Seth had spoken to a realtor or two, but no one by the name of Levitt. “What can I do for you?”
The man grinned, showing nearly as many teeth as the possum from the night before. “It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you!” He extended a beefy hand, holding out a “Levitt Real Estate Development” business card.
Seth shuffled his shopping bags in order to take the card. The man seemed oblivious to Seth’s predicament. “Now, what you got here, one hundred, one hundred fifty acres?”
“Two hundred seventeen, mostly wooded.” Seth had done some homework before his arrival; mature timber enhanced the property’s value and made a strong selling point.
Levitt puckered out his lower lip. “Well, I’m afraid those pesky trees’ll depreciate your properly values, son.”
“Do what? The place is set out with oaks and pines.” Seth spent a good deal of time checking lumber prices too.
“Yeah, but to get to the land, we’ll have to cut those down and haul ’em off; but don’t you worry none. Because I’m a generous man, I’m prepared to offer you nine hundred dollars an acre.” He beamed as though he’d offered Seth the moon.
Seth fought hard to tamp down his anger. “Now wait a damned minute. I’ve done some comparisons, and the going rate for land around here is two thousand dollars an acre. At least fifty acres have mountain views and can pull in as much as $20,000. And I can sell the timber and bring in one hell of a lot more.”
The slimy little shyster rubbed his hands together, shaking his head. “May be prime land, once developed. There’s a lot of work to be done here. Build access roads, haul off those useless trees. There’s also the little matter of the swampland.”
“Swampland? We’re in the foothills, there’s no swampland here!”
“Oh, yes, there is. Why do think no one’s approached you before now? I’m the only one generous enough to take this useless land off your hands. Why, there’s rumors going ’round of an Indian burial ground here. Who in their right mind would buy an Indian burial ground?”
Through clenched teeth, Seth suddenly made a spur of the moment decision, hoping like hell he wouldn’t regret his rashness later. “The land is not for sale at any price. It’s my family’s land, and I intend to stay here.”
“Okay, you drive a hard bargain. Nine hundred twenty-five dollars an acre, and that’s my final offer.”
“No thank you, and please get the hell off my farm.”
The man opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing intelligible came out. Finally, he managed a wavering, “You’re turning down my offer?”
“Yep.”
Levitt’s face turned a horrifying shade of puce. “Mark my words, Mr. McDaniel, in a few months you’ll come crawling to me, hand out, begging me to take this useless parcel off your hands.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“I guarantee no one else will offer anything close to what I’m offering.”
“Again, I’ll take my chances.”
It took another fifteen minutes and behavior bordering on rude to squeeze the man back into his vehicle and make him leave. “I’m the only one who’ll even talk to you,” the charlatan claimed in parting.
He was wrong. Four other realtors extended the same “generous” offer the same day. An entirely unpleasant sensation squirmed to life in Seth’s gut each time he thought about selling. The land, the house, was all that remained of his family ties. To simply walk away… well, it didn’t feel right. In desperation, Seth found a leftover piece of plywood from his kitchen patch job and hand-lettered a sign:Land not for sale. Realtors will be shot on sight.He posted the sign by the main road. Let them come now!
IDON’Twant to sell the house.
You need to sell the house.
Seth argued back and forth with himself. What did he need with a huge four-bedroom place in the middle of nowhere? He stalked from room to room; each one would easily accommodate his entire apartment back in Chicago. He liked roaming from room to room. He liked seeing reminders of his family on every shelf. He liked actually owning instead of renting.But what the hell will I do with it all?
In a rare bit of good fortune, Seth had found enough signal to operate his phone in the attic. However, his traitorous media sites were now filled with pictures of Michael’s wedding attire, venue, choices for flower arrangements, etcetera. He trudged back downstairs, abandoning his phone on a nightstand. He should be cataloging his aunt’s heirlooms, or even making arrangements to prepare the house for sale with a real realtor who wouldn’t try to rip him off. It didn’t hurt to keep his options open, did it? He did none of those things. Instead, he ventured back up to the attic, surfing the internet via his iPhone for possible freelance photo ops in the area.
A hospital in a neighboring town had posted an ad for someone to photograph newborns. But they were probably looking for someone who’d stick around. Photographers were needed for a dance recital in Atlanta. Oh, for yesterday. He hated when job sites didn’t update promptly. Another ad drew his attention:Wildlife photographers needed. Wildlife? Seth was quite certain he’d find plenty of deer and foxes locally, if memory served. Armed with his trusty Nikon and a 400mm lens, he set off to spy on Mother Nature.
The pond yielded several candid frog shots, and he took a few frames of a ring of stones near a towering pin oak. Laid out in a semicircle around the tree, the gleaming chunks of quartz appeared to have been purposefully arranged. But by whom? Had there once been an old homestead out here?
He drew back in fear when a bundle of gray and brown fur wobbled by. His arm pulsed at the memory of a mouthful of sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. Instead of attacking, this possum appeared mildly curious. The creature approached, twitching its nose in the air. Seth snapped a picture. The animal turned its head, holding the position, as if to say, “Take my good side.” Seth snapped, then the creature moved. Was the damned thing posing? He’d just wrapped up a series of candid shots with the possum lounging on a rock when out of the grass came two more. They froze momentarily before dashing over to the third, chittering wildly. The two newcomers inclined their heads, displaying mouthfuls of sharp teeth, but didn’t come closer or hiss. Seth, considering the situation reasonably safe, snapped a shot. The trio preened, vamping to put runway models to shame.
In a decided diva moment, one shoved the others out of the way, fighting its way to the center of Seth’s camera lens. Another elbowed back. Possums had elbows? Soon the shoving escalated into a free-forall of ear biting, growling, and tail-tugging.
