Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View

by Catharine Bramkamp

  A general murmur rose from the audience. Two parents rushed the stage and scooped up a Munchkin or two.

  “In light of such a shocking event.” Summer continued, ignoring the exodus. “It is my sad duty to cancel the rest of the performance. I know you all share my grief and I hope you understand.”

  “Can we go for ice cream now?” A high little voice asked in the silence.

  “What happened to the show must go on?” Raul asked reaching for another slice of the vegetarian.

  I opened a bottle of wine while Raul immediately pulled up more information about the death. Hacked is the word, but he prefers the term necessary immediate discovery.

  “I would have thought a jealous wife.” Raul mumbled as he surfed through information options.

  “Wife?”

  “Husband. A man of course,” Raul backtracked. Pat and Mike rolled their eyes and moved back a step so we all could crowd around Raul’s computer screen.

  We did not find out much, but what we did learn seemed more than enough.

  “They found him this afternoon out at the shooting range.” Raul reported.

  “The shooting range?” Prue frowned. “He had a heart attack? I didn’t think shooting was that stressful.”

  “Quite the contrary,” Ben put in. “Firing off rounds seems to be quite relaxing.” He glanced at Carrie. Her eyes were huge. “For some people,” Ben amended quickly.

  “He’s a founding member of the range. Was a founding member.” Prue said for the benefit of those in the room who were not local.

  “Of course, Lucky would found something like a shooting range within the City Limits.”

  “The manager of the range didn’t find the body until five o’clock at closing time. They don’t inspect the range until the end of the week.” Raul read and simultaneously editorialized.

  I remember visiting the firing range once with my grandfather. It had been in use, unofficially, since the Gold Rush. The area was stripped clean by hydraulic mining. Hydraulic mining was very efficient and ecologically disaterous. So much sterile top soil sluiced onto the farmland of the Sacramento Valley that the practice was shut down. All that was accomplished was a little gold and complete environmental destruction. On the other hand it was a great place to shoot your gun, who would care? Bored miners, some of them Cornish, I’m sure, claimed the land as their own and formed a non-profit gun club to justify the land grab. Even after 150 years, the area is still devoid of any real vegetation or life. I remember seeing some plucky low scrub brush growing in the crevices of the bare hills, and of course, poison oak but that’s it.

  By creating a shooting club, Lucky was merely following the order of the universe.

  “How far away is it?” Ben asked.

  “Less than a mile, but you can’t take a shortcut any more, so it’s about five miles around the back of the mountain. And there’s a fence now. Lucky put that up when they incorporated the range into a club.”

  “Short cut?” Ben asked faintly. Since he is a former boy, I imagine he can visualize how to best exploit an attractive nuisance better than I can. And indeed, taking the short cut to and through a firing range would be difficult to resist. It would make an appealing dare to any number of boys.

  “We used to walk from here to the range.” Prue explained. “Your grandfather and I tried it out a couple of times.”

  “You know how to shoot a gun?” Great. I didn’t ask if she owned a gun because I didn’t want to hear that it wasn’t registered because she always meant to get around to it, but never had.

  “Well honey, what with the pot and all, it seemed like a good skill to have.”

  “Is there a short cut now?” Ben tried to keep the conversation on track.

  “No, you’d have to travel through too many properties.” Prue waved a hand to dismiss the idea. “And Fred Majors just got a dog.”

  “No one would be foolish enough to walk onto a firing range.”

  Prue hesitated.

  “What?” I girded for a story, there was always a story.

  “It almost closed once,” Prue hedged. “Do you remember the Feinster boys?

  “Now, why would I remember the Feinster boys?” I countered.

  “I forget you didn’t grow up here. Seems like you did. Anyway, they and a group of friends dared each other to dash across the shooting range using garbage can lids as shields.”

  All the men in the room nodded, as if that was an excellent idea. Garbage can lids should deflect bullets, why not?

  I recalled the truly idiotic dares I witnessed out at the river where copious amounts of jug wine and weed made some of my male companions superhuman and thus impervious to freezing water, strong unpredictable currents and submerged rocks. If you don’t know the depth of a swimming hole, don’t dive head first into it. Make a note of that. I stopped counting the close calls; there wasn’t enough wine to stop me from panicking every time a boy was too long underwater after a dive. Made me crazy. But not crazy enough to stop going to the river.

  “The club members were shooting at the time.” Prue cleared her throat. “One of the brothers was shot in the head, killed instantly, the others escaped with only a few wounds in their legs and arms.”

  I closed my eyes, thinking not of the child, but of the parents. What an incredibly stupid thing to do. How tragic for the mother to hear the news. The brother trying desperately to figure out whose idea it really was, then trying to explain. Can you lay blame? They probably tried. Like Mattie Timmons after Danny was caught in the fire last fall. Who do you blame? Who takes responsibility? We always think it is “Them”. Who are them?

  Raul lifted a hand to silence the audience. The pizza was gone. I started breaking down the boxes.

  “Not a heart attack. ” He announced with relish.

  We all waited dutifully, Raul liked his drama as much as Summer. “They found him out on the range.”

  “Yes, you just said that.”

  “No, no, on the range a foot past the shooting targets.”

  “On the range? What was he doing out there?”

  “They don’t know.” Raul wiggled his thick eyebrows for effect. “He was shot more than twenty times.”

  How could anyone shoot Santa Claus? Repeatedly?

  Chapter Seven

  Lucky or not, my own show had to go on. I promised to meet Scott Lewis on Sunday no later than ten o’clock.

  “I won’t be that long.” I pulled on the same outfit I had worn to drive up on Thursday. I had a limited wardrobe for showing houses. I had not planned on finding a client up here, which was great. I was happy to have the client and since I had floor Monday, I wasn’t concerned about my lack of wardrobe options. Yet.

  “And I have floor Monday.” I finished explaining my whole, reasonable plan to Ben.

  “Get someone else. You have a hot client with cash, doesn’t that trump answering phone calls that, in your words, are more often than not, wrong numbers?”

  I glanced at my watch. 9:30. I had to hurry if I wanted to drink enough coffee to sustain me for a morning of house viewing.

  “I really do appreciate you driving up here, but now we’ll have to drive down tonight, are you okay with that?”

  Ben lounged in the narrow lumpy bed looking perfectly relaxed. I discovered that I could take Ben anywhere and he would not only be appropriate, but also, for the most part, comfortable. Was that the result of a more upper class education? Or was that just Ben?

  “You look better than when you left on Thursday.” He observed.

  “Death will do that for me. Perk me right up. As long as it isn’t me. Being dead.”

  He grinned. “There is no way you’re getting out of here tonight and you know it. Call.”

  He picked up his phone and offered it to me.

  “You don’t have the office number.”

  “Yes I do.” He scrolled down with his thumb. “I have all the numbers pertaining to you and some that I may need in the future that pertain to you.�
�

  “Like who?” I accepted his phone and pressed the office number.

  “Like my attorney, flower shop, minister, clothing shops. I had the hospital …” He trailed off.

  I caught my breath but the call to the office was picked up on the first ring.

  “New Century Realty, your vision is our reality.”

  “That’s not our tag line.”

  Ben waved at me to leave the room while I talked. I turned and walked downstairs.

  Katherine had floor. So she was first to answer the main office line. I wasn’t all that excited about talking to her because I knew she’d do exactly what she launched into doing: lecturing me on productivity.

  “Are you still in the foothills?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “That’s why I’m calling.”

  Prue and Carrie were already up and in the kitchen. Carrie must have helped her dress because Prue’s pale blue sweater complimented her tan slacks and her hair was brushed.

  I nodded to both; they raised their hands in greeting, but did not move. They were each embroiled in sections of the Sunday paper.

  “Running away again.” Katherine pronounced.

  “I am not running away!”

  Prue and Carrie looked up, I waved my hand to indicate that no I was not running away and not again. Jeez.

  “You know, you could become an expert in REO and Short Sales, those are still available.” Katherine offered. “You could be like the Christopher’s and just work with foreclosures.”

  “That’s a consideration.” I already heard this same suggestion from Rosemary. Honestly if they were going to work together, they needed to compare notes before harassing me. I poured some coffee and leaned against the counter.

  “Katherine, I need.”

  “It’s not that hard, if Rosemary and the Christophers can do it, then you certainly can do it.”

  I did not point out that I really hated foreclosures. I did not want to specialize in pain and suffering. I did not say that Christophers, a professed Christian husband and wife team, seemed to thrive on the misfortune of others and it was not the kind of karma I was interested in acquiring. Rosemary would understand. I was not sure Katherine did.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Katherine, can you …”

  “There’s a seminar on Wednesday. I can sign you up. Just give me your credit card, it’s only five hundred dollars. Includes lunch.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” By this time, Carrie was smirking and my grandmother was grinning like a maniac. I’m so glad I could bring some levity and joy to their Sunday morning.

  Ben shuffled in and pushed me to one side to get to the coffee.

  I thought you were leaving, he mouthed.

  I have your phone, I mouthed back at him.

  He kissed me and joined the peanut gallery at the kitchen table.

  “Katherine, I just need to find someone to take floor.” I said it all in a rush to get the words in.

  “Oh, is that all? Rosemary can take it.”

  “Thanks.” I knew perfectly well that Katherine just crossed off my name on the schedule and inserted Rosemary’s, and that Rosemary would be quite surprised to find her name on the schedule, but I didn’t care. I ended the call and handed the phone back to Ben while I took a swallow of coffee.

  “Now I’m taking off. I’ll see you all later.”

  They all waved the royal good-bye wave. For a moment I paused, thinking how cozy they all looked, my favorite people, busy with the paper and coffee, the morning stretching ahead empty of specific plans, ready for spontaneous pleasure. No, I had a job and I was grateful for the work.

  I stomped outside to my car and drove downtown.

  There was no movement at the library. I parked and figured I had just enough time for a hazelnut mocha latte before tackling Scott’s needs.

  Tom stood in line in front of me. Dressed in his uniform he must have been grabbing a drink before work, just like me.

  “Buy you a drink?” I offered.

  He nodded gratefully. “I suppose I’m persona non grata at your house.”

  “Prue doesn’t hold it against you.” I neglected to include myself in that reassurance.

  We took our drinks to the far corner of the shop. Neither of us wanted to sit in the window.

  “My kids were pretty upset last night.”

  “Your daughter was a Munchkin.”

  “Munchkin number four, and my son was a flying monkey.” He grinned. “Pretty much to type.”

  I smiled and sipped my coffee drink.

  “Anyway, as you probably heard, Summer cancelled the play last night. My son was devastated. He was the monkey who picked up Toto. It was a big part.”

  “What is she going to do? I noticed she has a summer repertory program scheduled.”

  “I don’t’ know, Lucky was a big supporter. He was a big supporter for lots of events and programs around here.”

  “Did that help him circumvent the permit process?” I just went to the heart of the matter; might as well. I wasn’t going to be up here for long.

  “You haven’t met Debbie have you? She is one by-the-book woman, she brings a little of the big city into our small sleepy town, as she calls it. She wouldn’t let Lucky get away with doing anything that wasn’t signed, sealed and officially stamped.”

  “Do you suspect Debbie along with Prue?” I asked.

  “Oh hell, Allison, I have to talk to everyone. Prue didn’t kill Lucky.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He twirled his coffee cup. “I don’t know why we even considered the shooting range. You know those guys just shoot at anything unlucky enough to wander into the field. The manager calls us every other week to pick up dead rabbits, possum, sometimes quail. This was, of course, different.”

  He took a long drink of his coffee. He knew I was going to ask, and I knew I shouldn’t ask, and he shouldn’t tell me, but as this Debbie pointed out, we were a sleepy little town and didn’t know any better.

  I waited.

  “There were too many bullets in his body to even begin to figure which bullet did him in.” Tom finally admitted.

  “Good God.,” I swallowed my coffee and surreptitiously glanced at my watch.

  “He was out in the rain for at least a day, maybe longer. He was missing all Friday. Penny said she spoke to him on Wednesday.”

  I made a face and Tom answered with a sympathetic expression of his own.

  “Yeah, it was pretty gross. We recognized him of course, the beard and the white hair, but Christ, it was like stuffing St. Nick back into his own pack.”

  I placed my hand on his arm. “Did Penny identify the body?”

  “We couldn’t get her to come in. She was hysterical, so we just sent up Sam instead. You remember Sam Chesney? He used to come out to the river with us. He’s back in town, that’s who Penny sees now.” He sipped his coffee “We all seem to be back in town.”

  “It’s a nice town.” I confirmed vaguely. “Then who identified the body?” Besides everyone in town.

  “The mayor came down, she’s as official as anything we have.”

  “Poor Summer.” She loved Lucky, he was her savior and probably father figure. But that was just conjecture on my part.

  “Yes, poor Summer, now she doesn’t know what will happen to the theater.”

  “Well, after this last production of Wizard of Oz.” I trailed off.

  “Yeah, pretty bad wasn’t it? There’s a saying that having a live theater in a community shows that the community has culture and is appreciative of the arts, but couldn’t we do that with a nice sculpture in the park?”

  “What? And move the hydraulic mining nozzles?” I said in mock protest.

  “Yeah, that would be a problem.”

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  He sighed and downed the rest of his coffee. “You mean, besides the whole town? I have to talk to everyone who hated Lucky Masters enough to kil
l him.”

  “That will keep you busy until the 4th of July.”

  “No shit.” His expression was one of pure misery.

  I did not envy Tom Marten. Who would talk with him? Who would admit their real feelings about Lucky? Or reprise what they said outside the courthouse after a City Council meeting? And why should anyone care? Lucky’s death would make life very difficult for Summer, but for others, like Debbie, it was a blessing. Now the homes above Prue’s house would be built with permits and home inspections and possibly less dangerous insulation. Or maybe not built at all. Many people would benefit.

  It was like a late Agatha Christie novel; the whole town could be guilty.

  Scott arrived early. This was a rather astonishing new habit of his, this rising early in the morning business, this moving around before noon stuff. He unlocked the library door at 9:00 AM and turned on the heat. Hands on his hips he regarded the empty lobby and decided to first fetch more coffee from that little place two doors down before he seriously considered his purchase. What would he do with this?

  He almost ran into Sarah as he sprinted out of the library main doors. The front steps leading to the main floor were worn with age and slippery. He shot down the stairs, lost his balance, fell through the front door that did not slow his progress but rather launched him like a fun house entrance down the second set of outdoor steps and directly into a girl. She dropped one grocery bag and almost dropped the second bag, just barely catching it before it hit the cracked sidewalk.

  “Sorry, sorry!” He reached for the bag that landed on the street. It broke open at his touch, cans of Ensure tumbled out of the ripped opening and rolled down to the gutter. He clutched what was left in the paper bag - Depends - and gathered up the cans as quickly as he could.

  He bundled together the items and handed them back to her with another sorry. She looked a bit young for such purchases. But he was learning not to ask anything about anything when it came to the eccentricities of Claim Jump residents.

  Despite years of tutelage at the hands of sincere fashion and lifestyle magazines: Always wear a little mascara, you never know when you’ll run into the man of your dreams. Here she was, standing before the man of her dreams not only make-up-free but clutching a bag full of adult diapers.