DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE Read Online Free PDF

that she would have been much more nervous working under Theresa’s critical gaze, but she wished that murder business hadn’t been brought up. It was hard to imagine a dweeb like Harold as much protection. He had trouble getting out of a chair. After a few moments of silence, Jean began to write.
    Ed returned to the sales room half an hour later, followed by Stan, who gave Jean a wink and a thumbs up behind Ed’s back.
    “Time to celebrate! How’re you two doing?”
    “Finished, I think. Jean has a feel for ads. What kind of celebration did you have in mind? Food, I hope.”
    “You bet! Manny’s? ”
    Most nearby Realtors considered Manny’s their place. It had enough light to read a contract, but not too much to spoil the publike atmosphere created by dark wood, green and white checked tablecloths and autographed pictures of unknown people on the walls. There was a separate menu for liquor, a necessary item for those involved in a working world that was, as Marian put it, “fraught.” The business had its share of alcoholics.
    “ Manny’s it is. On the house. Jean, you free?”
    Jean nodded. “I’m in!”
    “And Stan, you’re relieved of floor duty. Turn on the answering machine. Phone hasn’t rung since we got here.”
    It took only a few minutes to walk to Manny’s. By the time they were seated, orders given, drinks in hand, Ed was at his best, acting as genial host. Vivian was a listener, a compliment to her husband.
    When Vivian said that Jean was one of the agents Ed said he would like to adopt, Jean impulsively said, “I wish someone would.”
    She was immediately embarrassed. Did they realize she meant it? This could be her family, encouraging father, gentle mother, fun brother. Stan’s color was wrong, but not unusual in today’s world. She took a sip of her iced tea and stirred it carefully and unnecessarily, an excuse to avoid the others’ eyes.
    “I think we’re alike, Jean.” Vivian’s softly spoken words were like strokes of sympathy. “You want the conventional, comfortable life, home, family, children, security?”
    “Yes,” Jean said positively. “I do. I know—have you noticed?—the heroines of most of the TV shows are like men. I’m no Joan of Arc. And the security and all—I haven’t had that for almost a year. It’s not a bad dream, is it? I want the moon and June and all the good stuff that follows. Like a fifties movie.”
    “That’s what I wanted, too. No apologies to anyone. I think it’s built into us biologically. For me—” her eyes closed for a split second “—the children didn’t come.” She smiled, erasing Jean’s discomfort. “Would it be nosy to ask if you were mooning and Juning at the moment?”
    Fortunately, the food arrived and Jean didn’t have to admit that no man or boy had shown any interest in her for some time. The conversation turned once more to the listings and then to football. Jean had never liked football, in high school a game that seemed to bring out the worst in boys. They became loud, aggressive and, in the crowd, sometimes a hand would poke her suggestively. When the men turned their chairs to talk about the next game with friends at the next table, Vivian returned to the subject of Jean’s life.
    You never talk about your mother. She’s still living, I think I’ve heard.”
    “She left Dad when I was twelve. She’s still here. But she doesn’t live with me. She moves around.”
    “I see.”
    Jean wondered if she did.
    “You’re young to be on your own. We—Ed and I—have wondered about that, but you seemed reluctant to talk.”
    “I was. And I—well, I just got a listing, so maybe I’ll be all right. And being alone is something I’m good at. I ran the household for Dad. It feels lonely sometimes, but it feels kind of nice and free sometimes, too. Maybe it’s easier taking care of just me. Like, I don’t cook much any more. Rita is making me eat healthy stuff. Raw carrots are easier than pot roast.”
    It