The Power House Wives. Fredrica Greene
up, and I'll hand them to you."
Charlie almost choked on the musty smell the faded drapes emitted. When she had finished hanging them, Charlie noticed ripples of water stains across the bottom. The coarse fabric blocked most of the light, casting the room in a funereal gloom.
Freya slapped her hands together."That looks fine."
"How long do I have to keep these up?" Charlie asked.
"As long as you need to. Unfortunately, your divorce decree has you at a bit of a disadvantage, so it takes some creative planning." She winked at Charlie. "Just think David and Goliath. Now, where is your bathroom?"
"You can use the one over there." Charlie pointed toward the powder room by the front door.
"Oh, I don't need to go." She pointed up the stairs. "I mean up there." She pulled a paper bag from the box. "My bag of tricks," she said.
Charlie led the way upstairs to the hall bathroom. Freya reached into the bag and pulled out an ink pad and a small, pen-like sponge, the kind used to moisten stamps in the days before self-stick. She pressed the sponge onto the ink pad and daubed black smudges around the shower stall and the toilet. "A little mold never hurts." She looked around as if mentally measuring. "This is over the dining room, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Good," said Freya. "Do you have a wet mop?"
"A wet mop?" Charlie asked, baffled. "What for?"
"You'll see. Let's go back downstairs."
While Charlie went for the mop, Freya carried the step-ladder into the dining room, positioning it near one corner. When Charlie came back with the mop, Freya told her to go back upstairs. "Stomp around the floor in front of the toilet."
"What?"
"Go ahead."
Charlie headed up the stairs, shaking her head in disbelief. This woman was nutty as peanut butter. She stood in front of the toilet and stamped her feet, feeling like an idiot.
"You can come down now," Freya called.
Charlie found Freya had moved the stepladder closer to the corner of the ceiling and stood on the top step poking the ceiling with the sponge mop. "I think this is pretty much under the toilet," Freya said. She pressed the mop-head against the ceiling, until it had left a dark stain. Back on the floor, she stood, hands on hips, studying her handiwork."We may have to touch that up from time to time."
"One more thing before we take a break," Freya said. She handed the paper bag to Charlie. "Put these where they'll be noticed."
Charlie peered in and saw three mousetraps baited with cheese. She held the bag out to Freya. "I can't use these. My dogs might get into them."
"Of course. I wasn't thinking." She pushed the bag back at Charlie. "Keep these in case you need them. You never know when they'll come in handy."
"But I don't have mice."
"That's not the point, is it? Now," Freya said, "I could use a cup of tea."
Lucky and Sadie followed them into the kitchen where the cool afternoon sun streamed in through the garden window above the sink and splashed a warm light on the cream tile counter.
Freya sank into one kitchen chair and put her feet up on another. "I'm getting a little old for this."
Charlie turned on the flame under the teakettle and placed two tea bags in her best china cups. As they sat sipping their tea, Lucky settled his large body on Freya's feet. She looked amused. "Friendly, isn't he?"
Gunther padded into the room and stared out the sliding glass door to the back yard. Charlie got up to let him out.
"You'll want to have them inside when the prospects come," Freya commented. "Especially him," she said pointing to Gunther.
"They wouldn't hurt anyone."
"They don't bark or growl at strangers?"
"No. They're all pretty old and mellow."
Freya rested her chin in her hand. "Old," she muttered. She lifted her head and smiled. "They must have accidents in the house at their age."
"Never," Charlie said defensively."They're completely housebroken."
"Too bad." She scratched her head. "Where do they do their business?"
"I take them on walks. Or in the back yard." Charlie said. She looked at Freya. "You don't expect me to have them do it in the house, do you? That's going too far."
"Oh, no. But if they feel the call of nature before the visitors come, don't clean it up. In fact, if you can, shovel some of it near the door."
"But it'll smell and attract flies."
"Exactly. That's why I brought these." Freya rummaged through her sack and pulled out two rolls of brown tape. "Fly paper." Freya held up a roll in each hand. "We'll hang these by each door."
Charlie had to laugh. "I didn't know that existed any more."
"You just have to know where to look. Let's start with the front door."
"But the dogs don't go out there."
"Doesn't matter. These make a great first impression."
Charlie picked up their tea cups and carried them to the sink. Freya followed her, took the tea bags from each cup and rubbed them over the white porcelain, leaving a web of brown stains. "Don't worry, dear," she said as Charlie looked on in dismay. "You can use scouring powder on these when your guests leave."
"You know," Freya said as they walked out the front door, "a few pots with dead plants would be nice here."
Charlie stood on the step ladder as Freya handed her a spiral strip of sticky paper. "This is disgusting," she said, as she thumb-tacked it to the eaves.
"Exactly. I can't take credit for this though. I learned it from one of my clients."
Charlie looked at the front door, festooned with a brace of fly strips, and grimaced. "How am I supposed to live like this?" she asked as they hung strips outside the kitchen door.
Freya uncurled the last sticky brown paper coil. "Consider it an investment in your future. When it bothers you, picture a moving van pulling up to the house."
"You know, Craig will hear about this, and he'll have a fit. He'll make me undo all this. And that'll be the least of it."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Freya looked at her watch. "Oh my. It's after two. I'd better get going." She scurried to the living room where Charlie's ivory silk drapes were spread over the couch."Help me carry these to the car, will you? I'll keep them for you."
Charlie blinked in the gloom of the room, its windows shrouded with dingy curtains. "Isn't this awfully obvious?"
"Maybe. But buyers will be turned off anyway." Freya picked up one end of Charlie's good drapes while Charlie took the other. "Most people have no imagination. They can only see what's in front of them. I wanted you to make the place look its best before so the realtor would set a high price on it. Buyers will come here expecting to see a gem in move-in condition."Charlie couldn't help smiling. "Instead, they'll see dog poop and dead flies."
Freya winked. "Exactly."
After Freya left, Charlie loaded the dogs into the back of her station wagon. There were bound to be fireworks, and she didn't want to be around when Sheila exploded. With gritted teeth she placed the house key under the front door mat. There was no Lokbox on the door as yet, although it was only a matter of time.
Charlie didn't see how in good conscience she could hire an agent. It would be unfair to ask someone to try to sell her house at the same time she was doing everything she could to make sure it didn't happen. She'd fight this battle alone. Unless she counted Freya. Maybe she hadn't given Freya enough credit.
The sun was high in the sky, but it was surprisingly nippy for October. Charlie went back into