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I sat back and scratched my neck. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’m just a little nauseated.”
He was making me just a little nervous. “Would you like a glass of water?”
“No. Fresh air will help.” His body tensed visibly, his face creasing for a blink of time. “Can we look at some houses tomorrow?”
“Sure. Morning or afternoon?”
He shoved open the door and practically fell outside. “Afternoon,” he hollered in at me.
I stood up, unsure if I should follow him out. “You want to meet me here at twelve-thirty, then?”
“No. You come to my office instead.”
“All right. Then I’ll see y—” He was gone before I could finish. I dropped into my seat, feeling like a hit-and-run victim.
A pounding on the front plate glass made me jump out of my chair. Mr. Nyce waved at me and slid an envelope through the brass mail slot in our door. He disappeared around the corner again before I had time to frown.
Heart pounding, I picked up the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a piece of paper and a hundred-dollar bill. I fished out the paper:Sorry about your pants—Doc Nyce.
In spite of the whole Marx Brothers routine with Mr. Dane ‘Doc’ Nyce, I grinned. I had a buyer.
Now I needed a house that wasn’t on the brink of being condemned.
