Read The PMS Outlaws: An Elizabeth MacPherson Novel for Free Online

bad feelings. Sort of haunted, only it’s doing the haunting.”
    Holly sighed, wishing for the hundredth time that the other partner in MacPherson & Hill had come instead. A woman wouldn’t have to think about the house at all. She’d fall under its spell in a nanosecond. Men were so hopeless. They acted as if houses were just places to sleep and keep the rain off your clothes.
    Summoning a perkiness bordering on cheerleader, the Realtor said, “Come on, then. I’ll show you around.” Her voice echoed in the cavernous hall. “The rooms are empty—well, most of them. Each one has a fireplace, and all the mantels are different. The one in the front room here is marble. If you look closely at the leaf carvings you can make out little faces—nymphs and satyrs. I think this mantel was imported from Italy just after World War Two. A lot of old castles were in ruins because of the war, and since many of them could not be restored, wonderful things could be bought from the salvagers.” She tapped the wall. “This paneling is oak, also imported from an estate in Europe.”
    Bill, whose interest in architectural details was minimal, had wandered over to the windows and was staring out at the side lawn.
    “We’ll do the garden later,” said Holly. “It has a pleached walk. I’ll tell you what that is later, too. Would you like to take notes? No? Well, I think it’s all written down in a brochure, anyhow. Now, come back and look at this floor. Solid oak, can you believe it? And this gilt-bronze dolphin light fixture came from a chateau in France. It would cost a fortune to build this house with new materials today.”
    Bill nodded. “It probably would have cost a fortune in 1948, too, but apparently the builder didn’t use new materials.Didn’t you tell me that he just used bits from damaged houses in Europe after the war? Hopefully with the knowledge and permission of the former owners.” He scanned the walls. “I don’t suppose there are any Van Goghs on display here?”
    Holly decided not to know what he was talking about. The conversation was veering dangerously close to the forbidden topics of politics and religion, neither of which had any part in a sales presentation. Smiling, she pushed open the door to the next room. “You know, this paneled dining room is a gem, and it could double as a conference room for your law firm!”
    She led him through the dining room and into a small, shabby kitchen. “This will have to be remodeled, of course,” she announced briskly, with the generous profligacy of one who knows the changes will not involve her money. “I’d just gut it and start over, if I were you. With some granite countertops, fluorescent lighting, and custom appliances, this kitchen would be wonderful.”
    Bill stared at the battered white refrigerator. It was shorter than he was and its contours were rounded, in this case an indication of great age for a refrigerator. Its door was dented, and the white finish had chipped away in spots, leaving a smudge of gray and suggesting that its presence in the kitchen was a remnant of an earlier, unlamented era, rather than a sentimental gesture of preservation. The thing looked at least forty years old, and along with the rest of the kitchen, it was sadly out of sync with the magnificence of the mansion. Antique was definitely not a desirable condition in kitchen appliances, Bill decided. When on impulse he opened the refrigerator to see if it still worked, he found himself peering in at an array ofblue and silver aluminum cans on one shelf and cellophane wrapped packages on the other. They felt reassuringly cold to the touch, and they were obviously of recent vintage. “Pepsis and Twinkies?” he said.
    “The breakfast of champions,” said a hoarse voice from the doorway.
    They turned to see an ancient old man in a tattered bathrobe standing in the doorway that led to the sunporch. He seemed to be composed entirely of blue veins and wrinkles, but the two