Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View by Catharine Bramkamp Page A

Jump. I’ll accept any excuse to visit my favorite childhood vacation spot. And now, with the possibility of Lucky getting his hands on it, it became that much more precious.
    The library wasn’t tall or imposing, not like the Methodist church that dominated Main Street and possessed all the charm and character that made it the most photographed building in town. The library sits a block uphill from the church, at the crest of the Main Street hill, which aids its imposing features, since it’s edifice is not as high as the church steeple.
    I think the library building lends the town a bit of gravitas. The miners and owners in this town were surprisingly literate, establishing reading rooms long before the actual library was built in 1907. I appreciated how the library carried the weight of secular intellectualism to counter the soaring wood steeple of the church.  The old theater was down one more block from the church.  So we have it all: art, religion and science on a single street.  Science and intellect teeters at the top of the hill, which always pleased me.
    “So you’re Allison Little.” Scott Lewis was a slight man, handsome in an immature way, his features not really formed, which seemed odd for someone in his thirties. Then again, maybe he hadn’t had much life thrust upon him. I made my way up the familiar steps of the library. I felt a bit of nostalgic twinge with each step.   What would Lucky do?  Would he really tear down the place in favor of condos?  
    “Hello.”  I took his hand; his grip was strong.  Good, not a wimpy man. If I’m lucky, a buyer who knows what he wants. Wait until Inez hears about this, I’ll be the golden girl again in no time.
    “If you get the bid here, will you turn it into a bed and breakfast?”  I asked casually. He could name each small room after a famous author, or local author, it’s been done before, but tourists always love it.
    “Turn myself into an innkeeper?  No I don’t have the personality or the patience.  We once stayed in a bed and breakfast, here as a matter of fact, but dad couldn’t stand it, he said he didn’t want to make friends at 9:00 in the morning, and we moved over to the Northern Queen.”
    “Where are you staying now?”
    “The Northern Queen, of course.”
    “Is your dad with you?”
    A raw, pained expression clouded his features.  I backed off and changed the subject.
    “If you don’t know if you’ll get bid, why a house?”
    He sighed, taking in the brightly colored quilts hanging over half-filled shelves, the special section reserved for Cornish genealogy.  Tall wood columns carved in the Corinthian style still held up the ceiling.  I glanced up at the same time he did.
    “You’re a local?  You can help me?”  He asked instead.
    “I’m enough of a local.”  I straightened my shoulders.
    “Your grandmother is a member of the Brotherhood of Cornish Men, isn’t she?”
    “Yes she is.”  I didn’t comment on what I thought about the members of the purported brotherhood. The ladies, it turned out, were too embroiled in the sale of the building, meeting, protesting among themselves, composing letters to the editor, meeting again, to pay much attention to my grandmother’s needs.  I was not impressed at all.
    “That’s good enough for me.”
    I nodded.  “What are you interested in?”

    Scott and I agreed to meet in a few hours to view houses. I was impressed with his focus and drive. It was refreshing. I had a number of things to do before taking Scott out to view homes this afternoon.  The first was to check in at Prue’s.  I walked into Carrie describing her complex wedding arrangements; Prue was a new and rapt audience.
    “We have an A list, a B list, a C list and a D list.”
    “Who’s on the D list?”  Prue dutifully asked.
    “Everyone else.”              Carrie rubbed her eyes. For a woman whose dream just came true, she was ill at ease. Her gigantic diamond engagement