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Barry Hutchinson was handling your home purchase?" I glanced at Connie.  It didn't appear to be new to her.
    "That's what I meant.  I'm surprised more of them don't end up murdered.  The way they jerk you around."
    I popped the top of a Diet Coke and held it out to Connie.  I handed a regular Coke to Vanessa and took one for myself.  "What's going on with it?"
    "I'm not sure.  I need to call Amelia and see what's happening.  Barry promised he'd get financing at a reasonable rate.  The place is cheap enough.  I saved enough for a decent down payment, but I need to keep my monthly outlay low.  Before Craig left town, he cleaned out everything.  I couldn't stop him because I was afraid if I tried, he'd carry out his threats, so I stayed in the shelter and let him screw me over.  "
    "So?"  I prodded.  The house purchase had dragged on for months already.
    "I visited the mortgage broker Barry recommended.  Barry wrote the deal so it looked like I put more money up front.  The broker said it was no problem.  He'd get it placed.  Then he asked for co-signers."
    "Why?"  Connie asked.  She reclined on her chaise lounge with her eyes closed and her soda balanced on her midriff.
    "Like I advised Barry when I saw him the first time, my credit stinks.  Craig ran off without paying the credit cards or the IRS.  He left me stuck with everything, and it's in my name.  When we first married, we put some things in his name and some in mine.  I wanted to make sure I could get credit on my own.  Now the only credit I have is bad."
    "Are you not getting the mortgage or what?"  I was confused.  How could the realtor tell her she'd have no trouble?  For that matter, how could the broker tell her she'd get a favorable rate with lousy credit?
    "I don't have anyone to cosign, and I can't raise more cash—on paper I've put down twenty-five percent.  The broker said I can get a no-qualifying, no-verification mortgage—B & C paper.  It's for people with substandard credit.  The problem is the rate will be higher.  I agreed."
    "Seems to me with all the mortgage issues and bank problems, that sort of thing wouldn't happen anymore.  Besides, shouldn't you wait and get a house after you're out of the credit jam?"  Connie asked.  A practical person, she didn't charge more than she could pay off at the end of the month.  She admitted big debts gave her a feeling of loss of control. 
    "Connie, I'll never be out of the credit jam.  Besides, the payments, even with the higher rate, are lower than what I pay for rent.  I figure I'll always have rent.  I might as well buy and have something in the end.  I have no kids and no family except my mother and aunt.  Craig turned out to be an asshole.  I don't want to be alone and homeless, too."
    I wanted to tell Vanessa she would find someone else, have a good life—all of the reassuring crap—but something made me keep quiet.  She seemed frazzled.  The whole scenario was getting to her.  Instead, I said, "What did Amelia say?"
    "I ran into her in the cafeteria about a week after Barry was shot.  She said she'd check with the mortgage guy and call me.  She hasn't.  She's just like her husband."
    "Van, give her a break.  Her husband is critically ill, and her kid is useless.  She's getting back to work.  She told me yesterday . . . no, the day before . . . she was attending to clients and had several deals to close."
    "Did she mention me?"  Vanessa sat up, looking at me with her back to the ocean.
    "No.  We weren't talking specifics.  She's working weekends.  Why don't you give her a call?"  I pulled my cell phone from my tote and offered it to her. 
    "You sure?" she said, talking it out of my hand.  "No conversation with Amelia is short."
    "Don't worry about it.  I'm a big spender."  I laughed.
    She dialed the number without looking it up or calling information. 
    "Besides, I have free weekends and nights.  Talk as long as you like."  I was