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

by Catharine Bramkamp

  “We’ll move.” Ben suggested.

  “Where?” I asked. Was this another replay of why I was up here in the first place? Our inability to share quarters?

  “Is the apartment over the garage still empty?” Ben asked Prue.

  She nodded. “Excellent idea. You two move there, Carrie and Patrick will have the third floor to themselves. Check the toilet while you’re there. I think it’s running.”

  “Thank you.” Carrie said quietly.

  “Come on, let’s do this now.” Ben rose and headed towards the hallway.

  “We have time.” I protested. I was hungry. I wanted my lunch.

  “Patrick is flying up, we have half an hour.”

  The apartment above the garage was built in the seventies - no permits because you can’t really see it from the street. It overlooked three neglected weed-choked lots that backed into our property. From the second floor we could see the rooftops of new homes that had been built after my senior year, when I stopped spending so much time up here. Prue usually allowed people to stay in the apartment for as long as they needed, which in Claim Jump time can be years. The most recent occupant stayed over Christmas, but Prue assured me she now had her own place.

  Ben motioned me in and we climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor apartment. Last fall we tried to find privacy up here, but did not meet with success. This time I hoped for better.

  As I climbed, I pulled out my phone.

  “Checking for reception?” He pushed me up the last step and looked around. I wandered from corner to corner finally ending up in the tiny bathroom. “Here, four bars right here in the shower stall.”

  “That will keep the conversation short.” he said genially, even cheerfully.

  “Don’t you have something else to do other than hang around here?” I finally asked.

  “Nope, besides, you have another great Claim Jump murder, another mystery to cope with, and it’s my job to keep you safe.” He removed the toilet lid and peered inside.

  “The last time we hung out together in Claim Jump, I almost got you killed.”

  He shrugged. “You are interesting that way. But I can’t leave you, I certainly don’t intend to abandon Carrie.” His expression darkened. “Are her parents that bad? Patrick said they were uncouth and clearly lower class, but not monsters.”

  “Monsters come in many disguises.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Really.”

  I met his gaze levelly. “Really.”

  We replaced the apartment mattress with one we found in an empty guest room in the main house. I filched towels and soap from my own upstairs bath and I grilled Raul about web cams.

  “I took them all down in January,” he admitted. “But All-Is-Son they were very helpful, really.”

  “I do not want to hear about it.” But I searched for the telltale camera eyes just in case.

  Our privacy assured, even cozy, we left our new nest to hunt for a coffee maker, but were distracted by Patrick’s arrival in the only cab in town. The Claim Jump airport is mostly reserved for the borate bombers, but occasionally private planes do zoom in and out. There is no baggage center. There is no TSA, no car rentals. No services.

  Ben and I followed Patrick into the kitchen.

  Prue hung up the phone. “The funeral is tomorrow, you are all to come.”

  Patrick paused in mid-step.

  “Sorry, I’m Prue Singleton. Welcome.”

  Ben clapped Patrick on the back. “See what happens when you’re spontaneous? Welcome to Allison’s insanely bizarre home town.”

  Chapter Nine

  “It’s not my home town.” I protested, giving Patrick a perfunctory hug.

  “May as well be.” Carrie and Prue chorused.

  Patrick strode over to Carrie and picked her up off her chair. Carrie is a fairly small person, about five-foot even, 100 pounds, maybe. Patrick is a foot taller and considerably broader, but not as big as Ben. Patrick is slighter, with dark Irish looks and a CEO build. He is a man who works from a desk. Ben works with his hands and likes to shatter big heavy objects using large unweidly sledgehammers; his version of the gym. The difference is obvious in their style and carriage. All the same, Patrick can be very commanding when he needs to be.

  And this afternoon, he needed to be.

  “Come with me.” He said simply.

  “Go to the parlor.” I recommended. Carrie nodded as Patrick carried her out of the kitchen.

  “That was certainly romantic.” Prue stepped to the hallway opening and watched them turn to the parlor.

  “Looked more like a kidnapping.” Ben commented. “Where would we find a coffee maker?”

  “Just use this one.” Prue said. “Allison says you won’t be here that long.”

  Ben sighed. He really did know me better than that. “Prue.”

  “Okay, Builder’s and Consumers, across the freeway.”

  I glanced at the now empty hall. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Allison Little.” Summer’s voice floated across the hardware store with the lilt of a feedback scream.

  I paused knowing I had little choice. I couldn’t ignore her, not here in public. Ben held the coffee maker box to his chest like a shield, as if that would protect him from a distraught theater director.

  “You heard of course!” Summer descended on us like a seasonal cold.

  “Of course.” We both echoed.

  If anything, Summer was slipping further and further into the winter of her discontent. Her hair was a wild nest in the back, her pale eyes looked lost in paler skin. The makeup-free look was not for her. It wasn’t for me either, but I wasn’t mourning the loss of my livelihood, so I looked just slightly better than poor Summer.

  “We’re waiting to hear from Lucky’s lawyers. Apparently his estate is very complicated.” Summer cut right to the chase.

  “Of course it is.” I said automatically.

  “And you are coming to the funeral tomorrow? I can’t believe how quickly Penny put this thing together, money helps I’m sure.”

  She finally noticed Ben, which means that she really was in a complete state. Women usually notice Ben before even acknowledging me, and I’m difficult to miss.

  “And who are you?” Summer’s harsh tone quickly switched from distraught to sexy purr.

  “Ben Stone.” Ben reached around his protective Mr. Coffee and shook hands with Summer.

  “So you are.” Temporally distracted she eyed Ben with disturbing enthusiasm.

  “My fiancé.” I was compelled to clarify.

  Ben raised both eyebrows. He had asked, right in the hospital. He even dropped to one knee. I was touched, but so distracted by a future I hadn’t once considered, that was just as quickly obliterated and irretrievably lost, that I did not deliver a very good answer.

  Once out of my mouth, I realized I may have delivered an answer right here in Builders and Consumers. How romantic, the answer to a proposal of marriage in asile 5, nuts and bolts.

  “Nice to meet you.” Summer dismissed the delectable Ben as Display Only and turned to me.

  “Most of the town will be there.”

  “To support Penny.”

  “Oh, hell no. You know no one in this town has ever supported that poor woman, not her mother, either.”

  A live mother often thwarts any adventure a person wants to embark on. Look at Disney Films, where are the mothers? Gone. Would Ariel have sold her voice if Mom had been on the scene? I think not. Would Nemo have been snatched by a dentist if Mom had survived? Nope. Cinderella? Snow White? Shrek? Absent mother equals excellent adventure. I wondered then what was Penny’s excellent adventure? What adventure could she take, what new love could she pursue now that dear old dad was gone? I resisted expressing any of this outloud.

  “What happened to her mother?” Ben was only mildly interested, but since we weren’t moving, he may as well learn more Claim Jump gossip.

  “Suicide.” Summer and I said together.

 
“It was years ago, I was still spending summers up here,” I explained.

  She nodded. “There were rumors about infidelity, but no one ever proved anything and Lucky wasn’t saying. Penny sort of took over in her mother’s place. She even worked for Lucky for a while, but she never entertained.”

  “That explains her exclusion from the Brotherhood.”

  “And Empire Club, Lucky dropped that group after his wife was gone and Penny didn’t take her place.”

  The club Summer mentioned only allowed 100 members at any time. In order for one couple to join, another has to retire or die, to put it bluntly. I was surprised Lucky didn’t hold on to that group, it was packed with lawyers, judges and retired generals. All the best people in Claim Jump.

  “Are people helping Penny with the reception tomorrow?”

  “I am.” Summer laid her hand on her heart. Her nail polish was chipped and flaking. That woman needed a week at the spa.

  “She hired caterers from Sacramento. Come. You too.” She batted her lashes at Ben.

  He inclined his head, the same gesture he uses when he capitulates to his mother.

  We paid for the coffee machine, hurried across the parking lot and jumped into the car.

  “Is it always this cold in spring?” He complained.

  I started the car so the heated seats could warm us. “Sometimes we have lovely weather in March, but this isn’t one of those times.”

  “Snow?”

  “Sometimes through Easter.”

  “Great. And since you all can’t go outside, rumor and gossip have evolved into contact sports.”

  “Everywhere. Looks like we are definitely attending a funeral tomorrow.”

  He nodded. I would not be surprised if he had packed a suit - just in case. He’s that kind of prepared guy. I turned left out of the parking lot and headed towards Main Street.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need a new outfit.”

  Never underestimate the tenacity created by the focus purpose generated by a group of determined

  septuagenarian s. I thought it was quite reasonable to suspect the whole damn lot of the Brotherhood of Cornish Men in the death of Lucky Masters. Not a single member liked Lucky, but like so many citizens of Claim Jump, they were beholden to Lucky Masters in various and complicated ways. You don’t spend a lifetime in a small town and not develop complicated and constantly changing relationships with your fellow community members.

  My current theory was that the Brotherhood, acting as one body, killed Lucky Masters. It was easy. One member of the Brotherhood could have cleverly drugged Lucky’s tea. He would get sleepy and another member would bop him on the head with her cane. All seven of them could easily drag the body to the shooting range using walkers and wheelchairs. One member probably still held her husband’s membership, so that part was easy. Then they all shot at him, thus diluting the guilt.

  It was a great idea and one I was determined to pursue because it made so much sense in the Claim Jump universe. The residents of Claim Jump have operated exclusively in the moral gray area since the town was founded. Gold will do that. Think of the town name, it’s based on stealing another man’s land. Claim Jump, for all its color, is one big moral morass. This situation with Lucky was just the most recent manifestation.

  I wondered how I would go about getting them all to admit culpability.

  “I want to attend a Cornish Brotherhood of Men meeting.” I announced to my grandmother.

  “We aren’t meeting. What with all the funerals lately, we’ve seen each other enough.”

  I tried to visualize Suzanne drugging Lucky and dragging him to the center of a deserted shooting range. She didn’t seem the type, but I’ve been wrong before.

  “We didn’t shoot Lucky.” Prue rolled her eyes, “if that’s what you’re thinking. None of us are members of the shooting range club, no key.”

  “You could have broken in.” I protested immediately, wanting to defend my nascent idea.

  “No sign of break in.” Prue countered triumphantly.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Tom Marten told me.”

  “And when did he talk to you?”

  She nodded to the parlor. “They’re still in there you know.”

  “You are avoiding the question.”

  “He asked about that council meeting.”

  Just then, like the dependable court jester he was, Raul banged though the kitchen door.

  I turned to my grandmother. “Lucky is dead and Tom Marten knows you threatened Lucky. What exactly did you say at the last council meeting?”

  “Before or after I banged my shoe on the table and yelled that I would bury him?” She asked sweetly.

  “Oh God.” I groaned.

  Ben touched me on the shoulder and offered me a kitchen chair. I didn’t even want to look at him, he was probably grinning like an idiot.

  No one bangs the table at a council meeting.

  “I have video!” Raul said happily.

  “Of course you do.” I rubbed my forehead. My job sucked, my family was crazy. A nice island in Hawaii sounded good: maybe that former leaper colony. No one would visit. “You know, one of these days that hobby will get you in trouble.”

  “Already, many times.” He cruised through YouTube and found what he was looking for. He was fast; I give him that.

  “See?” Raul logged on to You Tube and pointed to the grainy video. “There is Lucky, all lovely and alive, nice cane, that’s his second best, the silver one. Prue, you film so well. There is your grandmother, Allison.”

  Yes, there was my grandmother dressed in a faded to pink Stanford sweatshirt and smacking her rubber clog smartly on the podium. The rubber garden clog didn’t make that much noise on the speaker’s podium, but bits of dirt flew from the sole for added effect.

  “And what were we protesting?” Ben asked.

  “Building with no permits. See? That’s what Debbie Smith is bringing up, she was also arguing for restitution for the owners who lost their homes in the latest fire. But there is no evidence, so it’s been difficult for them to make a case.”

  “For what?” I was trying to figure out how Lucky could build with no permits. Ah, he wanted to use the old permits since he was replacing the homes, which, in Lucky’s world is different, that building new. Clever.

  “The fire honey, there was no evidence that Lucky was in any way responsible.”

  “They say Danny Timmons was responsible.” Raul said.

  “He did it to make his point.” I said quietly, certain.

  All three stopped and regarded me suspiciously.

  “You may want to keep that to yourself.” Prue advised.

  “And you say I jump into things.” Raul shook his head.

  “Can Lucky’s estate even make restitution?” Ben asked.

  “Oh probably, it would bankrupt the estate, but people like Debbie don’t really care about that.”

  I looked at the video again. “Who is that? The woman?”

  Raul squinted at the screen. “That? She is the famous Penny Masters, how could you not know that?”

  “Allison runs in different circles.” Prue remarked.

  “Like the Brotherhood of Cornish Men.” I countered.

  “She’s attractive,” Ben squinted at the screen and then angled it for a better look. I elbowed him.

  “Yes,” said Raul sadly. “She is, but does not have the lovely personality.”

  Chapter Ten

  Carrie and Patrick kept to themselves for the rest of the evening. I did not ask who flew Patrick over, I did not ask why Patrick didn’t pick up Carrie and carry her back to his family compound in Sonoma. I did not ask anything. The two of them pow-wowed in the parlor until Prue gave up waiting around for resolution and asked me to help her to bed.

  I escaped to our own pied-a-terre, other wise known as our apartment over the garage, to cuddle with my fiancée.

  “In a pinch you do come with the oddes
t confirmation of our relationship.”

  “It was an emergency.”

  “Apparently.”

  We behaved like a happily married couple the rest of the night. Or at least what I think a happily married couple acts like; I don’t have many role models.

  Ben insisted on escorting Prue and me to the funeral. Patrick had to leave first thing in the morning, leaving Carrie behind.

  “I’m coming with you.” Carrie looked wan and pale as if she too was mourning a death.

  “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

  “What am I going to do? Mope around the house?” She demanded.

  “What did you and Patrick agree on?”

  “Nothing,” she teared up. “We have agreed on nothing. And he had to go. Business,” she said bitterly.

  “He does run a large corporation.” I dug through the hall table and found a more suitable shoe for Prue to wear. I was tired of the garden clogs masquerading as formal wear.

  “Yes he does, but aren’t I more important?”

  “Don’t ask that,” I recommended quickly. “Don’t make him choose.”

  The funeral was not a boisterous affair, but it was large. Neither the Methodist nor the Catholic churches, as picturesque as they were, could accommodate the anticipated crowd. Penny was forced to hold the event at the county fairgrounds. Not to attend the funeral was a public admission that you did not approve of Lucky Masters and we all know Lucky did SO MUCH for the community, so everyone attended. The fairground was not such a bizarre choice; Lucky had pumped a great deal of cash into the fairgrounds in the late 80s. Resistance is futile.

  The four of us drove to the fairgrounds that sprawled along the border of town. The close parking lots were full. Ben had to circle a few times before I spotted a place just behind the Hall of Flowers. We organized Prue and carefully helped her around the damp grounds of the off-season paths.

  We only missed a few minutes of the service. We slid into the last row of folding chairs just in time for a sonorous and complimentary sermon delivered by a preacher I did not recognize.