Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View (7 page)

Chapter Six

Summer and Mattie were not the only people hunting and/or searching for the infamous Lucky Masters.  Tom Marten bounced up to the front door seconds after I let myself into the kitchen.  

I answered the door. Since it will be my job is to be the door answerer for the disabled and eventually infirmed, I thought I might as well practice.

Tom Marten is the chief of police for Claim Jump and commands a staff of four.  As a result he does most of his own stunts.  As a second result, he has retained his tall, dark and handsome looks.  He still worked out, his broad chest filled out his modest uniform quite nicely. I knew a lot about that chest as well as other things.  Tom and I go back in much the same way poor Danny and I had gone back.  But un-like Danny, Tom could be considered a temptation. But he has a family and I have Ben, so we only nod when we see each other on the street and don’t say anything more.

But here he was. “Hi Allison, here to take care of your grandmother?”

“Yes I am.”

“When did you come in to town?”

“Thursday night.”

He nodded.  He didn’t take any notes, but I knew him, he had an excellent memory, which was good and bad news for me. I probably should keep he and Ben apart.  If that was possible.

“Why do you ask?”

He pulled his light jacket around him against the cold.

“Sorry, come in.  We’re all in the kitchen. I don’t want Prue to move more than she needs to.”

He nodded. “That’s right, she broke her foot. Tripped in the greenhouse.”

“Er, yes.”  He probably knew about the greenhouse, but since it was county property and not city property, it was not his concern.

He strode down the hall.  “Hey, Prue.”

“Well hello Tommy, here for a social visit?  How is your mother, is she back from that cruise?”

He shook his head.  Another hazard of small town life is the ever-circulating information system. Everyone knows everything there is to know about everybody. My grandmother thinks Facebook is superfluous.

“No, business.  Summer filed a missing persons report on Lucky Masters.”  He gestured helplessly.  “I’m here to ask if you’ve seen him in the last 48 hours.”

  “Why would I have seen Lucky Masters?” Prue inquired mildly.

“I don’t know, but you threatened him at the council meeting last week. So it was strongly suggested that I pay you a visit.”

“Oh, for God’s sake Tom, that was about re-building up the road and the EPA and land rights! It wasn’t a fight.”

“You were pretty mad, there were a lot of witnesses.” 

“I should hope so,” Prue declared hotly.  “There should be as many witnesses as possible to hear that Lucky Masters is a thief and intent on destroying this community.  He needs to have another EPA report, that’s the law. His claim that since he didn’t need an EPA report when he first built and so doesn’t need one now is bullshit and you know it.”

“Not destroying,” Tom argued.  “He donates a lot to Claim Jump.”

“At any rate.” Prue studiously brushed invisible crumbs from the table. “I would be happy if I never see Lucky again.”

Did I mention my grandmother can be rather improvident?  One does not make threats when one is under investigation.

“Is Prue under investigation?”  I blurted out, in my own improvident way. Must run in the family.

“There’s no crime.  Summer is just freaked out. Lucky was suppose to show up at the theater last night, and he missed a meeting this morning.”

“He lost the bid for the library.” I said.

Tom gave me a sharp look.  “That’s right, that was the news that pushed Summer over the edge.  Lucky has never missed a bid, courthouse steps auction, or any opportunity to acquire more Claim Jump property.  She’s right, it’s worth checking out.”

“What about Penny, his daughter?”

“She’s not picking up. We left messages all day.  We may have to send a car out to her place and check up on her.”

“Meaning you?”

He nodded. “And get back in time for tonight’s performance.”

“Your daughter is a Munchkin.” Prue nodded.

“I know the Ding Dong the Witch is Dead song backwards and forwards.” He rubbed his head as if the memory brought about a headache.  

“What about you Allison?  Kids?”  He turned to me with his a very reasonable question.

I blinked, then composed myself more quickly than I would have even been able to do just last week.  “No, no I don’t think kids are for me.”

He nodded.  “Lots of work.”  He stood and regarded me for about a second too long. “Thanks you two, if you hear anything about Lucky, give me a call?”

We nodded and I escorted Tom out the kitchen door.

His real estate agent dropped him off at the library - his library, his real estate agent.  He felt even more adult now that he had his own people.  The lights from inside the building illuminated the wet sidewalk in the dim afternoon, welcoming him, warning him.

“Can we look again tomorrow?”  He leaned through the window of his real estate agent’s car.

“Certainly.” 

“Not too early, I’m going to the play tonight.”

She smiled. She had enormous hair as well as, other things. “Of course you are.”

He glanced up at the building, squared his shoulders and walked up to meet the current, past, current and elect president of the Brotherhood of Cornish Men.

“Congratulations.” Suzanne Chatterhill fingered her long necklace and immediately graded him as unworthy of his new position. 

“Thank you.” He gazed around the main room, seeing it in a completely different light.  What does a person do with a decommissioned library?  He hadn’t really given it much thought aside from tossing out random phrases, because it hadn’t really been a reality, just an idea, a whim. Now it was his. His and Dad’s.

Suzanne cleared her throat.  He glanced over at her.  If he thought the final sale of the library would magically alter their relationship.  If he thought he would suddenly be transformed into the man in charge, the man to whom Mrs. Chatterhill would have to ask, or plead to use the library for her work, he was greviously mistaken. He’d have to drop a house on her.

“We feel, and I speak for all the Brotherhood,” Suzanne cleared her throat and spoke loudly as if he was an audience of thousands.  “That that as long as our meeting place stays intact, and the genealogy records stay unmolested, and we have full use of the facilities twice a year, once for the annual event and now for the Christmas party, we will be fine.”   She eyed him with a rather severe look, which made him think that perhaps she had been a junior high teacher in one of her previous incarnations.  Or a witch from the East.

“What if I turn it into a spa?”  He tried to keep a straight face.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the city will never give you a permit for that.” 

What if he changed the locks?  Now that was a possibility, one that gave him a tiny riff of pleasure.

“The Cornish were excellent hard rock miners.”  Suzanne walked around the main room as if, she was inspecting the library for the first time.  Her sensible shoes made no sound on the ancient tile floor.  “Have you ever had a pasty?”

Scott admitted that no, he had not, but he quickly promised he would, as soon as he could.

That seemed to satisfy Mrs. Chatterhill.

“What about the quilts?”  He asked.

“Lucky donated the quilts to the library and we can keep them as long as they stay in the library.  We hung them to hide the empty book cases, most of the books were moved to the new library of course.”

“I see.  And who made the quilts?”

“Penny Masters. Lucky’s daughter.”

              “Is she a member of the Brotherhood?”  He gazed at the quilts; they were loosely based on traditional patterns. He recognized some of the basics: wedding ring, log cabin and of course crazy quilt.  But the artist didn’t adhere to tradition; the quilts were masterworks of modern interpretation.  Patterns flowed with movement, colors shaded from one bright primary to the next on the rainbow line up.  Pieces snaked and writhed, unlike any work he’d ever seen. He thought they were lovely, and even he could see they were valuable works of art.  Maybe he could buy one and take it home or to whatever his new home would be. 

“Oh good heaven’s no.” Mrs. Chatterhill protested vehemently.  “Not with Lucky Masters as a father.”

“We can’t choose our parents.” He offered mildly.

“Maybe you can’t, but we can.” Mrs. Chatterhill gathered up her purse, key and a half dozen documents and exited on her silent shoes.

That must be the beauty of being part of a genealogical organization. They probably did change the past.

Worked for him.

Ben arrived just as Tom Marten disappeared down the hill. 

Prue was delighted at his arrival, as were all the boys.  Another cute man in town, what the hell, right?  I had to burst their bubble by explaining that Ben belonged to me, and their new boy was interested in Sarah.

“He’s even attending the play again tonight.” I delivered the coup de grace.

“There’s a play?”  Ben walked into the kitchen as if he lived there. I accidentally knocked over a chair as I turned to greet him. He was so much larger than I remembered. 

“Hi.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly. 

I sighed and for one minute forgot the kitchen was packed with consummate, professional gossips.

“The fabulous Ben Stone!”  Raul saluted Ben and scurried to the one open spot at the kitchen table to set up his laptop. 

Ben released me and greeted Prue; he gingerly hugged her as if her whole body, not just her foot was damaged.

“Did you bring your tools?”

“Grandma!”

“I always have my tools with me,” Ben replied.

Pat, Mike and Raul sighed noisily. Ben just grinned.  “Missed you guys.”

Pat shook up the first round of martinis for the group. I’m no nurse and don’t even pretend to act like one, so I cheerfully offered Prue her pain medication with one hand and gave her a martini with the other. That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.

“Carrie.” Ben turned this attention to my friend as soon as he released my grandmother.

“I called him.” Carried said grumpily.  “He’s not happy with me.  He doesn’t understand.”

I accepted a martini from Pat.  Carrie took hers and knocked it back in one gulp.  Pat raised an eyebrow and looked at me.  I toasted him silently and gestured to the bottle of Skye vodka on the counter. It was just as well that Carrie drink then pass out, she needed the rest.  I think that’s part of the pirate code as well; make sure your friends get drunk close to their own beds.

Carrie twirled her empty glass. “I just don’t know what to do.” She gazed with considerable dismay at her vibrating phone. It was one of those lovely newer kinds that do everything except wash the dishes and screen calls from destitute but persistent relatives.

“Tell them to get lost’” Ben suggested.

“They can’t be that bad.” Prue offered at the same time.

“Yes they can.” I defended my friend’s position.

Mike circled back around and created another batch of drinks.

“What if they contact Patrick directly?  What then?”

“Well,” piped up Pat.  “I know from experience it’s better to deliver really awful news directly to the people involved.  Waiting will not help. You do not want your parents to be a surprise.”

Carrie twisted around to look directly at Mike.  “You would know that wouldn’t you?”

“Honey, we’ve all stood up to our relatives and delivered bad news of one kind or another.” 

“Sometimes we have even delivered it to loved ones.” Raul said absently as he trolled the Internet.

“Sometimes, it’s not as bad as you think it will be.” Mike offered. He stopped Carrie from twirling her glass and filled it again from the silver shaker.

“I think this will be bad.” Carrie confirmed.

“Parents can be difficult.” Ben sipped his drink. 

We were at a conversational impasse with that pithy comment.  I broke it up by offering to get pizzas and bring them back.  Prue was in no condition to climb back in and out of my car, and I knew that once settled in, Pat and Mike were here for the duration and of course, Raul and…

“Where’s Brick?”

“He is dining with friends.” Raul said.  “Saturday night, a few old teachers from the high school.  He is going to get more information on this Sarah.”

“Why?”

Raul shrugged. “I have much footage of her yesterday. I want to write up more information in the blog.”

“I can fill you in.” Prue held out her empty glass.

Sarah lingered in the doorway of her grandparent’s apartment.  The small television played at full volume, a talking head, an angry talking head, was ranting about immigration.

“I’m walking to the theater now, I have to be there early for make up.”  She yelled over the noise.