Member-only story
When Buying a House
Realtors are never what they seem
Summer 2005
Eliza Ried stood leaning over the back-porch rail, taking a drag from her cigarette. The humid summer air settled on her like a second skin. The night was still and quiet, save the buzzing of cicadas. A slight breeze cooled the nape of her sweaty neck. She stared out across the cornfield, admiring the awesome blood moon looming above twisted black branches. Eliza lifted her gaze to the obsidian sky, searching for the big dipper, the one constellation she recognized.
Her attention was alerted to the sound of gravel crunching up the driveway. She knew it couldn’t possibly be the rumble of her father’s pickup. He would not be home for at least another hour. She turned to see headlights emerge from the distance. Fearing he had come home early, she dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath her flip flops.
As smoke billowed from her nostrils, she hid the pack of Lucky’s in her back pocket and circled to the front of the house. A woman who looked to be in her early hundreds sat behind the wheel of a cherry red 64 Chevy. Eliza approached the car and the woman rolled down the window. She had stone white hair that fell past her shoulders. Even though it was night, she wore dark sunglasses.
“Can I help you?” Eliza asked.
