Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out (34 page)

I passed by an extensive and thriving vegetable garden, and separate herb garden, fragrant in the late season sunshine.  I headed to the main public building that housed a lounge and a large kitchen. These living area
s
never seem to
offer
wet bars.  It would be more attractive if it did.

A woman
draped in a long
batik
patterned
skirt and matching tunic smiled at me and
abandoned
a big pot simmering on the industrial grade stove
to greet me
.  The cabinets above her were painted friendly orange, green and blue, it reminded me of pre-school, happy, happy all the time.

“
Welcome, we’re
making lentil soup
,
”
s
he
extended her hand and I took it. Her grip was firm.
“Would you like to stay and hear more about the co-housing movement?”

“Oh, no, thank you.  I
‘m here to see Debbie Smith.”  

The woman frowned. “She’s not here.
”

Rather than launch into an inquisition, I waited just a bit.  Believe it or not, I often employ a strategy of waiting in silence.  People don’t like
silence,
they will rush to fill it like a vacuum.

I smiled at the woman but made no move,
I did not sit on
the colorful chairs grouped four to a table, nor
did I inch any closer to
the simmering soup pot.
  I can wait out anyone in negotiations and this was no exception.

She broke first.
“Actually,
I haven’t seen
Debbie
in a couple days.
Her committee was in charge of weeding the garden yesterday and she didn’t show.  She didn’t even leave word of where she was going.
I know her apsesrias fern won’t last in this
heat without water; it’s odd
she wouldn’t make arrangements
to water it
,
she’s so organized
.  What do you know?” She
quickly
turned the tables.

“Less than you.” For instance, I did not know Debbie nurtured a fern.

“She was working on a law suit just filed against us, apparently we forgot some paper work, and Debbie was on it.  Which is great for us.”  The woman smiled, revealing a mouth full of perfectly aligned teeth. That’s what was interesting about the residents of Claim Jump: many were here to escape perfectly decent childhoods, loving families, college alumni societies.  She probably
harbored
an interesting story, but I didn’t have time to listen this morning.

“You
always
want attorneys on your side
,
” I agreed gravely.  I wondered if that guy I
met in Summer Theater had already
come and gone.  But
I didn’t want to
ask,
I didn’t want her to think I knew too much.  I did not want to be the go-to person for information about Debbie. 

“
Sometimes she just seems like
a lost soul
,
”
t
he woman said contemplatively.  “I
often
don’t know what’s going on in her life.”

“She must be very complex.” 

The woman brighten
ed
.  “We all are complicated aren’t we?  Are you sure you won’t join us?”

The scent of lentils wafted
into the dining room
, triggering a huge craving fo
r a cheese and bacon hamburger.
“I have things to do,” I begged off.

Joan called me
at eight o’clock
that night
.
“Allison.”  From her tone I knew I now was in her debt. How bad had Sarah’s manuscript been?
I was impressed she read it so quickly.
I
just
hoped Joan would be as kind to Sarah as she was to her
freshman composition students.
 
On the flip side, the
last time
Joan
did me a
big
favor
,
it led to her
meeting the love of her life and now
live
-
in boy friend.  I thought perhaps reading a couple of kid stories would make us even. 

“I owe you a thousand open houses
. If
I didn’t already owe you for Norton, I ow
e
you
even
more!  Did you know the girl wrote?” 

“
Of course
not, this was the first I heard of her writing aspirations
. Something
like this would have gotten around.” The Brotherhood of Cornish Men would have, at the very least, filled the theater with supporters for a staged reading of Sarah’s work
.
Raul would have video taped it and posted on the web, the paper would have printed part of the book. Tom Marten would have kept the crowds of fans at bay.  Sarah would have been marginally famous for exactly the fifteen minutes she was allowed. 
So no, no one knew.

“It’s fantastic
, she’s
like the next Dr. Seuss.  Really, thank you, I am thrilled to be part of this and I owe a friend in New York, this book will make us even, hell it may even
put
him
back
in my debt.
  I may even send my manuscript along with hers.
”

“You are kidding me, you’re sending it to someone else?”

“I never kid about books
,
”
Joan
’s
tone was
serious
.

I volunteered to give Sarah the news and promise
d
that Joan would call on Friday
to update her on what the agent said
. 
Sarah displayed more maturity about the news than I would have. 
“
I would love to be an author, it would help the book business do
n’t
you think?” 
She gave a little
T
igger bounce.  Ah, that was more like it.

“You could give classes
,
” I offered.  “You can show people how to write.”

Sarah shook her head. “No, not me, I have no training.  But,
”
she thought
hard
,
“
w
e can bring other people in, other authors to speak.” She bounced and her
pony
t
ail
bounced in counter point.  How does she do that?

“That’s exactly what we can do, and the money people pay for the classes will go to the books for the kids.” She stopped dead in mid-bounce. “Do you think?”   She paused and considered her idea.  “We could become self sustaining?”

“We can only dream
,
” I offered.  

Sarah hugged me and
hopped
away.

I was worried about Carrie, the missing Debbie, and I was even worried about Cassandra who apparently was not doing well at all.  Ben told
me  O’Reilly
hadn’t left her side all day.

“She took a turn for the worse
,”
Ben reported
, he worked hard to keep his voice level and professional, but I knew better
.  “They don’t know if she’ll pull through.”

I loved the house
,
but couldn’t settle.
I should be happy that Cassandra was out of the way and I had Ben to myself again.  I should be happy the damn wedding of the century was almost at a full stop end.  But I couldn’t sit and just be happy.

I wandered up and down the cool hardwood floors, my bare feet made no sound, like I was a ghost.  Was everyone Okay? Would Carrie get all the way to the altar?

I
held the Grove street
open
house on Tuesday, keeping an eye out for
any signs of
the neighbor across the creek, but saw no one.
Debbie’s disappearance finally made the paper; both the print version distributed on Wednesdays and the web site.  It wasn’t as bad as “Have You Seen Me?”
flyers,
but close.  No one had any information, but the opinions were abundant and not terribly complimentary.  I stopped reading half way through the article.  I didn’t like Debbie, but there was no need to be insulting.

I
opened Penny’s house
for viewing
Thursday
afternoon
as something to do.
I assured
Carrie
I’d be back on Friday in time for the
rehearsal
and
rehearsal
dinner.
But I was in no hurry to return to River’s Bend.  Miraculously the torrent of texts from the Furies had slowed to a trickle. I only heard from one or the other three times during the day, and they were all focused on Carrie.

I also wanted to avoid the scene that was sure to transpire sooner than later over the
Christopher’s
purportedly deserted
,
bank owned property
.  I knew that Marcia, Marcia, Marcia had let in the odious Heather
back into my own house
twice in the last two days.  I’m sure Heather was measuring the space for the big
water bed
, or for new furniture,
or to gloat,
whatever.  They must be confident about the loan going through.  I called Marcia about the loan every time I thought about it.

Two can be
bull dogs
for their clients.  And my client, me, wanted to know the minute the damn loan came through.

The
maple
leaves were
just beginning to
turn red, the
p
lane trees
,
yellow
. And as a bonus, two or three trees flamed up in brilliant orange leaves.  We could
and do
brag about fall color up here, and in the last few years, it has
advanced to a full
a tourist attraction.  And, I hoped, a way to attract buyers
to more homes
.

In contrast to
my house, which
Lucky Master’s renovated for himself
, the
house his daughter
had occupied
had been
built from scratch. Apparently it was to be the family home, but it never wo
rked out that way.
Lucky
created
a modern home
, with custom
everything
,
there
wasn’t a pre-made cabinet or counter top in the place
. This makes for an impressive house certainly
, but
w
hen a home is built specifically for an individual rather than for the population in general, the results
may be
stunning,
but a
sale
is often
slow.
 

The
Thursday open house was
an excellent idea. I didn’t even need to call in Prue or Sarah and explain my open house shill program.  More
people made the trip to see the house than on the previous Sunday. Some were
looking for a second home (good) and some for a
permanent
change.
For each visitor,
I pointed out the view, the ease
of
entertaining in the kitchen
, the quality of everything, all that wood.  Many recognized the house from the many house tours Penny had
participated in over the
years,
that
was a bonus. It was as if the house were already famous.
This time
,
for a happy reason.

I
still thought
Carrie should
buy
the house. 

I
glanced out the window and thought I saw a woman with a long braid alight from a truck
,
but then someone asked a q
uestion about the fireplace and
distracted
me
. When I looked up again, there was no sign of a truck outside the window.

I heard a
motorcycle,
but it faded as quickly as it accelerated.

I glanced at my phone,
nothing
.  I talked to Carrie right before I took the last hill to Penny’s house.  She was fine and antsy, with nothing to
do,
she filled her time worrying about Patrick and
getting more
agitated
with the Furies.  I knew she was safe (again, that word).  But I couldn’t talk with her during
,
the open house – no cell service.  Which also
meant Marcia, Marcia, Marcia couldn’t reach me either.
 
I hoped she was frustrated.