Appraisal for Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

top-dollar deals in Lakewood? “You ready to trust me?”
    “More than willing to let you take the first stab at it. We’ll go over your results together, of course.”
    “Of course.” That was fine with me. I figured him for a gentle tutor rather than a ‘see-what-you-did-wrong’ kind of guy. “I can get started tomorrow.”
    “You know Mrs. Riordan?” he asked.
    The surprise must have shown in my face, because he gave me a quizzical look. “I don’t think I know her, but I know her son Michael a little. I talked to him a couple of days ago on the boardwalk.”
    “Small world,” he said. “I asked him how he got my name, and all he said was that he didn’t want to go to Stenner’s.”
    I grunted, with half a laugh. “He dumped Jennifer Stenner in high school. He probably doesn’t want to deal with her.”
    “You are going to be useful to have around.”
    “I don’t really know either of them well, just girls’ bathroom talk from eleventh grade.”
    “Either way we, I should say you, have a nine a.m. appointment tomorrow.” He placed all his painting paraphernalia in a small plastic tub and started for the door. “You won’t need a key. Someone will be there.” This simplified things. I wouldn’t have to fuss with picking up the key at the realtor’s office and returning it after I did the appraisal.
    I stepped in front of him to open the door for him. “You sure it’s OK if I go alone?”
    “How else will I find out if you’re worth what I plan to pay you?” He winked.
    That night, Jazz drank from the glass of ice water I fixed for myself after my run, and I didn’t even care.
    THE NEXT MORNING, I got up at six a.m., full of energy. I set the table in the breakfast room for Aunt Madge’s two sets of guests and turned on the coffee pot, which she always leaves ready the night before.
    I love Aunt Madge’s kitchen, probably because I helped her redesign it. A few years ago I received a large commission for convincing a developer that the site of the old bowling alley in Lakewood would be perfect for luxury condos, and he bought the lot for half a million dollars. My half of the six percent commission might not seem large by New York City standards, but it was the most money I’d ever made for about forty hours of work.
    Robby and I toyed, yet again, with buying a house, but we didn’t want to be bothered with shoveling sidewalks and trying to decide whether to use pesticides on a lawn. Since he probably would have done a second mortgage on a house behind my back, this turns out to have been a particularly good decision.
    In any event, I told Aunt Madge I was going to buy her a really big present, so she might as well pick it out, and she surprised me by saying her kitchen counter tops were getting a bit old. This was an understatement. Even oak will show its age after several thousand loaves of bread are punched into shape on its surface.
    Aunt Madge did not have in mind anything as elaborate as I did, and we had to do it in the winter, so she wouldn’t have to turn away many guests. I convinced her that her cabinets were falling apart, which was nearly true, and even talked her into a garbage disposal, dishwasher, and a stackable washer and dryer, so she would not have to go down to the cellar so often. She drew the line at a double sink, which she deemed impractical in case you had a really big turkey to stuff.
    The pecan cabinetry with butcher-block countertops looks new but blends well with her oak table and antique ice box. Aunt Madge is quite pleased with the lazy susan in the corner cabinet, and I’m partial to the trash compactor, since it means less garbage for me to take out.
    I was alone in the kitchen, reading the paper, when Aunt Madge came in about six-thirty. Breakfast is not until seven, unless someone asks for an early one. “Aren’t you the early bird,” she offered, as she glanced at the coffee pot, which had finished brewing.
    “I have paying work today. Who