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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781587674648 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Cemetery Dance Publications |
| Publication date: | 02/01/2016 |
| Pages: | 438 |
| Sales rank: | 414,374 |
| Product dimensions: | 4.90(w) x 7.90(h) x 1.40(d) |
| Age Range: | 18 Years |
Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
"It's perfect!" Maureen announced.
Barry agreed, but he was glad the real estate agent wasn't there to hear it. She already had them pegged as a couple of suckers, and if she heard Maureen's unequivocal enthusiasm, she'd know that all she had to do was reel them in. They'd have no room at all to negotiate.
But the agent—or "Doris," as she'd insisted they call her—had gone back to her car to gather the paperwork on this property (and, Barry suspected, give them time to talk), and the two of them were left alone to discuss matters among themselves.
He and Maureen walked around the house's upper deck. The view was spectacular. They'd looked at other houses, newer houses, bigger houses, but none that had a location to match this one. It was on the side of a hill overlooking the town, and breathtaking scenery stretched all the way to the mountains on the horizon, taking in miles of forest and canyon in between. Even in this, the hottest part of the day, a slight breeze was blowing, rustling the pine needles in the tree on the deck's west side, ruffling the hair that he had combed so carefully in order to give himself a more respectable appearance.
"We could expand the deck," Maureen said. "Wrap it around the front of the house, maybe put in one of those misters to cool it off during the day. I see, like, a little patio set—some chairs and a table—where we could have lunches or romantic dinners. And, of course, I'll put a lot of plants up here."
"The deck'sway down on the priority list," he told her.
"That's true," Maureen admitted.
Barry shielded the sides of his face with his hands and peered through the screen door into the house. The interior was hideous. The previous owners had had no taste whatsoever, and every room was carpeted in bright orange, with walls and ceiling covered in the darkest paneling. It was like being in a cave, and the tacky 1970s furniture did little to dispel the air of tired sadness that hung about the rooms.
No doubt that was why the house had not yet sold, why it had been on the market for so long with no takers, and it was why Barry felt confident that, if they did not tip their hand, they might be able to get the seller to drop the price.
He looked away. "Tear off the paneling," he told Maureen, "repaint the walls, install new carpet, junk the furniture, no one would even recognize this place."
"I like the windows," she said. "Whoever built this house planned it smartly."
That was true. The trilevel house seemed to have been constructed in order to take full advantage of the breathtaking scenery. There were three bedrooms: a huge master bedroom with an adjoining deck directly below them that offered a view only slightly less spectacular than the one they were enjoying now, another smaller bedroom on the same floor, and, directly above that, on the top floor, the third bedroom, which had French doors opening on to a small balcony overlooking the driveway. The living room, through which a person entered the house, was the sole space on the middle floor, and the ceiling here was two-stories high, with extra tall windows facing the empty and heavily wooded lot on the up side of the hill. Twin carpeted stairways led either down to the bottom level or up to an open dining room/kitchen area on the top level.
"I want to make an offer," Maureen said. "This is the house."
"Just don't appear too eager. We need some wiggle room here."
Maureen nodded. "I know."
"They're asking a hundred and ten thousand."
"We can probably get them to knock off ten or fifteen."
From down in the driveway, they heard Doris' car door slam, and Barry motioned for Maureen to be quiet as they waited for the real estate agent to return.
"Found them!" she announced cheerfully, entering the house and climbing the steps to the upper level.
Barry opened the sliding screen and walked back into the house, and Maureen followed. The real estate agent spread a packet of papers across the top of the ugly dining room table. "As I told you before, they're asking one ten. There's a new septic system, installed just last year, that incorporates the latest technology, meets all federal standards, and has a service agreement that remains in effect until you pay off the mortgage. You have a quarter of an acre, and of course the ridge behind the neighborhood, as well as all of the land on the west side, out to the highway, is National Forest land. So no one can build. Your views will remain unobstructed. The house itself has a ten-year termite warranty, with free yearly inspection and, if necessary, fumigation. There's also a ten-year warranty for all plumbing and electrical wiring, which, believe me, is a godsend." She looked up. "You want me to go on?"
"We're interested," Barry told her.
Doris' face lit up, her already animated features suddenly invested with a new and even greater enthusiasm. She continued running down the attributes of the house and lot, the specifics of all attendant deal sweeteners, before Maureen finally stopped her and said, "I think we're ready to make an offer."
Barry nodded.
The agent smiled widely. "Let's go back to the office, then, shall we?"
They went downstairs and outside, Barry and Maureen walking around the edge of the driveway, looking around at the pine trees and manzanita bushes on the property while Doris locked up the house.
"Whoever buys this house is getting one heck of a good deal," the agent said as they got into her car, Maureen slipping into the passenger seat in front, Barry sitting in the back.
"Well, not that good a deal," Barry said. "The house has been on the market for quite a while and no one's wanted it. If it was a real bargain, someone would've snatched it up."
"The market's soft right now. But that's changing. This thing'll be worth two hundred next year." Doris guided the car down the sloping road, through the trees. She smiled. "Beautiful here, isn't it? Smell that air? Smell the pine? Nothing like it."
They reached the wrought-iron gate blocking the foot of the street, slowing as they waited for hidden machinery to swing the gate open.
Maureen looked out the rear windshield at the sandstone sign flanking the gateway, where the name of the development, "Bonita Vista," was spelled out in green copper letters.
"That's the only thing I don't like," she said, turning back around. "It seems sort of ... snobbish. I don't really like the idea of living in a 'gated-community.'"
"The homeowners' association only recently put that in," Doris admitted. "And there are quite a few people who don't like it. On the one hand, it offers you privacy and keeps up property values. But the fire chief opposed its installation because it blocks access. Although," she added quickly, "you should have no trouble escaping if there's a forest fire. The gates open outward, and you don't need to punch in a code to leave."
Barry leaned forward. "There's a homeowners' association?"
"Yes. I'm afraid you are required to pay homeowners' association dues. That's usually around a hundred or two hundred a year. I know a lot of people don't like associations, but in an area like Bonita Vista, they're a necessity."
"Why?" Maureen asked.
"Because it's unincorporated. You're outside the town limits, and since the county maintains only dirt roads, the association is responsible for paving the streets and all improvements like ditches, abutments, what have you. It's the association that put in the street lights, that maintains all ditches and storm drains, that will put in any sidewalks or signs."
"What if someone doesn't want to join?"
"It's not an option. If you buy in Bonita Vista, you are required to belong to the association. But there are other benefits too. There's a communal tennis court for members, and they're talking about putting in a clubhouse and swimming pool."
The road wound between two low hills covered with old-growth ponderosas before hitting the highway. Doris waited for a roofing truck to pass before turning left and heading into town.
Barry smiled. He liked the idea of having to go into town, of it being a town instead of a city. Hell, he liked the whole damn thing. When they'd first started talking about moving out of southern California, when they'd looked at their options and discussed their preferences, this had been exactly the type of place he'd imagined, and he could hardly believe their good fortune at having discovered such a picture-perfect location.
Truth to tell, Corban wasn't much of a town. The population was somewhere around three thousand, and while there were a few restaurants and gas stations, a rundown hotel, a couple of shops, and a market, there was no Wal-Mart, no fast-food franchises, no tourist traps, none of the usual amenities that made rural America palatable to city dwellers like themselves.
But he liked that.
And he knew Maureen did, too. This wasn't Aspen or Jackson Hole or Park City, one of those co-opted communities that had turned into playgrounds for Hollywood's elite and the ultra-rich. This was a genuine small town in a nontrendy part of Utah, where real people had real jobs, a place where the wave of service industries cresting over the rest of the nation had not yet reached.
The real estate office was a doublewide trailer across the street from a converted house that served as the Corban library, and Doris swung into the microscopic parking lot, braking to a halt with the skid of fat tires on gravel.
Barry got out of the car and looked up at the hill where their house was.
Their house.
He was already starting to think of it as theirs, though they had not yet even made an offer. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
The three of them walked up the rickety outside steps into the office, where an overweight man and an underweight woman sat at desks in the larger of the trailer's two rooms, unhappily staring into space.
"Good afternoon all!" Doris announced cheerfully, and falsely happy expressions appeared on the faces of her partners. The man immediately picked up his phone and started dialing, the woman began shuffling papers.
"Let's go into the conference room." Doris led the way past the desks and into the trailer's other room, a smaller space dominated by what looked like a dining room table.
The agent closed the door as they sat down. "All right," she said. "As you know, the asking price is one-ten."
"The price is a little steep," Barry said.
"Especially for a house that ugly," Maureen added.
"It needs a lot of work."
"A makeover."
Doris laughed. "I understand. How about I offer a hundred?"
"How about you offer ninety-five?"
"I have to tell you: there's no guarantee the seller will come down at all, let alone fifteen thousand. But let me make a few calls and see what we can do." She motioned toward a coffeepot and a pile of Styrofoam cups placed on top of a low bookshelf at the opposite end of the room. "Have some coffee if you want. I'll be back."
They waited until Doris left, closing the door behind her.
"How high are we willing to go?" Barry asked.
Maureen met his gaze. "I like that house."
"It's not a bad price even at full." He stood and started pacing around the room. "But it's a big decision. Should we be rushing into it like this? Maybe we should take a few days, think about it."
"We have thought about it, And we've been looking for a while now. This is exactly the kind of place we wanted and, as you said, it's a fair price. And if we can get them to lower it even more ..."
Barry looked out the small window. "You're right." He walked over to pour himself some coffee and grimaced as he took a sip. "How much you think they'll counter with?"
Maureen shrugged. "Who knows? I'm hoping, after all the wrangling's over, that we'll at least be able to knock four or five off."
They both sat back down at the table and waited for Doris' return.
A few minutes later, there was a knock, and Doris pushed the door open, walking in. "I called the seller," she said, "and offered ninety-five."
"And?" Barry prodded.
Doris smiled. "You've got yourselves a deal."
What People are Saying About This
"You must read this book." —Stephen King
"Fast-paced, rock-'em, jolt-'em, shock-'em...terror fiction. Unusually clever." —Dean Koontz