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I put it out back in the yard by the trees till someone comes to claim her. Put a new washer in the bath tap. Should be all right for you now,” he said. “Be another half hour or so. Two’s what I said, right?”
    “Oh, yes. Don’t mind me. I was in the area, is all. I’ll leave you to it. I’d like to show it today at three if I can. I have a couple interested,” she said casually. Mr. Gretner would have no idea (or interest) in the epic Selling of the Belisle House.
    She turned to go and he called back to her: “I—um—tightened your screen door for you,” he said.
    She could hear the smile on his face without turning around to see it. “I’m very pleased,” she said, hoping he could hear hers.
     
    The Armstrongs met Glenn outside 362 Belisle at three on the nose. Mr. Gretner’s truck was gone. She had hoped they would be late so that she could just walk through the house and see that everything was tidy.
    They pulled up in a green, late-model Volvo station wagon, thankfully without their apparent children. The Armstrongs were Cal and Effie, a dentist and his hygienist wife. Effie explained right away that they had to practically “run through” the house, as they had to pick up the children in a half hour.
    “Traffic will be terrible,” she said, tilting her head and looking over the place. They waited for Glenn’s lead.
    “Shall we, then?” And she led them up the walk, with Cal pulling up the back.
    They passed by the place where the pillar had been removed without remark. Glenn glanced down at it, the black earth turned up like a grave, recently filled.
    Breezily she said, “The hedge goes all the way around the house. Caragana, you know. It will bloom, come summer.” They went inside.
    They did, indeed, run through the house. They did the upstairs first. “We’re practically there anyway!” Effie said. The tap did not drip. They liked the little blue bedroom. They had two children, Effie said. “Earl’s nine and Katie’s thirteen. She wouldn’t mind the yellow room. You’re sure that smell will come out?”
    Glenn assured them it would. They nodded agreeably to everything Glenn told them.
    The back door stayed shut when the three of them went through to look at the backyard.
    “It’s a lovely, large backyard. Perfect for youngsters,” Glenn said.
    “It looks a little like a cemetery,” Cal snickered. Glenn turned with a smile, about to explain the style of the English garden, when she saw what they were referring to.
    Perched against the back fence, almost but not quite buried behind the trees and tangles, was the pillar, boldly white against the black and gray of the hibernating perennials. Spectral.
    “Is that where they’re buried?” Cal laughed. “Waverley, is it?” he read, tilting his head sideways. Glenn glanced over at Effie, who had a hand to her throat.
    A breeze came up and blew dead, year-old leaves around the yard.
    “They’re picking it up tonight,” she said.
     
    The Armstrongs admitted they hadn’t given the time necessary to really look at the house. They admitted it was most of the things they were looking for. They asked Glenn if she would mind if they slept on it and gave her call in a couple of days. That was most often the code for “no, thank you.”
    Glenn thanked them and gave them another issue of her card and told them that there were a number of houses on the market in their price range. “None are as lovely as this,” she added.
    “Not as convenient either,” Cal said. “This one’ll take you from cradle to grave.” He laughed and winked at Glenn. She smiled gamely and let him have a little chuckle, but the joke was wearing thin.
    They didn’t make an offer.
     
    After they drove away, she walked through the house, checking to see if all was at rights. She thought briefly of propping the window in the sickroom open again; she couldn’t help but think of it as that, and decided it was a bad idea. She also didn’t want to go in