don’t do coy, and I don’t play games.”
Kim turned his gaze to me.
“Yes,” I said, reading the question in his eyes. “She’s for real.” Kim’s shock was a totally natural reaction. I should have been shocked, too. But I had become so accustomed to Dena’s brand of insanity that it honestly didn’t faze me anymore.
“Okay,” Dena said, running her hands through her short dark hair. “You have my number both literally and figuratively. What’s yours?”
“You mean my phone number or…”
“Who are you? What’s your story?” Dena clarified.
“Right,” he said grinning sheepishly. “I guess I’m sort of smart. I’m in my last year at SF State.”
“What are you studying?” Dena asked.
“I’m a radio and television major with an emphasis on audio production and recording.”
“Really?” Dena asked. “So what’s it going to be, radio or television?”
“I’m thinking about music production. I DJ a couple nights a week now and I’m always mixing my own stuff. I think maybe I can make a real career out of it. I’m going to try anyway. Either way it’s a hell of a lot of fun.”
Dena threw an arm over the low back of her chair and nodded approvingly. “See, that’s a conversation topic that could get us through a long dinner at a three-star restaurant.”
Kim lit up and then caught sight of a man watching him from the other side of the restaurant and immediately straightened his posture. “My manager’s watching me, but I’ll call you tonight,” he whispered. I noticed Dena didn’t bother leaning back when he reached for her plate, thus causing him to “accidentally” brush her right breast. He blushed again before hurrying away under his manager’s watchful eye.
“I arrived with the expectation of meeting with one incredibly beautiful woman, but here I find two!”
Dena and I both looked up to see Scott standing a few feet away. He stood with his left hand tucked away in the pocket of his dark denim jacket and the bulk of his weight on the corresponding leg, a still figure against the hustle and bustle of the sidewalk and street behind him. The passing tourists probably thought he was pausing to admire the outdoor café, but I knew he was posing for the benefit of the women in the area, and the knowledge made me queasy. Perhaps he noted my disgust because he broke into a self-conscious chuckle and strode over to our table. “Dena Lopiano,” he boomed, “I haven’t seen you in years.”
“Yeah,” Dena said wistfully, “those were great years.”
Scott laughed again and sat down between the two of us. “Any chance you two would agree to a few drinks and small talk before we get down to business?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” Dena and I said in unison.
“Very well.” He contorted his face into an exaggerated frown before relaxing back into his trademark Rembrandt-White smile. “Here’s the deal with the house. If Kane has to list it, he’s going to list it for $1.75 million with the expectation of having to reduce it to as low as $1.6. Personally, I think he stands a good chance of getting the full listing price.”
“Shit!” I seethed. I did some quick math in my head. I might be able to swing it if I got a really big loan from a bank at an extremely low interest rate. I gazed at my wineglass. Goodbye fine wines, hello cheap wine coolers.
“But if you buy it,” Scott continued, “and you make an offer right now, he’ll sell it to you for the original price of $980,000.”
Dena and I exchanged confused looks. This was fantastic news, but it didn’t make sense. “Scott, are you playing a game with me?”
“Kane is sentimental about that house. He grew up there, and when he heard his father had died, he briefly considered moving back in. But as it stands he’s already living in the house he inherited from his grandparents. He doesn’t want two houses and he doesn’t want to be a landlord or deal with property managers. Still, he doesn’t want to sell to just anyone.”
“But I’m just anyone,” I pointed out. “I’ve never met Kane. I have no relation to him. Nothing connects us at all.”
“On the surface, you’re right,” Scott said. “But Kane doesn’t see it that way. He knows that under normal circumstances I wouldn’t give a potential buyer a night tour of a residence. And normally you wouldn’t come within fifty feet of me, in the day or night. Hell, I haven’t even been able to get you to return my calls. But then, out of the blue, Oscar calls me up and tells me he wants me to sell his place ASAP. On that same day you show up at the open house I was holding in the Marina, and I convince you to come to see Oscar’s place at eight-thirty that night, the night Oscar died.”
“So?” Dena asked.
“So Kane thinks that means something,” Scott explained, still addressing me. “He knows you want the house, but he also thinks the house wants you.”
I brought my fingers to my temples in an attempt to massage away the headache that was beginning to form there. “If I understand you correctly,” I said, “you’re telling me that Kane is crazy.”
“Poor people are crazy, Sophie,” Scott corrected. “Kane is eccentric.”
“I see. Are his eccentricities ones that can be medicated?”
“Probably, although I don’t think Kane approves of drugs that aren’t recreational. But that’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that you can have the house, and you’re getting it for a song—at least by San Franciscan standards.”
“This is too good to be true,” Dena said. She was looking at Scott, but her eyes had become so narrowed with suspicion that it was questionable if she was able to see anything beyond her own eyelashes. “There’s got to be a major catch.”
“A major catch?” Scott scoffed. “He wants to sell you a house for over $600,000 below market. There are militant vegetarians who would eat a truckload of Big Macs just to get a crack at the deal I’m offering you. All Kane wants from you is a one-month escrow, your word that you’ll treat the house well and your commitment to become a lifetime member of the San Francisco Specter Society.”
“Excuse me?” Scott had said the last part so fast that I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. I certainly hoped I hadn’t.
On the sidewalk some man was screaming obscenities, but none of us turned to see what the problem was. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Scott said in a voice that was something less than convincing. “It’s a group of people who get together twice a month for about an hour or so just so they can hang out, schmooze and, um, try to talk to ghosts.”
Dena burst out laughing while I tried to digest this unexpected request. “Scott,” I said slowly, “please tell me this isn’t a deal breaker.”
“You won’t have to go to every meeting,” Scott quickly assured me. “Just go regularly for the first year or so and then if you can only make it to a meeting every two or three months after that I’m sure Kane will be okay with it. The group really isn’t
