Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out (33 page)

“Go to Video 120
,
”
h
e instructed.

“Stay in the kitchen,” I
recommended and started the video
. 

“How did you know?  Never mind.”  He
must have moved away from the front of Prue’s house, his
signal was clearer.  I didn’t know much about computers, but I know my cell coverage.

“
S
ee
in
the background?”
T
he video showed Cassandra, looking very photogenic, talking about
terroir
and walking up and down a vineyard. The grapes were purple and
fat;
she must have taped this only a few weeks ago. 

“See there?”
He asked.  I watched closely, I saw what looked like a
blur in the background up on the road level. 
I hit pause and made out what looked like a woman.
That
was
all.

“That’s all?”
I
asked
.

“You asked,”
h
e remarked. “
The same woman can be seen
in
two
other videos.”

“You’re sure
?
”

“Your friend was upset no?  Ask her about it.”

But why would Patricia care about a brunette woman in the background of Cassandra’s videos?

Chapter
14

Saturday
morning
Carrie wandered down stairs
before Joan was up
and headed for the coffee. “Patrick called.”

“That’s good.”

She filled a mug and contemplated the contents.  “He suggested I stay another day here.  But I have another fitting.”  She stood perfectly still.
“Allison,” she whispered.  “Does
he not want to be with me?
Am
I being
too shrill and demanding?”
 

“Are you both under pressure?”  I pulled out the milk and handed it to her.  She absently added the milk so quickly the contents spilled over.

“Stay, you can
rest on
Sunday
,
because you have to work today.”

I mopped up the spill and led her to the large center island.  “
You can keep me company for another day, it would
be a
huge, huge favor.”  I knew her hot buttons. She would stay to help me,
but
not to help herself.  I wondered what was going on. Was Patrick finally protecting her from the Furies? 
The wedding
planning was
essentially
finished.  Now we all just needed to play our scripted parts.
The dress was perfect and did not need “another fitting.” Everything that
needed
order
ing
,
had been
ordered.
Including me.
Jose and Ben were finishing up at the winery to get it clean
ed
up for the
wedding,
the caterers were the best in town.  I sighed.

“You kind of feel
superfluous
don’t you?”

“I’m just the bride
,
”
s
he said
morosely
.

“Well, it will soon be over.” I
ratcheted
up my voice to Tigger enthusiasm.  “And you can get back to real life.”

“What is real?”
s
he
asked
.

“Beside the
V
elveteen
R
abbit?”  Joan rubbed her eyes, her short red hair stood up around her head as if she used a fork to style it.

“Holding an open house
is real
.”
I said firmly.

I dropped off Carrie
and Joan, along with
two open house signs at the Grove street property. “Just show people around, don’t say anything,
give
them the flyer.” I tapped the listing price and my number. “Tell them I’ll contact them later today, when I’m in range.  Don’t tell them the part about not being in range.”

Carrie saluted.  “Thanks,”
she glanced around the tiny house.
“
I like this place, I feel safe here.”

“Why wouldn’
t you feel safe?”  The car door
slammed behind her and
she
and
Joan
strode to the front door, lock box key in hand.

  Safe. I supposed being watched all the time was getting on her nerves. Patrick told her he had hired detectives or security guys to keep an eye on either Carrie or her parents, whomever was in range.  But there was no one up here, which added immensely to the appeal of the place.

I left and drove up to Penny’s house
or
rather, the
former
estate of Lucky Masters.  I hoped the money from the sale
of this house
would go directly to the
t
heater, or to the police station, or to the Brotherhood of Cornish Men so they could buy their indexes or something like that.  If not, well I didn’t feel as inclined to line the pockets of Debbie Smith’s people.

I pulled into the empty driveway and opened the house.  I placed signs on the corner both to help the couple
who
made the appointment to see the house at, I glanced at my watch,
two
o’clock.  I also liked
seeding the neighborhood with
open house signs because it made the potential clients nervous; I wouldn’t want them to think they were my only potential buyers.

I quickly dusted off the most obvious surfaces, carefully avoiding the large empty fireplace that dominated the living room.

An accident.  I mused.  When is an accident murder?  I know that’s up to a jury, but I couldn’t help thinking that the scaffolding over the stemmer crusher was conveniently rickety at a crucial time, and the cases of wine fell just as poor Fred and Trish
a
Gault strolled underneath.   Was Fred meeting with Trisha?  D
id someone not want them to meet
?

Ben may know, I pulled out my phone to ask, but there was no service.  That’s right.  I wondered if that was a material fact worthy of disclosure.

Maybe not just yet.

The couple
with the appointment
did not love the place and so did not sp
end as much
time
in the house
as I hoped.  For the rest of the afternoon, I entertained
locals
who could not afford to attend last year’s fundraise
r – a house tour and lunch with
Penny Masters (th
ose proceeds
benefit
ed
the
t
heater).
But they loved seeing the last house that Lucky Master’s built. In other words, I got nothing but
lookers
who
already owned homes that were probably
so
deep
ly
underwater
they had no
leverage
to move up
even if they wanted
.

I was tempted to advertise
that the
house
featured a
3
80-degree view, but resisted.

I called Joan on the LAN and suggested they knock off early. W
e agreed to meet at Prue’s. 
I could
always
count on a party at my grandmother
’
s. 

When we arrived at 3:30, l
unch was
still
in full swing
.
T
he meal today featured indifferent sandwiches and refreshing sangria.  Pat and Mike
waited on
Prue, who
usually tired
by
late
afternoon.  I forget that the
elderly heal more slowly than we do.
  Don’t tell Prue I called her elderly. 

“What’s across the creek from the Miller’s place?” Carrie sipped her sangria and closed her eyes with pleasure.  “I shouldn’t,” she murmured.

“I’m driving you home.”  I sipped my own drink.  “Indulge.”

“It’s an apartment complex.”  Mike confirmed.  “Not in very good shape, but then the rents aren’t very high either.”

“Ah, that’s probably what it was.”

“Was what?”  Pat automatically cleared an armful of magazines, ready for recycling or for the library or for collages for shut
-
ins or whatever Prue saved them for
,
and sat down.

“A girl came down the from the apartments across the creek. I said hi but she didn’t wave or acknowledge me. Maybe she couldn’t see me very well.”

“At the very least she could see the ring.” I commented.

“You should talk.”  She shot back.

“What did she look like?”

“She was pretty, long brown hair in a long braid, very Claim Jump.  She was barefoot, but it’s warm outside, that’s all I can
recall
.”

We make terrible eyewitnesses. But the girl wasn’t important.  We ate, we laughed
.

“What did you mean about being safe?”  I remembered in a flash.

Carrie shifted and reached for the sangria pitcher.
She concentrated on pouring just the right amount of liquid into her glass, one bit at a time.  I did not lose interest as she hoped I would.  I waited her out.  She finally finished and took a careful sip.  Her eyes met mine over the glass.

  “
Okay.” She set the glass down and clasped her hands between her knees.  “
I got this call from Mary Bennett, she’s the executive director of the homeless shelter.  A woman came into the shelter three nights ago asking for me.  Mary told her I used to work for the Senior Center and maybe that’s what she was thinking of.”

“Was she homeless?”

“Sometimes you can’t tell
,
” Carrie pointed out with little heat.  “
But what
an odd place to look for me.”

“Did Mary say what the woman looked like?”

“I didn’t ask.  Should I call her back?”

“No, it probably doesn’t matter
.
”  

“I wonder what she wanted?”  She abandoned the question in favor of more sandwiches.  Joan needed to leave early.  Carrie, at the last minute, decided
not to spend another night with me, but
to leave as well. 
“I have that fitting
,”
s
he explained.  I was not
going to keep track of her or make her do anything she wasn’t up for. 

“Just a week.”  I counted on my fingers.  “You can do this, then it will be over.”

She hugged me and the two pu
lled away.
Summer 
approached
as Joan’s car drove down Main Street
. She was dressed elaborately as if for celebration.  Was this the closing
night of
You Can’t Take It With You
?  No,
last night was closing night.

“
Special
Council meeting,”
Summer
explained, as if reading my mind. “They are hearing more information about the fires.”

“And about Lucky
’s trust
?”  I glanced up and down at her outfit.

She pulled the lacy
shawl closer to her shoulders.
“I am just defending what Lucky would have wanted, which was to enrich the community, the fires were not his fault.”

I nodded. She was right.  There was little argument on that point.

“Hey, someone was looking for your friend, what is her name?”

“Carrie?”

“Yeah, a woman, long brown hair, she came into the lobby and was hunting around.  I stopped her just as she headed back stage.”

“She thought Carrie was back stage at the theater?”

“You know how
R
idge people are, not able to track very well.  I pointed out your grandmother’s place.  You are still staying there right?”

I glanced up at the front door with the stain glass fantail above it. “No, I’m here now.”

“Oh, then I gave her the wrong information. Thought you’d like to know.  What does your friend do?”

“Get married.”

“I didn’t know a wedding was a full time job.”

“This one is.”

It was pointless to
contact
Tom Marten. I had nothing.
All I
had
was this feeling of unease and one too many encounters with a mysterious, brown haired woman.

Summer was about to launch into another conversation when a movement by the theater doors caught her eye. “Customer,”
s
he chirped happily. 

I didn’t recognize the customer, and since I was feeling a little paranoid and suspicious, I followed
Summer
.  What if this was the man she hired to hurt Debbie Smith?  He was tall enough, but when I came closer, his face didn’t look right for the part
. And he had a full beard, so not my fantasy hit man.

“Can I help you?’ 
Summer’s
manner was both watchful and hopeful. I knew she wanted to sell him tickets
;
a brick with his name as part of the new entry, a plaque on the lobby wall.  Anything solid that would hold a plaque was for
up for
sale.

“Do you know Debbie Smith?”
h
e asked.

“Sometimes.”  Summer hedged.  Oh, it was about Debbie
,
and
Summer
did not know him.  That was all I needed to know. I made a move to leave but she grabbed me before I could escape.  “Why do you ask?” 
S
he addressed the man.

“We were suppose
d
to meet here at 3:00 to discuss the class action suit.
I guess there’s a
special
meeting tonight about it
though
.”

“Did you have a house up on Red Dog Road?” I automatically asked.  Summer dug her chipped polished nails into my arm. I did not flinch; it would take more than that to shut me up.

“I did, it was a summer home
,
”
h
e confirmed.  I carefully did not look at
Summer
.  “Was it insured?”

He nodded a
gain, a pleasant enough fellow.
“But Debbie said we could get more, much more.”

Summer suppressed a sigh.
“I’m sure she’s around here some where. Have you tried the co-housing unit?”

He shook his head and both
Summer
and I launched into the beauties and advantages of living in co
-
housing
,
none of which we believed.  We sent him on his way.

“Honestly.  I should either keep different hours or charge the Chamber
for
my time.”

“It’s because you’re so attractive
,
”
I offered.

“Watch out, they’ll be knocking at your door next.”  She nodded to my new house.  I glumly agreed.  I wonder if that magical “No Solicitors” sign would work up here?  It certainly had no effect on solicitors in River’s Bend.

“Wow, have you seen Debbie around?”  Just before five o’clock, Sarah bounced up the front steps and through the front door.

I dropped the corner of the large Turkish carpet I was dragging across the floor like an inert body and regarded Sarah.

Her blond
e
hair was tied back in a classic red bandana
now
faded to pink.  She still wore shorts even though it was starting to cool.

“Don’t you knock?”

“Don’t you close your door?” 
S
he retorted brightly.

  Sarah was rapidly becoming part of my extended family in Claim Jump. She was like
the distant sister who never returns calls.  Yet here she is.
 

Now that we had that exchange satisfied
,
I stepped over the rug and firmly shut the door. I had to
push on the door
a bit, but it finally squeaked closed. I did not bother to lock it.  What was the point?

“Why would I have seen Debbie?”  It was a reasonable question. Debbie and I were not friends.  We have even less in common than Sarah and I, but Sarah is cheerful and friendly.  Debbie is dour and disagreeable.

“She usually makes the rounds by now.”  Sarah glanced around the newly painted living room with clear appreciation.  “Love what you’ve done with the place.  And she did
n’t stop by yesterday either, so
I just wondered. Scott says you know everything,
s
o I popped by.”

Would that be one of the down sides to my new location
:
p
eople popping by?  I
couldn’t help make comparisons. My old house was located in the perfect
location, a little out of the way, no traffic on
a
cul-de-sac. In the Bay Area, find
ing
a no traffic zone is
akin to discovering the Holy Grail.  Light traffic, no traffic, quiet street, all these are trigger words that encourage
buyers to take
a second look at a home.  The ultimate combination of course is
quiet street
coupled with
easy freeway access
.  One of the many
oxymoron’s
in my business. 

But here I was, on Main Street living in a house that invited tourist photos and people just popping by. I was in it too
deeply to
complain.  I could always escape back to the impersonal River’s Bend.  But I did not want to.

“She makes the rounds?”  I gestured to the kitchen and Sarah followed.

“Wow, who did your kitchen?  Will he do our kitchen?  How did you get that refrigerator through the doors?  Debbie makes rounds
. She
like
s
to see what we’re all up to. And because of the lawsuit against Lucky’s estate, she wants to gather as many friends as she can.”

“Isn’t walking around a little old fashion
ed
?” The kitchen was perfect: just antique enough, with scored white cabinets and long tile counters (tile, sometimes in fashion
, sometimes not, but if you are
as
careless as I am, it’s the perfect kitchen surface.  I cook so infrequently that a kitchen must be built to survive my attempts at boiling water i
.
e
.
I place hot things directly onto the counter
without ever considering the ramifications)
. 

“I walk around
,
” Sarah confirmed
.
“I know it’s old fashioned, but so many of the merchants
like to do things in real time.  Sc
ott is building a Facebook
page
and blog for the kids to find their favorite books, so we have that covered.
”

“Kids who have cell phones and computer
s
read books?”

Sarah nodded, her bright blue eyes sparkling
,
“You’d be surprised.”

“And Debbie?” I pulled out a bottle of Pinot Gris and poured for both of us
.

“She wants to get support for the lawsuit, so many of the plaintiffs are out of town, and she
’s running out of time, so she’s been drumming up
signatures
.  You know, I haven’t seen her in a couple of days, now that I think about it.  I suppose we’ve been too busy to notice.” She frowned, clearly not pleased with her
inattention
.

“What does
Summer
think of that?”  

“
Summer
and Debbie aren’t speaking
,”
Sarah replied with great authority.   Sarah had moved from cause
célèbre
to woman to be reckoned with.  I understood she actually turned down the Brotherhood’s offer of membership. Now that took balls.

But Debbie could possibly be more annoying as a missing person tha
n
when she roamed the street looking for code violations. And since the last murder dragged her victim to the shooting range and allowed innocent men to make the final murderous blow, I
didn’t put it past any resident
of Claim Jump not
to be guilty.

I couldn’t get
Summer
out of my head. Did she do something to Debbie?  The theater was everything
to
Summer
, certainly, I knew that, but
would she
kill Debbie
over it
?

“I overhead
Summer
tell a
very big guy who looked like something from the mob
, to get rid of Debbie
,
” I admitted.  “And I’m a little concerned.”  That’s me, Allison Little – a Little Concerned.

“Oh, that
,
”  Sarah
waved her wine glass and slopped some wine onto the counte
r.
“
Summer
,
”
s
he glanced around and retrieved a dishtowel and wiped up the wine.  “Is
working on a new play and wanted to create a mysterious kind of buzz about it, you know there are web cams all over the theater.  But why would she use Debbie’s name?
”

“Wishful thinking?”
  I was more than relieved, but I didn’t want to reveal too much, I still harbored the fantasy that Sarah looked up to me.

“Maybe, but doesn’t it seem odd?  One minute
Debbie is
picketing up and down Main Street and the next minute she’s just gone
.
”  

“Do you know anyone at the co-housing?”

Sarah shook her head.  I drained my wine.  “I’ll talk to them.” 

My brief errand sounded like a children’s book: Allison Visits Co-Housing.   I’ll suggest it as a title to Sarah.  

Co-housing is lovely
:
a lovely, lovely idea that I would never, ever do.
In this particular system, called Blue Bird’s
Nest
,
the
individual units were
compact
,
two
-story condos with high peaked roofs
that
easily shed snow and g
a
ve the collection an Alpine vibe. Each member owned his or her own small condo; the average size was about
987
square
feet. And all the
members
co
-owned
and shared
the public spaces. The promise of co-housing was one of cooperation, fellowship and as far as I could tell, never being left alone. It may take a half hour to retrieve the mail. Two hours for that communal dinner, following a chore list created
by committee. Living in a house on
Main
S
treet was enough exposure and pubic discourse for me.