There were any number of high-priced Realtors in Atlanta who owed me favors, and I had just the person to help me. Tildy Habersham knew her stuff and she had some of the highest value penthouse listings in town. She was the kind of salesperson who could sell gasoline to an oil baron. It was always a good idea to watch your back when dealing with her. Still, she was loyal and trustworthy, once you’d proven yourself to her.
“Felix Cotter, as I live and breathe!” Her words dripped with so much honey I almost felt sticky, and the lilt of old world Georgia was stamped on each one. It was all fake, of course, mainly to snag rich, old Southern boys in housing deals. She had charms that I was sure had parted many a man of his pants and anything else she could lay hands on over the years. Once she
