Margaret Walked Away From Scottsdale With a Blue Mug and Eighty-Nine Million Dollars
The ice knocked against the thick rim as he took a long drink.
“Renee picked up two extra weekend shifts at the hospital,” he said to the quiet yard.
“That’s sensible of her,” I said.
“I had to take the Willow Creek listing down from our regional office board this morning,” he said.
“My managing broker wanted to know how an independent trust bought it right out from under our agency’s bid.”
I gave him no answer.
He gazed out at the sycamore, where the late sun was turning the highest leaves a bright gold.
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