I amused myself by looking around at the assembled. The hall was normally used to show off prize winning plants and baked goods. Today it was packed with Claim Jump residents, some of whom cared about Lucky, and some of whom just cared that he was dead and wanted confirmation. I recognized quite a few people, and I’m sure I was recognized in turn.
The reception, I read on a printed program I picked up at the door, would take place in the Lucky Masters Building, just to the right of the Hall of Flowers. The Lucky Building was designed to display sewing, photography and ceramics.
I craned my neck to see the front of the building. A wood podium rested on two tiers of temporary risers set up across at the far back of the building. Four enormous wreaths on easels marched across the back of the risers. But there was nothing to the right of the podium. Lucky was apparently in no shape to make a personal appearance. Penny probably had the body quickly cremated and interred. The police, Pat and Mike informed us, did not have any objections because the body was so damaged there wasn’t much that could be discovered.
“Couldn’t they find a hair or something and analyze it?” I asked Pat, who seemed to know about these things. “You know, do those magical forensics stuff where the blood stain pattern is counterclockwise indicating that the murderer was left handed and holding a butter knife with the edge point due east?”
Pat gave me a pitying look, then quickly relented. “I asked that. Could they find bullets and match the gun to the bullet? That kind of thing. Tom just rolled his eyes and made a couple of nasty comments on the CSI series and told me people now think the police force can find anyone and do anything armed with only a microscope and tweezers. He told me that last week a woman called dispatch and said a bottle was thrown on her lawn and could the police come out and get a fingerprint and match it up to find out who threw the bottle?”
“They said no?”
“No, they can’t do it at all, and judging from Tom’s expression, they don’t want to either.”
The generic sermon finished, the preacher invited Penny up to say a few words. Penny spoke well of her father, choking back tears after each sentence. I felt, at that moment, very sorry for Penny. She had no siblings to argue with, no one to stand next to her. No one to whisper that she was doing it wrong. She really was alone in the world.
I wonder who was named in the will. Would Summer get her Charitable Remainder Trust after all? I knew the content of a will was not for public consumption, but this was Claim Jump, I was confident word would get out.
I thought of Prue’s performance at the most recent City Council meeting. She should have popped a vessel right there and this could have been her funeral instead of Lukcy’s. But my grandmother was made of sterner stuff.
Summer approached the podium. Summer stepped up to the risers but waited until Penny wound down. She laid a hand on Penny’s shoulder as Penny slumped away from the podium. Tears sprang to my eyes, it didn’t matter what the Brotherhood or my grandmother thought, losing your father — the poor woman.
Summer exchewed the microphone and overtook the stage with gestures and dramatic voice inflection. She spoke eloquently about a man she clearly worshiped. Summer had not married, so again, no support system. But she looked better than she had at the hardware store. I was happy for her.
As Summer broke into the climax of her speech, Prue leaned into me and whispered, “My God, that’s Danny Timmons widow.”
I craned my neck to see where Prue was pointing. There she was. Mattie Timmons hovered in one of the double-door side entrances. She looked exactly like what she was, a divorced mother of two who had taken one too many night shifts at the Humpty Dumpty (oh, sorry, it’s a diner, open 24 hours, one of the few things in town that is). Mattie was dressed in a polyester pants suit and very high heels. Her puffy down ski jacket was so wet the padding lay flat and looked crushed. In fact, everything about poor Mattie was beginning to look a little flat in the padding.
There was only one reason Mattie was here, to make a scene. Summer wound down, bowed and relinquished the stage reluctantly to the preacher. He retrieved the microphone and scanned the guests expectantly, ready to give another bereaved guest their fifteen secondes of fame.
“I need to say something.” Mattie Timmons strode to the platform.
Had the minister been a local boy, he would have recognized Mattie, and known she was no friend of either Lucky or Penny. But he was from out of town, and thus did not protest when Mattie snatched the microphone from his hand.
Mattie took a deep breath and the mike squealed with feedback.
This whole free speech thing has gotten way out of hand. Can we have some ground rules? Like don’t let the beleaguered divorced widow of the man Lucky cheerfully blamed for an huge forest fire that engulfed miles and miles of national forest as well as a thousand homes and at least three lives and whom, according to Mattie herself, would not turn any of the insurance money over to this particular widow, speak at his funeral.
The feedback receded. Mattie stood solidly on her high heels and gripped the microphone in both hands.
“He was a crook.” She pushed back her permed hair, bright yellow glowing under the overhead lights of the hall.
“He was a crook and a murderer and I demand someone do something about it!”
Her vocabulary was not up for this kind of denouncement. Neither was anyone else’s. The room remained ominously silent, probably because this was exactly the kind of scene people hoped for when they dressed this morning and ventured out in the cold.
“He killed my husband!” She cried, squeezing out one tear.
Her ex-husband, really. Why are the ex-husbands suddenly so precious after they die? Oh that’s right, Danny admitted he paid a crushing amount of child support each month. Mattie probably missed her ex-husband very much indeed.
“And Lucky did it. Those houses weren’t safe! Danny tried to tell all of you, but you wouldn’t listen! They weren’t safe and Lucky got away with it and now Danny is dead and so is Lucky and he deserved it!”
I was pretty sure she meant Lucky deserved it.
Finally the preacher, minister, I really don’t know, it was one of those non-denominational ceremonies appropriate for a fairground venue, roused himself from his stupor and plucked the microphone from Mattie’s hand. He then led her off the stage into the waiting arms of Tom Marten
“He should be punished!” She sobbed. “He hurt so many people!”
There was a rumble of agreement in the crowd but no one ventured to speak up. Tom led Mattie gingerly out of the Hall of Flowers and into the rain.
The Lucky Masters did not bolster anyone’s mood. Cool and inviting in the heat of the August County Fair, the cement floor and high-windowed halls were depressingly dim in the rainy March afternoon. Rainy days and Mondays… The ambiance was just marginally more uplifting than sitting at the New Century reception area and listening to Patricia, our receptionist, announce the catalogue of current murders in the Sonoma County area. Marginally.
Prue was noticeably limping in her walking cast by the time we entered the reception hall fray. I watched her efforts carefully. She was our excuse to leave early, so I was determined to watch for the first sign of fatigue so we could make our exit.
Penny had indeed hired enough help to create as festive an atmosphere as appropriate. A number of her colorful quilts decorated the walls and brightened the place with splashes of emerald green, turquoise and hot red. Long tables covered by bolts of fabric in purple and orange complimented the colors in the quilts. It wasn’t morning black, but the day and overbuilding size was quite funereal enough. A half dozen hurricane lamps protecting fat white candles illuminated faces of guests as they bent to pick up a cracker or chip.
Prue headed to the drinks table. The rest of us, Carrie, Ben and me, followed her like a half-assed entourage.
Prue nodded to many people as she passed. I saw Tom Marten standing at attention in an opposite corner by of the doors. I nodded. He
nodded back.
“Where is our hostess?” Ben asked.
Suzanne Chatterhill marched up to us and took Prue’s arm. “We have a problem.” She hissed in Prue’s ear so loudly that I could hear.
“What?” Prue allowed herself to be led away, but not before gesturing to where she last saw Penny Masters.
The grainy City Council video did not do her justice. Penny Masters was a magnificent woman. She is taller than me, and thinner, which gave her the edge in the elegance department. She was dressed in a black pants suit with a brilliantly colored silk scarf in orange and turquoise dramatically draped over her broad shoulders.
Summer sidled up to us and glanced over to where I was staring.
“Does she find those scarves on her travels?” Carrie asked Summer.
“No she finds them at estate sales. She deals in antiques.”
“But she doesn’t travel?” I somehow thought she did. “Oh, sorry. Summer, Carrie, Carrie, Summer.”
The two women shook hands. Carrie nudged closer to Ben and took his arm. “And you must have already met Ben Stone, Allison’s fiancé.”
I deserved that. After all, I made her talk to Patrick. Carrie also thinks I should marry before she does because I’m older so she pushes her agenda at every opportunity.
“Can I get you some wine?” I knew his offer was less a coutesy and more an excuse to escape the three of us. Summer agreed, pleased. Ben disappeared, relieved.
“Did you see Mattie? I can’t believe they let her in!” Summer pushed away her damp hair and glared at us as if we had something to do with Mattie’s sudden and unwelcome appearance
“Is she still here?”
“Eating their food, not too holy to pass that up.” Summer said with disgust.
“It doesn’t look like the outburst was too upsetting to Penny.” I was pretty impressed with how composed Penny seemed. I barely made it through Grandpa’s funeral in one piece. I had been scattered to the wind, to the four corners of the earth, to the Milkly Way. I don’t even remember feeling my body. For weeks I forgot to eat. Grief does odd things to people. I felt we should all cut Penny Masters some slack. From the looks of it though, maybe she didn’t need any slack, or help.
“I take it you don’t agree with Mattie Timmons?” I distracted myself from my own morbid thoughts and addressed Summer.
“She’s just trying to extort money from Penny and Penny will have none of it. Just like her dad, in that respect.”
I nodded and turned towards the wine table expecting to find Ben, but he was missing. I poured a couple of glasses of what looked like Merlot; one for me, one for Ben and scanned the crowd for Ben. Summer had wandered off to greet future donors. I sipped my wine, light and unimpressive. Ah, there he was. He had wandered too close to our hostess. Crap.
I was fully prepared to overlook any behavior on the part of the bereaved, but I drew the line at flirting with my boy friend, now fiancé and current roommate. I casually strolled over to where Penny was chatting up Ben. I tried my best not to appear obvious but I don’t think it worked, because Ben greeted me with a huge, triumphant grin as I approached.
Damn, I’m so obvious.
“Well.” Ben drawled right after flashing his shit-eating grin (colorful metaphor courtesy of my grandfather, who was top of mind).“Sure little lady, but don’t you have people around Claim Jump who do that kind of thing?”
I arrived just in time to hear her say, “yes, of course.” Penny hesitated, then placed her hand protectively on his arm, giving his bicep a little squeeze. “But you understand that around here, a handyman comes to work when he feels like it, or when the moon enters the right house, or the Age of Aquarius is in full bloom. Or,” she took a deep breath and gave him a winsome look, “indisposed. It’s hard to get things done on time.”
“Ah, and you think I’ll be more prompt?” The grin chased across his features again. I felt like popping him, but that would destroy my disguise of fabulous, calm, confident fiancée. Instead I offered him the plastic glass of Merlot. He absently took it, his eyes still trained on Penny.
Penny in turn, eyed Ben up and down. “I’m sure of it.”
Ben loves to help, I know because he helps me, he helps Prue, he helps his grandmother, he helps old friends, some of whom I’m not all that thrilled about, but I am even less thrilled about him helping new friends: especially new friends who are taller, thinner, and richer than me. And who are wounded. Ben is a sucker for wounded.
I wiggled up and placed a protective hand on Ben’s other arm. I hoped it wouldn’t come to a tug of war, we were both sturdy women; Ben may not survive. But to my great relief she dropped her hand from his arm.
“Ah, here she is, Penny, have you met Allison Little? She’s in real estate down in the Bay Area.”
“Penny Masters.” Her handshake was on the flaccid side, which made me quite happy. I squeezed hard and gave her hand a tug.
“Nice to meet you and I’m so sorry about your father.”
Penny nodded but remained dry eyed. Maybe she and Dad weren’t all that close after all, I had assumed they were. And now she was an heiress, which is a wonderful thing to be, lovely parting gifts and all that. She could move away from being Poor Penny to Lucky Penny.
“Penny was just explaining she and Summer have an open house next Saturday and… ”
“I’m worried about a leak in the plumbing and your,” she continued.
“Fiancé,” I supplied for the third time in less than a week. The word was fitting better in my mouth. Ben gave me a glance but didn’t interrupt, and thank God, didn’t grin at me.
“Fiancé,” Penny repeated smoothly. “Offered to take a look.”
“He’s very generous that way.” I said, “always willing to look into things that are broken.”
Ben raised his eyebrows but did not comment.
We were scheduled to leave tomorrow, but with this new invitation, apparently not. I had no intention of leaving Ben alone in Claim Jump. I glanced back at Prue. She was balancing her wine and a plate of cheese. A piece of hard cheese slipped off the plate and Prue was forced to ignore it.
Okay, maybe I wouldn’t be leaving tomorrow for a number of reasons, some of them valid.
“Is this the fundraiser for the theater?” I asked.
“Yes,” Penny confirmed. “Summer and I didn’t think it was right to cancel. Dad would have wanted us to move forward. You must come,” she invited, a bit insincerely, but I ignored that.
I grinned again because sometimes I’m my mother’s daughter and I can be polite, even if I don’t want to. “We wouldn’t miss it.”
With that happy comment I led the fabulous, resourceful and helpful Ben Stone back towards Prue and the cheese.
“You aren’t pleased?” He tried to look innocent but was completely unsuccessful.
“No,” I snapped back. “I’m not pleased. She’s a predator and you know it. Check my leaking, please.”
“I thought I was suppose to make friends.”
“Not that fast!”
He just chuckled, it was almost as if he wanted me to react, just to make sure I was still interested. Couldn’t he just send a quick text? Interested? Yes. See how easy that is?
Prue’s cheeks were colorless, her cheese selection remainded untouched. She had enough. I was not sorry to leave the scene. Ben didn’t need prompting. He took one look at my grandmother and exited to bring the car closer. Carrie materialized by my side and together we protected Prue from the oblivious crowd as she made her way slowly to the side exit. The three of us huddled under the inadequate eaves as we waited for Ben to bring the car around. The rain had increased and was feeling suspiciously solid and chunky, but there was no snow on the ground. Nothing was sticking, that was good news at least.
I didn’t see her until it was too late and we couldn’t retreat back inside because that would just make more of a scene. Mattie Timmons must have been waiting in the rain ever since Tom escorted her out.
&n
bsp; “There you are!” Her hair was plastered to her face; her foundation was loosening its grip on her skin, unable to withstand the onslaught of all the cold water pouring from the sky. She approached us with what could only be described as a menacing walk.
“We’re waiting for our ride.” I hoped our impeding exit would deter her from any more conversation, but I was thwarted by one of the members of my own team.
“You seem very upset.” Carrie said in her best here, kitty, kitty tone. She may have given up volunteering for Forgotten Felines but she still exercised her rescuing skills.
“Well, wouldn’t you be upset?” Mattie demanded. “He’s dead and now he won’t pay what Danny is owed, and no one is doing anything about it. Except her. She’s gonna pay.” Mattie jabbed a finger over our head in the direction of the building.
“I didn’t know Danny was owed anything.” But after making her statement to people whom, frankly, couldn’t do anything about her situation, Mattie had disappeared into the thick pines lining the parking lot.
“What was that about?” Carrie asked.
Prue placed a hand on my arm to steady herself. “There’s an issue about insurance. Debbie is behind it as well. Mattie is her key witness. I heard that without Mattie there was no way to file a class action suit.”
“Why make a scene at the funeral?”
Ben pulled up with a splash of tires and I struggled to help Prue negotiate over the muddy puddles and into the front seat of my Lexus.
“Why not?” Prue shrugged.
Chapter Eleven
Prue collapsed against the comfortable seats of my car. I sat in the back with Carrie who suddenly was embroiled in a furious bout of texting.
“Better reception here.”
“It comes and goes.” I assured her.
“You know, Allison, Mattie Timmons is wrong.” Prue’s voice wavered from fatigue, but she carried on. “Tom Marten actually started to look into Danny’s claims that the houses Lucky Masters built on Red Dog Road were substandard. He even went as far as to look into the foam insulation. He even called for samples but the company had gone out of business, so he didn’t get very far.”
Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View Page 11
