Along Came Sally by JM Dragon

Chapter 1

We all have our childhood nemesis—the bully, the prettiest girl in school, the most popular, the funniest, the brightest, the list goes on and on. All dependent on which category, and there could be more than one, that threatened your existence when you were an innocent in what was supposed to be a world of learning and friendship.

Things don’t change for what seems like forever when you’re growing up. At some stage between the ages of twenty and beyond we mature and see things for what they really are: Life isn’t always fair!

Once you become acquainted with that disenchantment, you can expect to become, and do like most of us, ready to proceed along whatever path is open to you. As you carry on, there is a degree of certainty that things will work out in some satisfactory way that will suit you as an individual.

That’s the theory anyway!

I can testify that now, at forty-five, my life is settled. I love the work I do and the friends I have. My home life is easygoing with only my cat Ferdinand (Ferdy) to worry about when I need a vacation. Fortunately for me and Ferdy, our home is by the beach. I have several friends who will gladly cat-sit for me if I decide to opt for a vacation.

If anyone asked me what I am afraid of, I’d have to say not a great deal. Okay, I’ve replaced silly childhood fears with healthy aversions, if you can call any aversion healthy, to mice and giant spiders. The latter seem to have a knowledge best suited to a clairvoyant, always appearing the exact moment I decide to take a relaxing bath. With that aside, I’d call myself pretty darn happy with my lot in life. I pride myself that I don’t have a bad word to say about anyone that I know personally, and I hope they haven’t for me.

Alas, what I hadn’t bargained on was a disruption to my ordered life coupled with the realization that some fears were only superficially buried. Because a week ago my world tipped back three decades, when along came Sally!

†

Sorry, for the record, my name is Angela Barossa and I’ve lived in Whistler, a small town on the west coast all my life. My parents were born here and came from immigrant Italian fishers. My great-grandparents’ profession does not sustain the family anymore. My parents decided real estate was the game and made a tidy profit buying and selling properties during their time at the helm of the family business. Eventually the mantle passed to me when they retired to the city. A lifetime by the sea in a small town had been enough for them and they wanted adventure. I suspect my eyes rolled at the time when they came up with that reason for leaving. Now, on reflection, I cannot see them being any place else. They love the hustle and bustle only a city can induce. They have a small but perfect apartment in the center of what might be called a bohemian area of York City. They love it and I am happy for them.

Barossa Realty, the family firm, is situated in Whistler’s main street. Ours is the only real estate agency in town. Though we aren’t cheap, we don’t overcharge our customers, making us a family firm to be proud of. Other realtors have tried and failed to take up the challenge of satisfying vogue customers who want to live by the beach. We especially serve the wealthy who ride the bandwagon of finding the beach a popular spot for second homes. My parents had prided themselves on being able to offer anyone in Whistler who wanted to stay here with their families the opportunity to do so. What was left on offer went to the highest outside bidder. I’d made a hefty profit with a couple of smart private purchases of my own in recent years. At the end of the day, there was a healthy mix of what was good for the community and what was good for the bank balance. After all, Barossa Realty is a business.

I share my office with an associate, Jane Campion, who is ten years my junior. After two failed marriages and constantly leaving a shared domain, she decided that it was time to put down her own roots. That is how we met. She was reeling from her second divorce, and I’d been given the reins to the business and needed an assistant. I helped her find a dream home in her price range, and Jane showed me that she had a natural flare for what was good and bad in a house. I offered her a job shortly after we had viewed one of the homes she was considering. That was five years ago, remarkable how time flies.

I told you it was a week ago when my world went into a tailspin, didn’t I? Ah yes, of course I did. Jane and I were in the office as usual on a Friday afternoon, discussing whether to close an hour early. That way we could celebrate my forty-fifth birthday with a few beers and a pool game at Starkie’s Bar, one of my favorite haunts. I know it doesn’t sound exciting, yet it worked for me.

A few minutes later, as I was locking up the filing cabinets while Jane collected the placards situated on the sidewalk, a fax began shooting through the machine. My eyes glanced at the offending item. I contemplated ignoring it when I heard the final beep indicating it was done. Jane was in charge for the Saturday reduced hours, and I had the Sunday part-time hours. It worked well for both of us. Jane was a devoutly religious person who refused to work on a Sunday. I, on the other hand, was what she merrily called a philistine, probably right on the button. I think the only time I go to church is for the usual three events, christenings, marriages, and deaths. Should I or shouldn’t I read it? Of course, I should, otherwise I’d be thinking about its contents if I didn’t sneak a peek. I walked briskly over to the machine and plucked the sheet from the paper tray and glanced at its contents.

“Hey, anything of interest? You look like you’ve seen or read about a ghost.” Jane’s voice brought me out of my numb state. I must have been standing there like a fool, holding a piece of paper with my mouth wide open.

“What? No, no, nothing like that. Here read it.” I passed the sheet over to Jane and waited for her to say something. I sat down heavily in my chair. I thought that beer we had been talking about sounded like a great idea now.

I did not have to wait long as Jane whistled, then her cheerful voice read the contents out loud.

“Required for immediate purchase:

Returning resident of Whistler needs a property with views over the sea, lighthouse, and pier. Minimum two bedrooms must be in excellent condition and fully modernized. No price limit.” Jane grinned. “Wow this is great. I love the last part…no price limit. Do you know Sally Maguire, Angela?”

Do I know this person? Of course, I did. How could I ever forget her? She was my nemesis at school. Through all my formative years from the age of five to fifteen that person had haunted my mind. “Yes, I know her.”

Jane turned her head, and I had no choice but to look squarely into her eyes. She must have seen something there that was unusual.

“Is this a problem for you?” she asked me directly

Shaking away the notion that someone I hadn’t seen in thirty years had any meaning in my life, I replied briskly, “Don’t be silly, Jane. I was thinking that was all, and I know just the place.” I stood and gave a tight smile. “Let’s have that beer. I’ll tell you about my ideas for a property on the way and you can answer the enquiry tomorrow.”

Jane was as excited as a pack rat when I mentioned the property.

Her face beamed. “This could be a big deal, Angela, though you don’t appear to be pleased at the prospect. Don’t you want the commission?”

I had to consider my words carefully before I replied to that perfectly good question. Especially in light of the property I mentioned, the commission would be sweet. “I do, it’s just I kind of had my heart set on adding it to my personal property portfolio.”

Jane rolled her eyes and locked arms with me as we entered the bar. “You and your portfolio. You do know you can only live in one house at a time, right?”

Laughing we walked toward the bar and ordered our drinks. Minutes later we saw a free pool table and put down our money and began to play. An hour later the question I was dreading finally dropped into our conversation and I knew I would have to answer it.

“Angela, what do you know about Sally Maguire?”

I knew Jane’s motives were purely business. It was a useful part of a realtor’s game when they researched or had prior knowledge of what a client liked or disliked in the area.

“What do I know?”

My mind drifted to the first time I had ever set eyes on Sally…