Page 70 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Oh, stop it! Cissy took a big swallow of her mocha, fired up her laptop, then spread her handwritten notes on the small table. Resting the heel of one of her running shoes on the empty chair on the opposite side of the table, she began pulling her story together.

At first it was slow. She was distracted by people coming into the shop. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to concentrate, that all of the stress of the last couple of weeks would jam up her creative juices. But after a few failed attempts, surprisingly, the story that had been gelling for nearly a month in the back of her subconscious began to take shape. She wrote text from her notes, double-checked quotes, and moved paragraphs around. She remembered liking the black woman running for mayor, and as she reread her notes, brought out most of the candidate’s ideas.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, her mocha grew cold, and she smiled to herself at a particularly clever turn of phrase.

“Cissy?”

She nearly jumped, knocking over her drink then grabbing it before it tumbled to the floor. She glanced up to find her neighbor Sara standing by the table.

“Sara.” Cissy’s voice lacked enthusiasm.

Sara scraped a nearby chair toward the table. “Working?” she asked, then winced. “Sorry. Dumb question. Can you take a break?”

“I’ve been on a break all month,” Cissy said.

“I know, I know. I won’t keep you, but I had to track you down. I tried your cell, couldn’t get through, and called the house. Tanya told me where you were, and please,” she held up a hand, “don’t get mad at her; I had to pry the information from her.”

Oh, sure.

“Don’t you answer your cell phone? Or are you screening me out?”

“No, sorry, it’s lost. Got misplaced the day of the funeral, and I can’t find it because I turned it off for the service and never turned it back on.”

“That’s what ‘vibrate’ is for.”

“Yeah, I know. I was just so scattered. Anyway, if I don’t find it soon, I’ll have to get a new one.”

“I’d die without mine.”

Cissy didn’t doubt it. “So what was it you wanted?” she asked, but knew. In her heart of hearts, Cissy understood that Sara had tracked her down because of Gran’s house. She wanted to list it.

“I thought we should talk about your grandmother’s house,” she said, leaning back in her chair, and for the first time Cissy noticed that rain had begun to pepper the street and drip from the awnings.

“Sara—”

“Look, I’m serious. I have clients flying in from Philadelphia, and they want something with a view, something old, something authentic San Francisco, and something with room for live-in servants and an elevator. Am I describing Eugenia’s house or what?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

“I can’t sell it. I don’t own it. It’s part of Gran’s estate, and that might not be settled for a long time. The attorneys are working on it, but really, Sara, there’s nothing I can do.”

“I’ve talked with the attorneys,” she admitted just as the coffee grinder roared through a pound of fragrant beans.

“You what?” Cissy couldn’t believe her ears. “You went behind my back? After I told you that I didn’t want to sell it? Wait a sec—how do you even know which legal firm I’m dealing with?”

Sara gave that little girl smile and lifted a shoulder to acknowledge that she’d been naughty. “I saw their names when I looked at the house,” she said. “Right there on Eugenia’s writing desk.”

“So you called them?”

“I just left my name and phone number and the name of the company I work for. I said I’d love to represent the estate in selling the place. Was that so awful?”

Cissy was dumbfounded. “You should have talked to me.”

“I did. You showed me the house.”

“You begged to see it.”

“Okay, okay, I confess. I wanted to see it, yes.” She leaned closer and grabbed Cissy’s arm. “And I love the place. Love it. That house is one of the premier properties in the city. And get this, my clients, the ones flying in from Philly? They’re not only able to afford the house, well, just about any house in the city for that matter, but he’s a doctor, and his new job is at the medical school, which butts right up to your property. Look, I’ve got the plan.” She opened a sleek leather briefcase, pulled out legal documents and pictures of the house, digital images she’d taken the day after Gran had died. Gratefully, there were none of the blood-stained foyer.

“I can’t believe you did this. I told you then, and I’m telling you now, I’m not selling,” she said firmly. To her embarrassment, several people glanced in her direction. Cissy shrank away from the stares and snapped her computer closed. She wasn’t going to have this discussion here.

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