A Toy for Christmas

by Mary Jane Forbes

  A black SUV turned into the driveway sparking Charley’s adrenalin. She punched in her code on the lockbox, retrieved the key and opened the front door a crack. When the Springers alighted from the car, pausing to look at the house, Charley felt this could be a match—buyer and seller.

  Blaise Springer looked like a man from a casting agency—long face framed in a thick black cap of hair, an old fashioned black bush of a mustache, and black eyes. But he was not scary, more like a dimpled French charmer and perfect with his adorable wife—dark silky hair, plump lips and a smile that made you want to give her a hug.

  Without taking their eyes off the house, Mr. Springer grasped Dahlia’s hand and the pair strode up the walkway and up the steps. Dahlia held out her hand to Charley.

  “Hello, Charley. I’m Dahlia and my husband Blaise.”

  Shaking their hands in turn, Charley said, “Happy to meet you. It’s a beautiful day to see a truly lovely piece of property. Let’s go in.”

  The Springers eagerly trailed through the 1901 spooky house following Charley as she spouted the highlights of each room. Blaise never dropped Dahlia’s hand. Several times they caressed a window casing, a cabinet door in the pantry, and always followed by the exchange of a loving glance.

  Grinning, Charley continued her sales pitch. “The home was restored in 1997, but they were careful to keep the charm of the era. As you can see, it’s been maintained beautifully,” Charley said as they returned to the foyer.

  “Any rumors of ghosts roaming at night, or during the day?” Dahlia asked.

  “None that I’ve heard,” Charley said, smiling tentatively. She certainly wasn’t going to make jokes about a ghost. A ghost might dampen the Springer’s obvious enthusiasm for the place.

  Walking out to the porch, they gazed around at the overgrown garden and then out to a grove of trees. Holding hands, they stepped down the weather-beaten wood stairs to the back yard. Charley followed. Not too close, letting them get a feel for the land…five acres.

  Dahlia plucked a lemon off a small tree, polished it on her black T-shirt as if it was a diamond. She held it up to her husband, both nodding.

  Charley grinned but kept her mouth shut. Maybe they’re going to plant a lemon orchard. She couldn’t think of another thing to say as they made their way back to the house, up the steps to the front door. “So, any more questions? It’s really a—”

  “We’d like to make an offer,” Blaise said. “My wife and I are authors. Cozy mysteries—ghost stories, witchcraft, fortune telling, magic, Ouija boards, Tarot cards—nothing sinister,” he said with a chuckle. “The minute we saw the video we felt inspired.”

  “Wonderful. I can see how this stately manor captured your attention.” Charley paused, took a deep breath. “Why don’t you follow me back to the agency and we’ll draw up a document with your offer. The owner is out of town but reachable.”

  Charley fumbled with the lockbox. Were the Springers for real? They weren’t kids. She pegged them to be somewhere in their fifties although Dahlia looked younger then Blaise.

  “How far is it?” Dahlia said.

  Oh no, they’re hesitating. Second thoughts. “Less than twenty minutes,” Charley said taking a deep breath.

  “That’s fine. We’ll follow you, Miss Kingman,” Blaise said.

  Charley let out her breath, flashing a megawatt smile as she handed Dahlia her business card. “Here’s the address and my cell number in case we get separated.”

  Dahlia nodded with a grin. The Springers were definitely on cloud nine as they bent over folding themselves into their car waiting for Miss Kingman to lead the way.

  Charley whispered, “OMG, OMG, OMG” to her reflection in the side mirror as she pulled out of the driveway. Breathing was difficult fearing any movement would trip the positive vibes coming from the car following her. Every time she checked her rearview mirror, the Springers were in an animated conversation, both appearing to be talking at once. The only thought that lingered in Charley’s mind was to find a drone pilot school ASAP.

  Chapter 13

  ────

  A WHIRLWIND OF ACTIVITY was set in motion when Dahlia and Blaise Springer signed the offer document for the stately manor. Charley, searching the listing documents Rachel had prepared, contacted the owner’s brother. The brother said the owners were staying in a hotel in Hamburg, Germany. With the time difference, Charley placed a call as they were about to retire for the night. The offer, full price, was accepted including the remaining pieces of furniture in the house. The Title Agency in charge of handling a sale of property hustled over to the triple RRR agency, Rachel Ramirez Real Estate. Such deals were normally handled in his office but he agreed to meet at Rachel’s agency. A lawyer in Vermont met with the Springers via video conference. Charley kept pinching herself—were Dahlia and Blaise really for real?

  The owner’s lawyer, tasked with watching out for the welfare of his client, kept trying to slow the deal down, but the Springers would have none of it. After all, they were paying full price for a property that had been on the market for months. A local Daytona Beach bank lawyer, contacted by the Vermont lawyer, was added to the mix. Charley, dragging in additional chairs, moved everyone to a larger conference.

  The Springers didn’t want to be snowbirds any longer. They just wanted everything to be final so they could go home and put their house up for sale in Vermont—their daughter would handle that sale—and move lock, stock, and barrel immediately to their new home in Florida. The Title Agent informed the Springers that the sale would not be final for another five to seven days. Everyone was okay with that.

  Charley Kingman participating, facilitating, refereeing the transaction, her first sale, constantly checked with Rachel. Coincidental or not, Charley received the documents of her name change the day before. It seemed to be a sign that she had chosen to be real estate agent—her first sale with her new name. Charley learned later that an official preparing the documents for her change of name had tangled with her father on numerous occasions and was secretly tickled pink to stick it to Geoffrey Kingman that his daughter no longer carried his name. Charley asked Rachel from here on out to use her new name, and to change her employee profile to Charley King.

  The whole process took several hours—many calls and signatures verified by email crossing the Atlantic. The deed, the mortgage papers, and funds would be tied up with a bow when the Springers returned to Florida to take possession. They estimated their arrival at the agency to pick up the keys to the stately manor would be two to three weeks, give a day or two either side.

  Getting wind of the sale, the daughter of the owners was furious when she talked to her mother in Germany. “How dare you sell the family treasure!”

  ────

  Charley King was a nervous wreck the day she waved goodbye to the Springers after receiving several hugs from the pair. Dahlia and Blaise considered Miss King their BFF, yes, best friend forever. They promised a séance after they were settled in the house now dubbed the stately manor as home.

  As the Springer’s SUV turned out of the agency driveway onto Dunlawton Avenue, heading to Vermont, Charley plopped down on her desk chair like a rag doll.

  “Congratulations, Charley. Your first sale,” Rachel said, a smile finally crossing her face.

  All Charley could manage was a nod. “Are all sales like this?” she whispered.

  “No, Charley, but all first sales can be daunting.”

  Charley slowly pulled herself upright, stiffened her spine and retrieved her cell from her suit jacket to make an overdue call.

  She had intended to call Michael ever since the Springers revealed they saw the video and asked to see the house, but she never had a minute to spare.

  “Hi, Charley. This is GK.”

  “Oh, I called the wrong number. I thought Michael—”

  “He left his cell by the coffeepot this morning. I saw it was you so I picked up. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, only just
that my world is spinning out of control…but I think I just hit the pause button. Did Michael tell you he shot a video of a property for me?”

  “Yep, I saw him hunched over his computer several nights ago. About bit my head off when I asked him about it.”

  “Well, a couple saw the MLS listing and called the agency, the one I work for. GK, they bought the house. Full price. My first sale. Can you believe it?”

  “No kidding.”

  “No kidding, and Michael didn’t charge me for the video. I mean, how nice was that?”

  “Ya, how nice. I’m sure he’ll get you to pay, one way or another.”

  “Well, he did say I had to promise to have dinner with him, and, oh yes, he wanted permission from the agency to let him show the video at the conference you guys are going to. By the way when are you and Frankie going to demo Mercury again for Dad?”

  “Any day now, at least that’s what Frank said was the plan. I hope you can make it. I’d like to hear more about your first sale.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “With the success of the video, your first sale, maybe you should learn to pilot one of our prototypes…take your own videos.”

  “That’s what Michael said. But I don’t know if I can do it, GK.”

  “Sure you can…I’ll help you. There’s a school, online training to pass the pilot’s test for a license. It looks cool. The license looks like a real airplane pilot’s with a line—Remote Pilot License. I can put you in touch with the school, help with the course work. I’m sending you a text now with the name. When you call say I referred you. They know me—collaborated on my video game.”

  “Do you really think I could do it?”

  “Sure. It takes practice. Lots of practice. But I’d be glad to help.”

  “I wouldn’t want Dad to know. At least not until I can actually take the video myself, if I can even get that far.”

  “I know you can do it. You’re smart and determined. That’s all it takes Miss Kingman.”

  “Maybe, but I still don’t want to tell Dad, or Mom. I’ll swear Frank to secrecy…he’ll understand. Oh, one more thing. I changed my name,” Charley chuckled.

  “To what?”

  “Charley King.”

  GK chuckled. “Cool move.”

  Charley said goodbye and immediately heard the Saints marching. As promised there was a text message from GK.

  Any fatigue, any doubts about becoming a drone pilot evaporated as she opened the schools website. There was a ton of information, and a name to call about enrolling. She’d browse the site when she got home to her cabin. It was definitely a wine and pizza night settled on her bed with her laptop.

  Tapping her cell, she called the beach house. “Hi, Hildy. Is Mom there?”

  “Yes, Miss Charley, she’s right here making a to-do list for Frankie’s next demonstration. Hang on.”

  “Hi, Charley. Is everything all right?”

  “Couldn’t be better, Mother. I just made my first sale, both sides signed the documents. It’s a done deal. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s wonderful news, dear.”

  “Tell Dad and Grandpa for me, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great, see you at Frank’s next demo. Bye.”

  A smirk crossed Charley’s face. “Take that Mr. Real-estate-isn’t-for-you, Charley,” she said as she removed a box of business cards she had printed from the bottom dresser drawer in the cabin.

  Chapter 14

  ────

  THE SHARP BUZZ OF the doorbell interrupted the partners’ hysterical laughter. Michael, in animated detail, told the story of the sugar bride and groom tumbling down layers of wedding cake.

  “Pizza’s here, amigos,” Frank called out wiping tears from his eyes. Opening the door, he smiled accepting the flat boxes containing two extra large pizzas. He tipped the delivery boy and returned to the galley kitchen.

  Michael retrieved a six-pack of beer from the fridge as GK set paper plates on the island counter.

  “Okay, Frank, give,” Michael said opening the pizza boxes releasing the aroma of pepperoni, sausage, mushroom and extra cheese to circle their noses. “What’s going on? Not like you to pick up the lunch tab unless you sold a drone on the sly.”

  “First of all,” Frank said, hitching up on a barstool, raising his open beer bottle to Michael, sitting on the end, and to GK sitting beside him, “I made a date with Dad, tomorrow morning, 7:30. I’m going to blow his socks off with Merc’s new maneuvers.”

  “Forget new. Just don’t let Mercury fly away over the ocean,” GK said wiping a speck of cheese from his chin. “He goes rogue and you get to chase him. That water was cold.”

  “Oh, poor baby,” Frank said.

  “So, we’re going to see Big Daddy. Did you alert Charley? I know she’d want to be there,” Michael said.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll send her a text,” Michael said tapping his phone.

  GK frowned. “How sweet,” he said, his lips pinched as if sucking a lemon.

  “Hey, GK my man. You want her? May the best man win.” Michael turned away his bare feet strumming the leg of the barstool as he took a bite of pizza, his eyes fixed on Frank.

  Frank set his beer down, stepped to the couch returning with his briefcase. He had spent many nights hunched over his computer. It was time to think big if his startup was going to survive. He dismissed any notion that he might fail. A Kingman doesn’t fail. At least, not Frank Kingman. He was going to show his old man. Yes sir. His company was going to leave his dad’s in the shadows.

  “Now, amigos, I have something to show you. I’ve been very busy besides putting Merc through his drills. I posted three job openings on LinkedIn. You’ll be amazed at the response.”

  “What job openings?” Michael and GK said in unison, glancing at each other, brows scrunched.

  Frank laid out three folders each labeled in large letters across the front—Marketing, Purchasing, Administration.

  Michael and GK reached for the nearest folder but got their hands slapped.

  “Not yet, men. Let me explain. While I was running Merc through a final test—by the way, his flying rogue was pilot error. I confess.” His words landed on deaf ears.

  Michael snatched the closest folder. “Marketing? We’re not ready to do more than we’re doing—Facebook group, Twitter posts, a mini video of Merc on YouTube.”

  “Purchasing?” GK grabbed another folder. “What? Are we going to start mass producing Merc? And, Admin—Human Resources and Finance?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.” Frank laced his fingers on top of his head, a smile crossing his face. “When we address the Vegas conference, give a demo of Merc’s prowess, I predict our quadcopter will become the talk of the town. And don’t forget Pigeon,” Frank said grinning.

  “Pigeon? That little drone is a plaything, a toy you built for an engineering project in our Junior year at—” GK began to say.

  Frank waved him off. “Stores are well underway with buying toys to fill their shelves for the holidays.”

  “Toys?” Michael said squirming off the barstool, tossing several slices from a half eaten pizza on his paper plate.

  “Do you think we could make some quick money?” GK said.

  “Maybe. Worth a try. We will have a captive audience at the conference to kick it off. I’ve done my research as to the size of the market…you know, we all did when we decided to go in together. But things have changed…for the better. By 2020 the projected consumer market for drones is north of nine billion. Hobbyists and toys are a big part of the market. I fooled around with an announcement—Pigeon under the Christmas tree. A toy drone for the Holidays. Grandparents giving a baby drone to grandkids. See how cute? An irresistible toy, a baby drone. Join the drone phenomenon.”

  “I don’t know,” GK said shaking his head.

  “You’re crazy,” Michael said. “Seems like a distraction from our main entry—Mercury, a drone with all t
he bells and whistles to do REAL work.”

  “Our mission at the conference is to create buzz, a big buzz. GK, design an ad, a flyer, something we can paste into an email to all attendees. Show me tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll get orders. Which brings me to the folders in front of you, and my business plan. We have to be ready. You’ll meet the top three candidates to fill the positions for our next phase. I picked the best from a slew of responses—six will be attending the conference.”

  “Responses? You already contacted people?” Michael said pacing.

  “Of course. You know the saying, ‘snooze you lose.’ We’ll tag-team the interviews. I narrowed the Admin candidates down to one. She’s flying into Daytona Beach tonight. Her name is Janet Scott. She’ll meet us at Dad’s tomorrow for Merc’s performance. We’ll start with Pigeon for a little fun. Grandpa Bernie will love it.”

  “Does Geoff know about all this?” GK asked.

  “Not yet. I’ll fill him in after Merc and Pigeon, a holiday toy, have dazzled him. Oh, and I think it’s time to rent some office space. That will fall under Admin.” Frank dug into his briefcase again. “Here are two locations near I-95, west side of Daytona Beach.”

  “Frank, you’re crazy. Geoff’s likely to pull all his seed money,” Michael said raising his hands in disbelief. “He’ll say no to any more funds. Have you thought of that? We’ll become persona non-grata like Charley Baby,” Michael said.

  “Oh, now it’s Charley Baby. Maybe you can keep sucking up to Geoff’s daughter, get his investor money for yourself through her? Is that your plan?” GK said.

  “You’re just jealous,” Michael snapped.

  “Jealous? No need for me to be jealous. I’ll leave that for you, while I train her to be a pilot. I’ve already helped sign her up for school to get her pilot’s license.”

  “Ok, and I suppose you’re such a hot shot that you’ll have her swooning so you can get in her good graces. I suppose you want a piece of the action. So sorry, bro, I was their first.” Michael said.

  “What are you two arguing about? My sis isn’t interested in either of you. She knows you as my business partners. That’s it,” Frank countered. “As for Dad, he is a businessman. He’ll be proud I’ve taken the initiative to prepare for the next step of our business plan.” Frank said.