Whisper a Warning Page 4

  Willow was familiar with the property he was naming. It was a short way down the road from Higher Horizons Farm. The Burdetts were an older couple, and the small ten-acre farm had lain fallow for years. The house was an old clapboard in need of repair, and the barn had seen better days.

  “You’re willing to pay five hundred thousand dollars for the Burdett place?” she asked incredulously.

  “You got a major problem with that, lady?”

  She decided she couldn’t stand the guy. “Let’s say that first I have a major problem with being called ‘lady’ in that tone of voice. Use it again, and I’ll hang up the phone.”

  The man chuckled. “A touchy one. Sorry. Check out the property and see if the Burdetts will sell. If they say yes, I’ll be in tomorrow to sign all the paperwork.”

  With a loud click, the phone went dead again. Charley Morse needed a crash course in telephone manners. Willow sat for a minute drumming her fingers on the desk. Half a million in cash? It was an unorthodox way to do business, and the man gave her the chills.

  But half a million! Think of what the Burdetts could do with money like that! And quite honestly, think of what she could do with another choice commission this month. . . . It wouldn’t hurt to ride out to the Burdetts’ farm and toss the idea around. She’d be honest, and tell them she had no credentials on the buyer yet, that it could even be a hoax. But half a million dollars . . . She thought they deserved to know.

  She tried to call the farm, but their number was unlisted. She decided to drop by to see them, as soon as Mildred returned from her showing. She didn’t like the man, but business was business. And he had certainly piqued her curiosity with his outlandish bid.

  It was late afternoon by the time she pulled her Miata down the rocky drive that led to the Burdett farm. The car bounced along the rutted road as she tried to avoid the tangled bushes that had overgrown their space on the side of the drive, encroaching on the right of way with their overgrown greenery. The farm road was certainly in disrepair.

  She could see the Burdetts’ pickup truck parked next to the farmhouse. She parked alongside of it, climbing carefully up the worn wooden steps to the porch. Although showing the signs of age, the house was neat and clean, and had a well-loved look. The front door was open, letting in the fresh summer air. She peered through the aged screen door, hearing sounds from the back of the house.

  “Mrs. Burdett? Mr. Burdett? Are you home?”

  “Well, it’s Willow from Maggie’s,” called Mrs. Burdett back over her shoulder as she crossed the hallway to let Willow in. “Herbert, come here and say hello.”

  Willow grinned at the elderly couple who came to greet her. Mr. Burdett wore a well-used pair of overalls and a scuffed pair of barn boots. Mrs. Burdett was wrapped in a faded gingham apron, covering her jeans and sweatshirt. Both had short gray curly hair, and wore big smiles.

  “Come in and sit.” Mrs. Burdett gestured toward the kitchen. “We’re delighted to have company. We just cleaned up from lunch. Is everything all right with Maggie and the children?”

  Willow sat at the comfortable kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea, and munching on homemade muffins. “Maggie and the kids are great. I’m here on a different kind of business. Did you know I’m a realtor these days? You aren’t going to believe this, but I got an amazing call today.”

  “We aren’t interested in selling, if that’s what you got on your mind.” The smile was suddenly gone from Mr. Burdett’s face, and he looked grim. “We already said no.”

  Willow watched the couple, seeing the look that flashed between them, then disappeared. She thought it was fear. But then, the determined, grim look was back on his face.

  “Somebody already approached you on this? A gigantic offer for the farm?”

  “Some guy was here yesterday, trying to convince us to sell. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Practically had to throw him off the place.”

  “Was his name Charley Morse?”

  “Didn’t get so far as to ask the man’s name. Didn’t want to know it. He was a pushy, rude guy, flashing papers in my face, and trying to intimidate the missus. I didn’t like him a bit. Not a bit.”

  Willow thought back to her conversation with the rude, abrupt man. She remembered the flash of concern she had felt, the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

  “Has he been back? Have you heard from him again?”

  “Not a word, until you arrived. Willow, what is going on that you would get involved with a mean man like that?”

  “I haven’t met him. He called the office. Offered this outrageous price. I thought you deserved to know. You know, in case you needed the money.”

  “I’ll never need money enough to deal with a slimy guy like that. I love my farm, even though I can’t take very good care of it. But we got two cows, and two horses, and some chickens, and I can take care of them just fine. We got what we need, right on this place. There’s some things that are more important than money, you know.”

  Willow smiled fondly. “How well I know. You’re a wise man. Listen, he’ll be calling me, I’m sure, to find out if I approached you. I’ll tell him to get lost, maybe even find him another place, to keep him off your backs. If you hear from him again, just call, okay?”

  She left a card on the table, listing her office phone, her home phone, and her mobile phone. Mrs. Burdett loaded her up with a basket of muffins to share with Maggie and the kids at the farm.

  “Tell her I’m making apple pies with the last of the apples from last year.” She motioned to two bushels of apples that sat on the kitchen counter. “I’ll send over a few when they’re done.”

  With a wave and a promise to keep in touch, Willow left the farm, trying to calm the nagging feeling of apprehension that had taken hold of her.

  She was anxiously awaiting the phone call from Charley Morse the next morning, when the temporary office assistant arrived. Her name was Gail, and she seemed bright and enthusiastic. Willow showed her around the office, and then introduced her to Mildred, who was planning to brief her on her duties.

  Gail had just taken over the phones when the call arrived. “Excuse me, sir, this is not Willow, this is Gail.” The woman’s face turned red. “If you’ll be patient for a moment, I’ll transfer you to her desk.” She pushed the hold button.

  “Willow, it’s a guy named Charley. Man, is he rude!”

  Willow sighed. “You bet he is. Transfer him over here. Heaven knows we need clients, but this one we can do without.”

  Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up.

  “Willow Blake. How can I help you?”

  “Cut to the the chase, Willow. Tell me about the Burdetts. Do we have a deal?”

  “Of course you don’t have a deal. You send me out there looking like a fool when you already knew they weren’t interested in selling.”

  “Your job is to sell, babe. Can’t you convince them to listen?”

  “No deal, Mr. Morse. The Burdetts want to stay right where they are, so the case is closed. How about looking at another piece of property? There are several small farms for sale—”

  The man on the other end of the phone exploded. “I want to buy that farm, babe. What’s it going to take?”

  “It’s going to take another lifetime, Mr. Morse, because they aren’t going to sell. And you’re going to need another lifetime, Mr. Morse, if you call me babe one more time in that demeaning tone of voice.”

  “You broads are all alike. Can’t take the heat.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Morse. . . . I’m going to hang up now.”

  “You’re a no-good incompetent—”

  Willow slowly hung up the phone, taking a deep breath, and trying to force the man’s words out of her head. Detach. It can’t get to you if you don’t let it. She let the anger flow through her body, trying to keep memories at bay.

  Name-calling. Blaming. She had grown up with it, letting each verbal blow take a chip off her soul. But no more. She knew who she was today, and she
didn’t have to let the words hurt.

  “Wow,” commented Gail, when the conversation ended. “You handled that pretty well. I hope all your clients aren’t like that. A guy like that can really ruin your day.”

  Willow smiled. “He’s one of a kind, thank goodness. But I don’t think he’ll call again.” He might bother the Burdetts, though, she realized. He hadn’t given up on the thought of getting the farm. She’d plan to stop by to check in with them.

  The rest of the day passed quickly with Willow answering real estate questions on the phone, showing town houses to a newly married couple, writing ad copy for the newspaper.

  When the workday was over, Willow changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before leaving the office. The group at the AIDS home was working on a project, building a wheelchair ramp by the side door, and she had offered to help. She had also contributed the money for the lumber and materials to do the job.

  The bank may have let them down, but she was determined to get the job done. She climbed into her car and drove across town, letting the warm summer air rush though her short blond hair. Country music blared from the radio, and she sang along.

  She’d spend a few hours holding boards, measuring, sawing, and hammering. There was a warm sense of camaraderie as they worked together on the ramp. Two neighbors joined them when they came home from work and saw the work in progress. Willow felt good. The neighborhood had finally accepted their newest residents, respecting them, and even offering a helping hand.

  They were almost finished with the job, collecting scraps and organizing tools, when an ancient Volkswagen pulled up. A tiny woman emerged, dressed in gray. Willow recognized the spunky nun from the bank meeting.

  “Hi, Sister!” they called. “Come to hammer?”

  “I wouldn’t know what to do with a hammer if I had to.” She laughed. “I brought food.” She reached into the backseat of the VW and pulled out a stack of pizza boxes. “I’m glad you got some building supplies.”

  “Thanks to Willow,” one man said softly. “She contributed the materials.”

  Willow saw the nun watching her intently. “I didn’t think Willow was going to let the bank win on this one.”

  Willow smiled, embarrassed with the praise. “This is just the start. “I’m going to start a fund.”

  “And I’m going to do a little arm twisting and help. We’ll get some contributions and pledges. You’re not alone on this one, Willow!”

  “Thanks.” Her eyes felt suspiciously moist, but she had no intention of crying. She shook her head, and grabbed for another piece of pizza. “I love pizza. The perfect food.” Everybody laughed, and the tension left her.

  Exhausted after working at the barn, she went home to bed, falling asleep instantly. She was so tired that she totally forgot her plan to phone the Burdetts to report her problems with the charming Charley Morse.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning was a beautiful one. The June sun was bright and the sky was a terrific shade of blue. Willow loved the summer smells as she drove down the country roads on her way to town. The scent of honeysuckle, which grew abundantly along the road, mingled with the pungent smell of rich tilled soil and sprouting green fields. She never got tired of the beauty around her.

  She was wearing green today, a trim, stylish suit with a boxy jacket that almost matched the length of her short skirt. A lacy white camisole peeked out from under the jacket. Her green heels were of medium height—low enough to still be comfortable, but high enough to proclaim her comfort with her height. She was striking.

  It was almost 9:00 A.M. when she parked her Miata in front of Reynolds Realty. Gail was alone in the office, taking phone calls and writing messages with a sense of ease. She pushed a pile of messages toward Willow as she arrived, nodding her head in acknowledgment, but not breaking the conversation she was having on the phone.

  Willow was impressed with the style and competence of the temporary receptionist, and took her pile of messages with a grateful sigh. Plopping down at her desk, she sorted through the stack.

  The appraisal on Manxo’s future estate was finished; papers would now be drawn for the final closing. A family she had been working with had driven past a house they would like to see, whenever Willow could schedule an appointment with the owner. The Sunday ad copy was due at the local newpaper by the 5:00 P.M. deadline.

  All were normal and expected messages until the last. Mrs. Burdett, the memo said, had called at 8:02, right when the office had opened. She had asked for Willow, and then the call had been abruptly cut off. She hadn’t called back.

  Willow turned to Gail, who had just hung up the phone. “This call from Mrs. Burdett. . . there was no message at all?”

  “Actually, it was kind of strange. I guess she’s elderly . . . her voice sounded very soft and tired. But she got no farther than asking for you—then the connection was broken. I’m sorry.” Gail was watching the worried expression on Willow’s face. Calls could be disrupted for many reasons, but Willow looked concerned.

  “You don’t have to apologize, Gail. It’s obvious you’re doing a great job. I’m just worried about the lady. I think I’ll drive over to her place and see what’s on her mind. I’ll be back.”

  At that moment, the door of the office opened, and a uniformed deliveryman entered with a large overnight mailing envelope. “W. Blake? Would you sign for this?” Willow rose to greet him, taking the envelope and signing the form.

  When he had left, she opened the package, pulling out the contents curiously. Papers. Real estate papers. She unfolded the completed agreement of sale and read it carefully. She sucked in her breath.

  The Burdetts’ name leaped off the page at her. The form was duly signed and witnessed. The Burdetts’ had sold their ten-acre farm to Charles Morse for the sum of $500,000 dollars, payment in cash. A certified copy of the title search, receipt for the money, and all of the necessary papers for the property transfer were enclosed.

  Willow was stunned. She riffled through the papers, which all appeared to be in order. The deal, though totally unorthodox, seemed legal. A note addressed to her was enclosed.

  Please file the necessary paperwork to transfer this property, submitting a bill for your commission and any incurred costs to Mr. Porter Blank, at the law firm of William Harrison and Associates, Ryerstown, who holds the power of attorney to conduct any business necessary for this transaction. Thank you very much.

  Charles Morse

  The note was typed; the signature was scrawled. In it’s correctness and politeness, the note didn’t resemble Charley Morse at all. She looked at the agreement again. Charley had signed the bottom, as had his witness, none other than Mr. Porter Blank himself.

  For a moment, she tried to feel enthusiastic. There would be a big commission, for practically no work at all. A salesperson’s dream had just landed in her lap. But her mind would not let her think in those terms. There was something wrong here. She had seen the Burdetts only the day before, and they had adamantly refused to even think about parting with their property. Even if they had changed their minds, it wouldn’t have happened so quickly. . . so absolutely. It just didn’t ring true.

  A thousand scenarios started building in her mind—threats and coercion forcing the little couple to sell. . . greedy developers putting undue pressure on defenseless farmers. Her imagination sometimes tended to be a little wild. But still. . .

  The law firm listed as the attorney for the sale was located right across the street from her office. It took less than a split second to decide what to do. She would simply stop over and ask the attorney in question about the sale. He had signed the form, he had been present, the papers were in order.

  A short conversation could relieve her anxieties about the deal, and then a quick trip to the farm to congratulate the Burdetts on the sale would assuage any worries she had about their sudden change of mind. They had been offered a mound of money, enough to entice even the staunchest landowner to reevaluate their stand.
So she’d check it out, and then get to work.

  It was only a few short steps to the law office across the street. She bounded up the stately porch steps with her usual energy, coming to the front door which bore an elegant brass-plated message, PLEASE ENTER.

  The solid wood door swung open effortlessly, making no sound as she stepped into the elegant foyer that doubled as a reception area. A regal-looking older woman sat at the desk, her hair neatly pulled into a chignon, her beige wool suit reflecting efficiency and good taste.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’m Willow Blake, from Reynolds Realty across the street. May I speak with Porter Blank?”

  The receptionist smiled without emotion, the kind of smile that is like a pleasant mask, hiding the thoughts behind its wearer’s eyes.

  “And you have an appointment?” She looked down, scanning her book.

  “Well, no. I received papers from him, and I had a few questions. . . .”

  “I see. Perhaps we could make you an appointment.”

  “To be honest with you, ma’am, I don’t want to wait to make an appointment. This is important, and I need to see him immediately.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Blake, but you’ll need to make an appointment.” She glanced at the book. “Perhaps the day after tomorrow at 2:00 P.M.?”

  “Won’t you just ask him? If he has just a minute.”

  “I will not.”

  “Please, it’s so important.”

  “We have a procedure here, Ms. Blake. I have a job to do. That job entails keeping order in this office. I can put you down for the day after tomorrow at 2:00 P.M.”

  Like a volcano getting ready to erupt, Willow felt her frustration building to explode. She had a terrible feeling of urgency about the deal. But she didn’t have a choice at the moment. The dragon lady wasn’t going to let her talk to the popular Mr. Porter Blank. She’d have to go to the Burdetts’ instead.