Cemetery of Angels by Noel Hynd Read Free Book Online

sturdiness of the old dwelling. Whoever had put this place up had done the job solidly and professionally. Bill Moore wondered if the same builder, circa 1910 he guessed, had put up the whole block.
    “Now I’ll show you something unusual,” Essie finally said. “I’m taking a chance here because this bothers some people. But it doesn’t bother me, and I hope it doesn’t bother both of you.”
    She led them to the high brick wall that enclosed the rear garden. There was an old bench against it. “See if we can stand on the bench,” Essie said. “See if it will hold us.”
    Bill did the testing, climbing on the bench and bouncing. He pronounced it safe.
    “Now look over the wall and tell me what you see,” Essie requested.
    Bill offered a hand again to his wife, who climbed up with him. Together, not knowing what to expect, they gazed at the adjoining acreage.
    They saw nothing but lawn until they let their line of vision wander farther. And then their eyes settled upon an armada of tombstones and granite markers, some appearing quite grand and ornate from a distance. Bill and Rebecca were looking at the backside of a cemetery.
    “We’re adjacent to a graveyard?” Rebecca asked. “Is that what you mean?”
    “San Angelo Cemetery,” Essie said. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?” She paused and answered her own question. “It shouldn’t.”
    Rebecca didn’t answer, suppressing a little shiver that she couldn’t explain.
    “The near territory is vacant,” Bill observed. “It looks like all the burial plots are farther on.”
    “That’s correct. What you see is the rear of the cemetery,” Essie said without looking. “I’ll tell you what that means for YOU.”
    “You don’t have to,” Bill said, warming to the circumstances. “It means no noise, no loud parties, and no new houses.”
    Esther Lewisohn smiled. She could not have phrased it any better herself. “I think of it as a rather cozy situation,” she said. “But it gets even better. There can be no new graves back there, even though you see empty space.”
    “Why is that?” Rebecca asked.
    “By local statute,” Essie said. “The zoning laws in this section of Los Angeles were changed shortly after World War Two. Nothing new goes into San Angelo.”
    Quirky, the Moores decided, but it worked to their advantage. Essie raised an eyebrow.
    “Now, if I’m not rushing you along,” she said, “let’s go back inside.”
    The Moores followed. Essie called a powwow in the living room.
    “I want you young people to listen to me for a moment,” Essie said next. “You’d be doing yourself a favor to look at this property carefully. The estate is anxious to close the deal. The price is seven hundred fifty thousand but that’s very soft.” She frowned slightly. “As I said, Mr. Nickels is handling the estate. Ted Nickels. Not one of my favorite people. The less he gets his three percent of, the more it pleases me, even if it comes off my commission, too.”
    Rebecca wandered off for a moment. She took a second look at the kitchen. She liked it. The room was big and spacious, with more glorious old wooden cabinets than she would know what to do with.
    “Just how soft is the price?” Rebecca heard her husband ask.
    “Squishy soft,” Esther said triumphantly. “Downright mushy.”
    “Okay, Essie. Just tell me. The tops I can go is maybe seven hundred twenty thousand. Seven forty if we really push it. How ‘squishy soft’ is Ted Nickels?”
    “I think, if you came in for seven twenty, he’d start to salivate,” she said. “But being a lawyer…” Here she grimaced again, “He’d be obliged to dicker. I’d tell him you were firm, but might if I talked to you get you to go up a little.”
    “What’s a little?”
    “Seven forty. I think for seven forty you could take this. Then go to the crooks at the bank and build an extra twenty thousand dollars into your mortgage loan to use for fix up. And I think you’d be in