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“Maybe.” I hadn’t shown Doc the Hessler house yet, so there was still a tiny chance he wouldn’t turn his nose up at it.
“Good morning, all.” Jane dropped onto the seat next to me. Her floral and vanilla perfume drowned out Mona’s jasmine scent. “Two coffees, please,” she told the hovering waitress.
I sent Mona a raised-brows look, wondering why her happy vibe had faded at hearing about the work Wolfgang’s house needed. She stared back, shaking her head.
Jane pulled out her magic task notebook and flipped to a page with today’s date written in the top margin. My shoulders now tight, I sipped my orange juice and tried not to fixate on Mona’s mood change. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glance of Jane’s “To-Do” list and noticed my name in the number-two slot. The back of my knees started to sweat.
The waitress returned with Ray and Jane’s coffees. I waited while she took each of our orders, wondering why I made Jane’s list.
Jane clicked her pen and checked off the first task on her notepaper. “Ray, why don’t you start with a status report.”
While Ray, and then Mona, rattled off the potential and actual sales they had in-process, I stared at my orange juice and rubbed my finger over the cold sweat covering the glass. At least I had something to report on today.
A house, a ranch, and a buyer were all things to tout, especially the Hessler haunt. Once I had that place spit-polished, it was sure to land on Jane’s “Big Winners” list; Harvey was all fired up to buy a bachelor pad in town after his place sold; and I’d found a new subdivision about ten miles northeast of Deadwood that I hoped was just up Doc’s alley.
“Your turn, Violet.” Jane’s voice interrupted the locker-room pep talk I’d been giving my battered ego.
I sat up straight and spilled my three bits of news, ending with my golden goose—the Hessler house.
Mona patted my hand, her smile that of a proud mentor.
“About Wolfgang Hessler’s place,” Jane said, placing a checkmark next to my name in the number-two spot on her list. “We need to talk about something.”
I stared at the checkmark. “We do?”
“Yes. There’s a slight problem.”
“What’s that?” I dragged my gaze from the To-Do list and looked across the table at Ray, whose smirk now stretched ear-to-ear.
Jane poured some cream in her coffee. “As you already know, the city of Deadwood is listed as a National Historic Landmark and a Historic Place on the South Dakota register. However, were you aware we also have a Historic Preservation Commission meant to protect the town’s historic character and integrity?”
“No.”What was the problem?
“This commission,” Jane continued, “has implemented some strict rules and processes that everyone must abide by, including Realtors. Rules such as what color you can paint the house, what type of windows you can use to replace the old ones, and any other exterior changes you plan to make to the place.”
“Crap.” I sat back, my mind scrambling for a route around this road block. “Where do I find the guidelines for this kind of stuff?”
“They have a website with more details.”
“Okay. I’ll go online after breakfast and print the rules.”
Ray snickered, seeming to enjoy some private joke on my account. I resisted the urge to stab my fork through the back of his hand.
“I like your attitude, Violet.” Jane frowned at me as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips. “But that’s not the problem.”
My eye twitched. “What’s the problem?”
“You don’t have a Certificate of Appropriateness from the commission, so you can’t work on the Hessler house.”
Of course. I should have known there’d be some hoops to jump through with a historic agency at the helm. “Fine. I’ll get one of these certificates and then start.”
Ray laughed out loud. “You do that.”
“You don’t understand, Violet.” Jane lowered her cup. “The Commission can take weeks, even months, with several reviews and sometimes public hearings before granting a certificate. There’s no way you’ll be able to put the Hessler house on the market before the end of the month,” Jane finished just as the waitress arrived with our food.
Fuckity fuck!My appetite evaporated along with my optimism.
The rest of the Friday morning meeting was merely a drone of background noise for the tragic play,Death of a Realty Career, being performed in my head. As we filed out of Bighorn Billy’s, I knew I couldn’t go back to the office yet. Sitting there at my desk, listening to Ray schmooze his clients and pitch Benjamin to Jane would make me grind my molars down to little nubs, and I couldn’t afford a visit to the dentist right now.
