find much else in your price range.”
Asshole. The two bedrooms that occupy a complete floor are generously sized, although the larger of the two has a dubious stain on the carpet that I think I’d rather not know about.
“Do you think you can manage a project this size?” Calvin’s eyebrow lifts.
I stare a little too long while trying to decide if he’s had them tinted or not. “Do I look completely helpless?”
“It’s a fair question,” he bites back.
“Given a fair answer.” A manhole into the attic hovers above his head. “Does it have a ladder?”
“No.”
“Have you been up there?”
The man scoffs. “Of course not. I’m a realtor, Kyra, not a builder.”
“Then I’d better get someone who knows what they’re talking about to give me a fair assessment.”
He opens his mouth to say something, yet sputters instead before eking out, “You plan to make an offer?”
“I’ll buy it,” I grit. “Provided the building report is to my satisfaction and it passes all the relevant checks.”
“The bank won’t loan the asking price, given the state of it.”
“Good thing I’m paying with cash, then, isn’t it?”
I leave the asshole floundering on the landing and make my way back down to Mom.
“Seen enough?” she teases.
I nod. “Until I start the remodel. Yes.”
No asshole’s going to tell me I can’t do hard things.