“It’s a nice one,” the old guy replies. “Lots of people want to live here.”
“Uh-huh.” Quinn doesn’t sound convinced either.
When he turns the key, the door unlatches. When he pushes the door open, we both gasp. The place is gorgeous.
“It’s beautiful,” Quinn says first.
She’s right. It’s bright and sunny. The ceilings are high, and while they look like they need painting, it’s not in terrible shape. The floors are all hardwood and in decent shape. There’s a chill running down my spine.
I want this place.
The kitchen is nice––open to the rest of the place. The appliances aren’t new, but they aren’t olive green either. There’s even a big island that faces the living space.
Iwantthis place.
Quinn and I make eye contact, but neither one of us speaks. She wants it too.
I check out the bedroom and nearly choke when I see the closets. There are big windows in one of the bedrooms, making it just as sunny as the living room, while the other bedroom is a little darker. The same floors from the main room are running through the bedrooms too.
Quinn and I meet in the hallway, away from the old fart. Quinn whispers, “Amazing.” All I can do is nod in agreement. “What do you think?”
I feel tears burn.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, placing her hand on my arm.
“I love it. It’s perfect. Right?”
“Yeah. It’s perfect. The price is a steal too. I wonder what the catch is.”
It has to be dealing with the old guy from downstairs.That’sthe catch. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. I mean, was someone murdered here? Is it haunted? Does it leak?” I look up at the ceiling and smile. “Shit. Tin ceilings.” I love tin ceilings.
“I know. This place is amazing. There’sgotto be a catch.”
I walk around a little more, but when I hear Quinn talking to the old guy, I step into the living room. “So.” Quinn has her hands on her hips. “What’s the catch?”
I want to laugh at her candor, but I stay silent. I like that she’s taking the lead here.
“Catch?” He chuckles. “You sure are a spitfire.”
“Uh-huh. So? Is it haunted? Is it a murder apartment? Does the neighbor have a thing for college girls?”
“The neighbor is a professor at the college. I don’t think he’s got any weird fetishes.” He shrugs. “Who knows these days. Am I right?” He chuckles again.
“What’s your name?” Quinn asks like she’s gathering intel.
“Vic.”
“And you manage the place?”
“I own it, hon.”
“And the stairs?”
“Carpenter is coming on Monday.”
“And what about utilities?”
“Included. So is cable. I’ve also got Wi-Fi.”
