Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 05 - A Deadly Change of Luck Read Online Free

from the moron school of driving.   I didn’t know you could get a driver’s license from a box of Crackerjacks,” she complained, leering at the man in her rear-view mirror.  I shrunk down in my seat and peered into the side-view mirror, just in time to see the alarmed man shake his fist at us. 
    As we crested the hill, she pointed to a house on the right.  “See that house?  I just sold it last month.  Cute little place , but the people who bought it— crazy as loons.  Two bed rooms, one bath, and four kids— all girls.  Can you imagine?  Where are they all gonna sleep?  Six people and one bathroom?   The poor father will never see that room.”
    I shook my head, but before I could say anything, she was pointing to another house on the other side of the street.  “Sold that one, too.   And over there?   That’s my listing,” she said as the Lincoln drifted into the oncoming traffic lane.  The car coming the other way blared its horn at her, causing her to swerve back to her own side of the road.  She made the maneuver as though it were a common occurrence.
    When we finally pulled to a stop in front of the little old estate-sale house, I peeled my fingers from around the door handle and rubbed them to try to get some blood flow back. 
    “This is it,” she announced, pushing her door open to bang against a tree she’d parked too close to.
    I eyed the house.  “It doesn’t look bad,” I said, noticing that it appeared to be well maintained, except for the overgrown yard.
    “The outside is fine.  It’s the inside that’s the problem,” Fiona explained.
    I followed Fiona through the yard gate and up the path.  The house was old, probably built in the fifties, but it fit right in with the other mature homes in the neighborhood.  It was painted Nantucket blue and white.  Neat little shutters added charm to the front of the house, which would have been too boxy and plain otherwise.  The gingerbread trim reminded me of visits to my grandma’s house when I was a little girl.  I half expected Grandma to greet us at the door in her apron.  At one time, there were flowers and shrubs in the flowerbeds, but they had died of neglect.  A bougainvillea, displaying massive clumps of bright pinkish-red petals, flowed over the fence from the neighbor’s yard.  I could smell jasmine in the air.  This would be a nice place for anyone to call home.  
    Fiona opened the front door, and I blinked a couple times to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me.  The scene was such a sharp contrast to the outside that I couldn’t believe it.  Holes in the walls.   Cupboard doors ripped off.  Carpet torn up.   Vent covers mangled and bent.  It looked like someone had turned a herd of angry bulls loose inside the small house and then waved a red flag.
    “What happened?” I muttered, gazing around the ruins.
    “Vandals broke in.  Darn shame.  From the looks of the outside, it was probably a cute little place,” Fiona explained.
    “Vandals?   Is this a bad neighborhood?” I asked.  I knew that no matter how good the house was , if the area was bad, then I shouldn’t waste my time or money.
    “Not really.  Oh, there was a rash of break-ins a few months back, but those turned out to be a couple of under-disciplined kids.  Police caught them and scared some sense into them.  Haven’t had any trouble since.”
    I wandered through the kitchen, calculating in my head what repairs needed to be made—new appliances, new cabinet doors, patch and paint the walls.  As I continued through the house, I couldn’t figure what the vandals had in mind.  It seemed almost as though they were looking for something, but I couldn’t understand why they’d punch holes in the walls.  Fiona followed me through the house, pointing out every positive feature she could.
    “Now, close your eyes,” she said, taking me by the hand to lead me out to the back yard.  “This is the best part.”
    I obeyed her