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Saturday, September 14th (Another long day)
When Charlotte opened the front door, she almost gasped.
Bosley Warren wasn’t much smaller in person than he was on the billboard. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever been up close to someone this large in her life: just short of seven feet tall and nearly four feet wide, with eyes that looked twinkling and smiling on the billboard but in person just looked like small round black beetles buried in fat.
But those beetle eyes were moving around fast as Charlotte walked him through the house, taking in every square inch of the entry, the kitchen, the living room, taking in every object large and small. She could almost see the calculations occurring behind them. He reeked of strong aftershave or cologne, which made her nose itch.
“Well, now, Ms. Anthony,” he drawled—and it was a good imitation of an authentic drawl, designed to make others think he was just an ordinary good ol’ boy there to do some honest business with them—“you’ve got some mighty fine things here, all in a real beautiful house. It’ll put people in a buying mood, and I’m sure there will be no problem making a tidy sum from it.”
“That’s good to hear, Mr. Warren. How would you proceed? How much of the set-up do you take care of, and how much would I have to do, that sort of thing?”
“Call me Bosley, Ms. Anthony, and if I may call you Charlotte?” he asked, with an inflection that automatically made Charlotte feel she was in a used car lot, and not in her lovely house. But she nodded her assent, and he continued,
“Okay, Charlotte, here is how it works. I see you’ve already started cleaning things out and boxing up stuff, but I want you to stop, as you might be throwing out something that somebody might want to buy. You’d be amazed at what people will pay money for at these sales, and even something that goes for a couple of dollars adds to the total. As we like to say, ‘it might be worth more than you think!’ Even any clothes you don’t want, you can leave those for us to sell, too.”
Charlotte knew he was thinking of the pile in the walk-in closet and felt herself blush. “The rod fell down this morning....”
Bosley grinned and lifted his hand to stop her. “I unnerstand.”
She then felt less embarrassed and more irritated, as if he now had something on her, which was of course ridiculous, wasn’t it? Snap out of it and pay attention, she told herself.
“Anyhow, my team and I would then come in with big banquet tables and set out some things by themselves and group some less expensive items together in boxes. This tends to speed things up, as many people will spend five dollars on a box of stuff that has only one thing they really want in it. We like to call ‘em treasure boxes. That’s part of the enjoyment folks get from going to sales like this, as sometimes you never know what else might be in a box you pick up for the one thing you thought you wanted.” He nodded in a knowing manner, almost winking at her, as if to imply another side of things that were known, but not directly spoken of.
“That’s good to know.” Charlotte paused, and watched Bosley’s eyes do their darting around thing again, as if he didn’t even realize she’d stopped speaking. Maybe it wasn’t so unlikely that he found a first edition of Least Objects. “Is that how you found that book?”
Her question took a full two seconds to register in his brain. He didn’t look at her this time, but smiled more to himself and said, “Somethin’ like that.”
Then he continued with how things would be set up. Charlotte found it a lot to take in, but heard nothing that differed from the details in the spreadsheet Lola had given her to look over. “What should I do with the things I want to keep?”
“That’s up to you. Generally, we mark items not for sale as such. Some clients move everything to a lockable bedroom or study, particularly small things. You might want to use your office. There will be a representative in every room of the house to keep an eye on things, don’t you worry about that.” He opened his notebook to a calendar page. “My crew and I can come in and start setting up two weeks from today. We work fast and can have your sale a week after that. That’ll give you some time to sort through anything personal you want to hold back.”
“It sounds good, but it’s a lot to take in. How soon would you need to have my answer?”
“The sooner the better, and—.”
Bosley’s cell phone interrupted him, and he surprised her with the speed with which he pulled it out of his jacket pocket and answered it, as if he had been waiting for the call. “Yeah,” he said into the phone, turning his back to her and moving away to stand in front of the fireplace. “What?” He paused, then drawled, “Oh, for cryin’ out loud.” He turned back toward Charlotte as he ended the call with, “I’ll be there in about half an hour.”
Charlotte had to give the man credit for quickly getting past whatever news was disturbing enough to take the color out of his face, and resume his smile, even if he couldn’t control the way the flesh around the outside of his eyes sagged with worry.
“Charlotte, here’s a copy of our standard agreement, if you’ll just look it over, plain English, all straightforward,” he handed her the paper from the folder, and then offered her a pen.
“I want to sleep on it, Bosley. Like I said, it’s a lot to take in. I can drop this off at your shop, though, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, that would be perfectly all right. Lola said you are in a little bit of a hurry, and I’ve set this date aside for you, so don’t wait too long if you wanna keep it. Best you let me know one way or the other no later than 6 p.m. on Monday, okay?”
Charlotte had the sense that if he didn’t have someplace else he had to get to he would have pressed a lot harder for a decision right then and there. As it was, however, he made his way back through the kitchen and out to his Esplanade, drawling remarks about the weather and the “cute knick-knacks,” as if he really wasn’t in a hurry, even shaking her hand with the tips of his fingers. He took his time backing out of the driveway, but she could see him driving faster and faster down the lakeshore road, and blow the stop sign on the way to the highway.
Back in the house, she looked over her “cute knick-knacks,” and felt her mood turning dark. She knew that she ought to go with Bosley to get as much cash as she could from everything—who knew how long it would take before the house sold, if it would sell enough to cover the mortgage, or how long it would take to rebuild her career and income? But it was hard enough to effect a complete life change like this without feeling like one’s dignity was also being liquidated. The smell of whatever fragrance Bosley Warren was wearing still lingered in the living room, and she felt smothered by it.
A cup of tea in her familiar, cozy office put Charlotte in a better frame of mind. She called Helene, and asked how Olivia was faring.
Helene sighed. “I went to see her this morning, and thought maybe she was coming to, she started talking. I was holding her hand, and then she looked right up at me and said, in French, “It’s my book! My book!” I asked her what book that was, but she drifted off again, and went back to sleep.”
“Maybe she meant the notebooks?”
“Possibly. It seems likely. But there were those books on the floor. I wonder if whoever else was there took something that belonged to her. I did call the police detective and told him, but it is hard to tell if we should take it seriously or if she was just talking in a delirium.”
There was a lull in the conversation, and Charlotte looked down at the various papers Lola left behind. The chart with the estate liquidation services was on top, and it dawned on her why one name in particular seemed familiar.
“Helene, when you were preparing to move to Elm Grove, you had an estate sale, right?”
“Yes, that is right. Paul and I had so many things in that big house and of course I could not take much of it with. Why do you ask?”
Charlotte told her about Diane’s budget plan and about listing the house with Lola McKennie. “She recommended that I use an estate liquidation service, and I seem to recall your sale was handled by Stanton’s, right?”
“Yes, Martin Stanton handled it. He was great. He’s done a lot of high-end sales in the region and draws a lot of antique and art dealers as well as collectors. He keeps very accurate records, which helps appraisers with knowing the provenance of a work of art or fine crafts like rugs and pottery, and when it was over with, the place was spotless. I can’t recommend Stanton’s enough.”
“That is high praise. He is worth the thirty percent commission, then?”
“Oh yes. If I had tried to sell everything on my own it would have taken forever, and I would have left myself vulnerable to fraud, maybe even theft. And I might not have been able to sell all of it, because I don’t have his range of contacts, the potential market.”
“Did you consider anyone else before you hired Stanton?”
“No, actually. Paul knew him well, and I admit that was enough for me. I know there are other companies out there, and other ways of doing it. Olivia was toying with the idea of using Warren Brothers if she would ever have a sale.”
“They are on the list of liquidators that Lola gave me. They only charge ten percent, but they don’t do clean up afterward.”
“They might be just fine for some sales, I wouldn’t know. But if you have high-end things, you want to draw the right potential buyers, and Stanton can do that. I’m not so sure a pawn shop would.”
“I must admit I don’t like Bosley Warren very much.” She went on to explain about his visit.
“Oh, dear, that sounds like the stereotype of such businesses, like used car dealers, although I admit I’ve known a couple from years ago that were rather low-key and well-mannered.”
“Something bothers me about his whole set-up. I mean, he’s got the pawn shop, the payday loans, he’s evidently an expert on model trains and old books, if what I read in the news is accurate, and he’s got estate liquidation and even auction services. Somewhere along the line there’s going to be a conflict of interest, wouldn’t you think?”
“That’s what I said to Olivia!” exclaimed Helene. “She has so much small stuff it would be hard to keep track if they held back something for themselves, to sell in the shop. But she was impressed by the publicity they got for that book.”
“Helene, do you think Stanton’s would be suitable for me, even though I don’t have as much as you did, although there are some nice things here, and given that I need to keep as much cash as possible?”
“Well, I’m biased, obviously, in favor of Stanton. But let’s do the math.” Charlotte could hear Helene scribbling on a piece of notepaper. “Let’s use Ellis’ piano as an example. Say Stanton, who draws big spenders, sells it for five thousand dollars. He keeps thirty percent, which is fifteen hundred, netting you thirty-five hundred. Now let’s say Warren sells the piano for only four thousand. But he only takes ten percent, which is four hundred, which nets you thirty-six hundred. Warren comes out on top, by a hundred dollars. But, and this is where things like reputation come in, Stanton’s client list brings people who are more likely to find your house appealing and affordable, and to recognize and buy other things like your art collection, and that beautiful leather sectional. It’s impossible to predict the actual outcome, but you can get a sense of the odds.”
Charlotte laughed. “Helene, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m sold. I’ll call them first thing Monday.”
“Well, thank you, dear heart. But there’s a bonus if you want to go with Stanton.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve got Martin’s home phone number, and I am confident I can get this going very quickly, if you’d like.”
Et tu, Helene? Somehow, Charlotte thought, she’d never before noticed the extent to which people seemed to like to take care of their own.
A scant two hours later, Martin the liquidator was at the door, a compact man in his fifties with smile crinkles around his eyes and the muscles of someone who moved furniture on a regular basis. He wore tan chinos and a royal blue polo shirt with an embroidered Stanton Estate Service logo. He was using a tablet computer and stylus, but was clearly struggling. “Sorry about this. Hold on.” He went back to his truck and returned with a clipboard and pen. “My company is trying to go paperless, but obviously I need more practice before actually using that thing on the job. This way I know I won’t make any mistakes.” His voice was deep and pleasant, and Charlotte imagined he was a good singer.
“Thanks so much for coming over so quickly!” she said, when he came into the house.
He smiled at her effusiveness. “Not a problem. Helene Dalmier is a good friend. Her husband played a big role in my getting my company started.” He took a long, sweeping look over the kitchen and the deck, then entered the living room, making notes along the way.
He immediately zeroed in on the baby grand. “This would be a good draw.”
“I’ve asked my daughter and her father about selling it.”
“Great. I hope they okay it. I see you have a Hannah Verhagen!” He pointed at the big painting above the fireplace, and they all admired the abstracted floral still life, done in the artist’s signature layers of translucent colors. It was called “Blossoming,” and Hannah had painted it for Charlotte in honor of beginning a new life after her divorce.
“Oh, you know her work, too?”
“Yeah,” Martin nodded, not taking his eyes off the painting. “She’s pretty popular around here, and quite a few locals have her work from back when she lived in the area.”
“We went to Corton together, and she gave that to me as a housewarming present when I moved here. I wasn’t planning on selling it, though, as I love it and she is a good friend.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I know it would make another draw. Her work has shot up in value over the last few years.”
“It’s highly unlikely. I’m getting rid of the vast majority of my things, but plan to keep the best of the best if I can, and that painting is one of them. I’ve got a few other pieces of art that can be sold, though some of the artists are probably better known in Chicago.”
“Not a problem, and in fact what I can see of your collection in here will appeal to our client list. We draw buyers from Chicago and the suburbs, as well as Milwaukee, Indianapolis, and even Detroit.”
They continued through the house, and Charlotte again felt embarrassed at the mess of clothes in her closet, but Martin was nonplussed, saying “that’s an easy repair,” and she even lost her self-consciousness about the clutter in the other rooms and the basement. After Martin saw everything and made a call to the main office, they settled in the kitchen.
The basics, as he explained it, were not that different than what Bosley Warren described: tables set up in every room, items not for sale were marked or moved into a locked room, and a representative in every room.
“Do you make up boxes of a lot of small stuff to sell as a lot?”
Martin shook his head. “Not as a general rule. With common household items we are often offered a price for several things, where the customer creates their own lot and we use our discretion whether or not to accept the offer. You have a lot of things, but not a lot of junk, so there’s no need to go that route, and it wouldn’t appeal to our client base, either.”
Charlotte’s self-esteem got a much-needed boost from his words. She did, after all, have quite a collection of art and fine crafts and had acquired good furniture through her designer connections; it was a relief to talk to someone who recognized them for what they were.
Martin continued his explanation of company policy. “Anything that doesn’t sell, we can donate to charity, and you can choose from our list of charities where you’d like it to go, if you have a preference. We take 30% of the total sales. All we need is proof of ownership of the house and homeowner’s insurance, and your signature on our contract. We have a large crew, so we are able to handle several sales in different locations at the same time, and we have a crew available to set up and conduct your sale two weeks from today. We ask that you not be present during the sale, but you are more than welcome to be here during setup and immediately after, in case you change your mind about anything that is up for sale or if it doesn’t sell, whether you want it back or it should continue to charity. Our service includes hauling away whatever doesn’t sell, plus general cleanup, such as vacuuming and bagging up trash.”
“I have so many boxes of things in the basement that I haven’t looked through in years and really ought to go through them before anyone else does!”
He laughed, and once again she was struck by his pleasant voice. “It’s generally a good idea, yes, but we’ve seen it all, Charlotte. We are often hired by the children of elderly people who are going into nursing homes or hospice, and the children live hundreds of miles away and can’t get out here to do the sorting. We uncover thousands of personal items like photo albums and mementos and letters. We’ll usually set them aside. We’re efficient, but I’d like to think we aren’t ruthless.”
“That’s reassuring. On one hand, I know the faster all this happens, the better, but on the other hand, I don’t want to get rid of anything I’ll later regret.” She paused for a moment, to take a deep mental breath. Here it goes, she thought.
“Let’s do it.”