The Flip Read Online Free Page B

mist.
    “Handsome is as handsome does,” he said, admitting with a shake of his head that this was a rare specimen of male perfection.
Why couldn’t he be fifty and bald?
he speculated. This was going tobe a problem. Tessa was attracted to this human, and he could see why. Materializing above the mortal, Gerald watched him struggle for air, hating the fact that he knew this man was vital and alive. Gerald was tired of being stuck here in this sort of limbo, waiting for Tessa. He really should just leave, he thought, as he dissolved into yellow smoke to follow Tessa up the chimney.
    The howling wind in the fireplace flue was the first thing Brad noticed as his breathing returned to normal. Doubled over, the crushing weight had disappeared with the same haste as it began. Whatever it was, he was fine now.
No more burritos for breakfast
, he thought. He was going back to egg whites. Clearing his throat, he shook his head; his pulse slowed to normal, and hedecided he was just winded. What else could it be? He rested his hand on the dark wood mantel, feeling a strange vibration in its surface.
This was getting too weird
, he thought. He had to shake off the feelings of doom and gloom. He had work to do, and it wasn’t going to get done by itself. The longer they took with the flip, the more his wife would get attached to it. The sky was darker, rain was coming on, and he would have liked to finish tomorrow, but knew he had another good hour of work left. Saturday would be easier with the two of them going through the mountains of refuse. Julie would be able to tell whether some of this junk was valuable.
    He lit the flimsy chandelier with its tulip glass shades. Its light flickered and wavered,bathing the room in a buttery hue. Brad shivered a bit, then sat down on the can to start sorting through another of the boxes. He and Julie had figured all the valuables had been stripped by the more recent occupants, but he had found a pretty good haul in the undisturbed hole. Forty-five minutes later, he had more piles than he could count: clothes, letters, books, any papers he found interesting, a tidy pile of old money, perfume bottles, canes, old lace-up shoes, parasols, and a growing stack of paintings. He picked up an old glass lampshade covered with grime. Brushing dirt from the mosaic pattern of the glass, his breath caught in his throat when the trapped colors were freed to reflect in patterns on the wall. He held it up to the late sunlight streaming in the bare window and spun it slowly, watching thereds, blues, greens, and yellows paint the dull room with vibrancy. It was like spring had entered hell, he thought with a wry grin. Might be valuable. He gingerly placed it in an empty box to take home. His eyes smarted from the dust, and as much as he’d wanted to go through the rest of the house, his back was aching. This work was filthy.
    Brad had agreed to this business because he hated driving the limo. After being in Afghanistan, chauffeuring the rich and spoiled seemed superfluous. It was hard to keep his mouth shut when they demanded he speed up to risk a ticket because they were running late. Some paid him just to walk their dog. It was stupid work. This was much more satisfying. Hehad worked with his father around the house when he was a kid, so most of the minor repairs were easy. Brad had liked the feeling of pride when he handed over the keys to the young couple who’d bought the flip they finished last month. It was a two-bedroom Cape, an easy fixer-upper they bought at foreclosure for less than $40,000. Twenty thousand went toward insulation, a new kitchen, one new bath, and a fresh coat of paint. They did it in the industrial style, all lean lines, and it sold for over $180,000. They made a tidy profit, their biggest, and Julie had spotted this monstrosity on the way home. Why, he thought to himself, did he choose to take the long way home? Normally, they went on the highway, but that night he took the scenic