Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out Read Online Free

stager, Stacey.  I know, I called in decorators to fill up the house in Claim Jump and was calling in help to clear our the house in Rivers Bend.  It takes a village to manage my stuff.
    “You have too much furniture and it’s all too big.”  Stacey fit me in to her busy schedule last Thursday night as a favor .  Stacey is a six - foot tall former volley ball player. She is still slender but had traded her tennis shoes for heels higher than I could ever hope to manage. She swayed vertiginously in the center of my living room. 
    “It’s comfortable.” I automatically argued.  Here she was , fitting me in, making an evening house call , and I was arguing, not the most auspicious way to begin our client/expert relationship.
    “Sure it is, but all this big mission furniture makes your downstairs rooms look too full. And you need to get rid of the books.”
    I suppressed a sigh. I knew she was right, but I loved my books, down t o the last ratty paperback.  But I asked for the advice. So, after my meeting with Stacey, I began dutifully pack ing away hundreds of book copies and moved the boxes to the garage, ready for my next trip up to Claim Jump. I found five novels I could part with and set them on top of the la st box. I would donate those to Scott’s lending library.  Scott and Sarah had turned the old library into a part used bookstore, part lending program. He and Sarah ran F acebook pages, websites and created a way to check out the books on - line.  It was pretty magnificent. I don’t know what the former occupants of the space, the ladies of the Brotherhood of Cornish Men thought , nevertheless, my grandmother Prue, member in good standing, thought the idea was lovely.
    “Clean up Claim Jump.”  Debbie stood by my gate and blandished her sign like a blunt instrument.
    “Get it?  Up and Jump rhyme.”  She waved the sign at me but had the decency to stay on her side of the fence.
    I nodded and tried to look encouraging. I’m not good at encouraging idiocy.
    “And what are we cleaning up Debbie?”  I could feel the new, good vibrations in my house and felt pretty secure.  Shouts echoed from the back.  Ben yelled something I couldn’t make out. 
    “Everything! ” Debbie bellowed. “The pot growing, the pot smoking, the sidewalks, the government, the loitering, the only thing that is working at all is our co - housing unit and that too may be under siege.”
    “The co-housing units under siege?  By whom?”  Now that Lucky Masters was no l onger the villain and no longer capable of clear cutting long swaths of National Forest because the trees blocked his view (what with being dead , Lucky as well as the trees ) , I didn’t think there were any problems left in good old Claim Jump.  Except for dry rot in master bathrooms .
    “Someone found out we didn’t follow some obscure ordinance and they want us to fix it or they ’ll shut us down. Can you believe someone would be that petty?”  She glared at me, strands of her gray hair waved in the breeze as if it had a medusa-like life of its own.
    I opened my eyes wide and shook my head.  “No, who would be such a stickler for the law and details like that?” I knew perfectly well who, it had my grandmother written all over it. She probably created carbon copies and filed each into three different county departments just to make sure the redundancy protected the filing.
    Her best friends, Pat and Mike probably didn’t stand aside and let her do all the work either.
    Summer, head of the theater, walked around the corner from the parking lot. 
    “Hey Allison, did your friend find you?” 
    I looked at my phone.  “Not yet.”  I called back.  
    Debbie glanced over her shoulder at Summer but did not rush over to commiserate with her.  Ah, Donna had been right.
    I did not relish Debbie hovering around looking for a mistakes in our construction, our sub contractors, any of that. 
    A lone motorcycle, a Harley, roared by and drowned