Our eyes met. After a startled moment I blinked and collected myself.

“I’m Aurora Teagarden,” I said, and waited for the inevitable. Sure enough, sleek, dark Mrs. Bartell sniggered before she could stop herself. “My mother is delayed, which she very much regrets, and she asked me to meet you here so you could begin looking. There’s so much to see in this house.”

There, I’d done my mother proud.

Mr. Bartell was about five ten, forty-fiveish, prematurely white-headed, with a tough, interesting face, and wearing a suit even I could tell was a major investment. His eyes, which I was trying hard to avoid, were the lightest brown I’d ever seen. “I’m Martin Bartell, Miss Teagarden,” he said in an unaccented Voice of Command, “and this is my sister, Barbara Lampton.”

“Barby,” said Barbara Lampton with a girlish smile. Ms. Lampton was maybe forty, broad in the beam but camouflaging it very skillfully, and not altogether happy at being in Lawrenceton, Georgia, pop. 15,000.

I raised my eyebrows only very slightly (after all, my mother wanted to sell this house). A Barby was laughing at an Aurora? And she wasn’t Mrs. Bartell, after all. But was she really his sister?

“Nice to meet you,” I said neutrally. “Now, I’m not really showing you this house, I’m not a licensed realtor, but I do have the fact sheet here in case you have any questions, and I am familiar with the layout and history of the house.”

So saying, I turned and led the way before Martin Bartell could ask why this was any different from showing the house.

“Barby” commented on the marble-topped table and the silk flowers, and I explained about the furniture.

To the right of the foyer, through a doorway, was a very sizable formal living room and a small formal dining room, and to the left the same space was divided into two large rooms, a “family room” and a room that could be used for just about anything. Martin Bartell examined everything very carefully and asked several questions I was quite unable to answer, and a few I was.