“Only if it gets you what you want.” Lucky staggered out the door with his heavy burden leaving Summer in the empty theater. She clenched her fists, and then burst into tears.
“That is all.” Raul exited the program.
“But what does it mean?” I protested. “We already know Lucky was mean to Penny and now he’s rude to Summer, not that big a revelation.”
“She always won at the fair but no one could ever buy her work.” Prue leafed through a magazine on the top of the pile designated for the library. “Lucky always came in and bought all her quilts before the fair opened. I should read that article.” She pulled the magazine and tossed it towards her place at the table.
“I have one.” Raul said. “I bought it before the fair, she was happy to sell it to me. We usually don’t talk.” He mused. “She does not like me.”
My phone chirped. It was the office.
“Have you seen the inspection papers for 305 Skilling Court?” Inez said without preamble.
“In my office computer, probably on the desk top.” Patricia keeps copies of all that information, Inez did not need to call me.
“I’m working on two sales and two listings. And I may have two more.” I announced instead, knowing that was the real reason for her call.
There was some silence at the other end of the line. “That is good.”
“I thought so.” I confirmed.
“Then you’ll be up there for a while.”
“Just until I get these in escrow, I’ll come down soon and check in.” I promised.
“No, as long as you’re working. Stay up there as long as you need to.”
I looked around the kitchen. Raul was working on the computer. Brick opened the wine and Carrie and Prue hovered together in a tete-a-tete over the newest issue of Brides Magazine. The scene was begining to feel familiar: it was staring to feel like home.
“Okay,” I took Inez up on her offer. “I’ll stay as long as it takes.”
Sarah surveyed room number 245. “This is nice.”
“You’ve never been here?” He pulled in her stuffed duffle bag and an old hard sided brief case containing her computer.
“Why would I stay in a hotel in my own home town?” She waited for him to push her luggage inside, then followed.
He moved the briefcase to the low table by the window, next to his own lap top. “I’m sorry about your grandparents.” He opened his hands in offering, as if it was the best he could do.
She knew it was probably was the best he could do and accepted his gesture for what he meant rather than whatshe thought should be expressed. Her grandmother had always insisted that people say and do things the way SHE thought they should be done. And she was always disappointed. “Thank you. Is it all right if I take a shower?”
He gestured to the bathroom and she scurried quickly in as if he may suddenly change his invitation
“I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Take your time, they told me we have hot water.”
The shower started up, but it wasn’t loud enough to muffle her sobs. He understood and didn’t try to come in and hold her, or get into the shower fully clothed, any of that. She needed some privacy.
Scott rubbed his face and allowed the warmth of the room to sink into his bones. True to her word Sarah was quickly out of the shower. The whine of the hair dryer started up.
What was he doing? Did he even want a house here? How could he support himself? He shook his head again; he didn’t have to worry about supporting himself. He could sit right here, in this room forever, not do anything at all. Except now that supporting himself was no longer an issue, it was exactly what he wanted to do. That must be Dad’s ghost extolling Scott to take action. What kind of action? Scott had no clue.
“You just lost your dad.” Sarah stepped out of the steamy bathroom dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt that was too big for her, but made her look pretty wonderful. He realized, as he gazed at her, that no matter what she showed up wearing - oversized shirts, crappy stained sweats, she would always look wonderful.
“Was he old?” She lifted her still damp hair and expertly wound a rubber band around it, without even looking.
“No, he died while building an indoor water slide.”
She dropped her arms to her side. “At least that’s interesting.”
“More than you know.”
“I was thinking.” She tossed the towel back into the bathroom, hesitated, then ducked in, picked up the towel and smoothed it over the rack.
“I was thinking I could sell the house and use the money to help you.”
“I thought your mother wanted half.”
She emerged from the bathroom, considered what she would say next, then blurted it all out anyway. “Two minutes after you dropped me off at my house, my mother insisted on going right back down to the bank. She figured I was up to something, I’ll give her credit for that much consciousness. We got there just as it was closing.”
“What did your mother find?” He had no idea what had transpired in the bank vault, just that his real estate agent looked pretty happy with herself, and Sarah was decidedly relieved. He felt the less he knew, the better for Sarah.
Sarah, for her part, knew she’d eventually tell Scott what transpired between she and this remarkable woman, Allison Little. But for now she reiterated the official version. Her grandfather saved his stocks in Lucky’s company - totaling as close to $250,000 as she and Allison could count out. Later that afternoon, as she and her mother gazed into the now familiar safety deposit box, Lizzie had reacted exactly as Sarah predicted. She pulled every stock certificate out and just tossed the insurance folders at Sarah.
“Here, that’s for you. Keep the house, I’ll take this.” She fanned out the certificates and waved them as if to cool herself.
Sarah nodded and pulled out a release form dotted with arrow shaped sticky notes pointing to where her mother was to sign and initial. After Lizzie signed over the house to Sarah, Sarah in turn, gave her mother the name and number of a stockbroker in Auburn. Lizzie and Jack loaded up in the Oldsmobile (the TV just fit in the back seat) and soon to be richer beyond their most wild, drug fueled, dreams, they drove into the sunset.
“We think the certificates are worth about $250,000.” Sarah explained to Scott, omitting that she held the other $250,000 in certificates, not to mention all the loose cash.
“That’s more than half your house value.” Scott felt he was qualified to make that call, having hung out for almost a week with a Realtor.
Sarah laughed. There were wads of hundred dollar bills in her backpack, more at Prue’s house. Allison took the rest of the stock certificates to give to a friend who would invest the whole amount into something completely different. Sarah didn’t understand how different, but she’d get income from the investment, more than the income from Lucky’s company, that was for sure.
“Don’t worry about it. Should I sell?”
“Where do you want to live?” Scott asked reasonably.
Sarah stopped laughing. “Here. With you.”
For my next big project, I was presented with more buyers. A new and very happy couple looking for new digs, that it was still Scott Lewis and he was just still looking for a place of his own reduced the excitement somewhat, but what else was I doing? Nothing. I still had calls out for sale possibilities on Gold Way, but so far, no response.
“Are you sure you want to sell your grandparents house?” I asked Sarah again.
“Yes, I’d like to start over, with my own place, or with Scott.” She glanced at the boy, who put his arm protectively around her shoulders. It should be as simple for Ben and me. I envied them.
I was back on top, I was in the game. I had listings! I was too busy to call Rosemary and gloat. I had a listing on Grove. I had the Lucky listing on Main and I had a buyer, now two buyers but together, which of course is more annoying than both listings combined, but that cannot be helped. And Penny kept calling and leaving mes
sages about Lucky’s other properties. I promised to work out of the New Century office up here and ordered signs with a local phone number that would roll over to my cell.
Lucky owned many properties, but Penny directly inherited her home and three more: the Main Street home, Lucky’s office building and a rental on the other side of town.
I visited Penny at her house and immediately suggested she keep the rental to earn easy, passive income. “I noticed they are long time tenants, it seems a shame to move them.”
“I don’t give a damn about the tenants. I want the money from the sale.” She narrowed her eyes and glared at me. “Do you have any idea how annoying tenants are? Always calling about problems you have to fix, always demanding things, as if you owe them a living space.”
“They can be a hassle, true. But monthly rent is great steady income.”
And she may want that steady income. I had no idea what would happen if the class action lawsuit went through. Ben’s broker was busy selling and re-investing Sarah’s stock as we spoke. We did not want to take any chances with her future. But what about the other stockholders? Even if the plaintiffs just got a little bit each, the lawyers would take the rest, and no matter how the money would be distributed, Penny would be left with nothing.
As if reading my mind, Penny replied, “the lawsuit will take forever, and I want the money now. Mattie Timmons had no idea what to do and that Debbie Smith has even less savvy, Dad told me so.”
“They could have help.” I pointed out, usually the barest rustling of a class action suit alerts dozens of gun toting attorneys who are perpetually loaded and ready to fire.
“From whom?” Penny sneered. “No one touches Lucky Masters, just ask him.”
I ducked my head so not to really gaze directly at her.
“Oh,” she turned and rearranged a collection of little glass ornaments on the table. “I forget. You forget a loved one is dead, don’t you?”
I don’t forget. I remembered the death I’d have seen in person and I work hard to push away the images and the horror. I would love to forget, but I can’t. I’m not cut out to be first on a scene. I’m a fragile delicate flower, ask anyone.
“Do you want to sell that rental or not?” She demanded.
“I’ll sell it.” I assured her.
Chapter Nineteen
“I’m pleased you have some listings,” Rosemary called.
“And buyers.” I pointed out, just to make me sound busy.
“Oh, buyers.” She uttered the word with the same tone as if she were describing dog turds in a backyard.
“So, things are interesting up there?” Rosemary couched.
“Tell Inez I am not moving out of my New Century office and I’m most assurdedy not switching offices with you.”
“How did you know that’s what I was asking?” Rosemary demanded.
“You should have burned more incense to cloud my perceptions or something.” I suggested.
“Humph.” Rosemary hung up with no good bye.
Penny and I agreed that a full week would be enough time for her to clean out Lucky’s house. To help move the project along, I contacted Summer and suggested she could borrow some of Lucky’s furniture for the next theater production (besides the furniture that had already mysterious appeared in the theater). Summer took immediate action and asked if we could meet at the house in five minutes. I countered with ten. Summer had an unfair advantage she was across the street and I had to drive all the way down two hills.
“I’m monitoring the tryouts for You Can’t Take it With You.” Summer announced before I could even exit my car.
I slammed the car door and locked it out of habit. “And is the irrepressible Sarah Miller slated to play the ingénue? Who is the ingénue in that play?”
Pat pulled up behind me in his white Mercedes and helped Mike from the car. “The daughter of slightly insane parents.”
“Sarah is not at the theater.” Summer swept into the house and the rest of us followed. The three immediately scattered as if on a scavenger hunt and only had five minutes to gather everything they needed on their list.
“Are you taking this breakfront?” Summer called from the dining room.
“Not the breakfront, but you can have the sideboard.” Mike dashed off to prevent Summer from putting a particularly good piece in the spotlight of Act II.
“Hideous piece.” Pat clattered down the stairs to check on the sideboard, gestured his blessing, then ducked back upstairs.
Pat and Summer carried the sideboard out the front door and across the street. At least it wasn’t raining, which is why they all came so quickly as soon as I called.
“Is Penny too busy to be here?” Mike stepped around the front parlor. He carried a pad of yellow sticky notes.
“Everything we want, we’ll mark.” He slapped a sticky on a cane back rocking chair. “The movers will come tomorrow.”
“I can handle furniture. It’s not the most odious thing I’ve ever done for a client.” My tone was mild.
Mike pulled out a stool, climbed up and attached a sticky to the chandelier.
“Can we keep that for now?”
He glanced down at me, arm still raised, barely reaching the lowest glass pendant. “Only because it’s you.”
“Thank you.”
Summer and Pat reappeared. “I need a bed.” Summer announced.
“The guest room.” I directed her upstairs.
“Not the master, choose anything else.” Pat called up.
Pat looked around, rubbing his hands as he considered the furnishings. “I can’t believe Penny is not here. She should be here, haggling over every cent. Getting the maximum value for every stick of furniture in the place.”
They nodded solemnly and said together, “That’s what Lucky would have done.”
“Do you guys rehearse this stuff?”
“We’ve been together forever.” Pat explained briskly. “That’s what happens. It’s like when you end up looking like your dog.”
“Not a good analogy.” Mike staged whispered. “We want her to marry the man remember?”
“I can hear you.”
“Sorry, we want the breakfronts for sure, but not the crap inside. Help us empty them out.”
For the next hour the two experts trolled briskly through the house. Every once in a while they obligingly helped Summer drag a chair, a desk and the guest room bed across the street, apparently abandoning the furniture in the lobby.
The boys tagged what they wanted with yellow sticky notes.
“Anything you want?” Mike asked me at one point.
“No, I’m more of a Danish modern kind of girl.” I have no interest in any furniture built before the Arts and Crafts movement. I’ve been known to pick up chairs at the Laz-Z-Boy furniture store. I am a big fan of comfort.
Pat and Mike however, are all about style and high value, which is great for them. But I may not ask them to decorate my next house.
“When’s the open house?” Mike brushed his hands with satisfaction.
“Sunday, in two days.”
“We didn’t see it in the paper.”
“That’s because I didn’t list it in this paper.” I explained. “I bought the Chronicle and the Bee. Locals already know about this house and have made up their minds, I want a minimum of looky loos.”
“You’ll get them anyway, at least everyone who wasn’t invited to the post-funeral party.”
I nodded. “Summer will hang out in the front yard distributing flyers for You Can’t Take it With You.”
“The movers will be here tomorrow. Let Penny know.”
“Are you sure you don’t want any of these?” I gathered up as many breakable, sharp edged, crystal, porcelain, figurine stuff I could, and only then did I glance around for a place to stash them.
“No, the markets are crammed with that stuff. Maybe Hospice?” Pat suggested.
“I need a few boxes.” I took the offending items to the kitchen and care
fully placed them in a jumble on the kitchen table.
The boys did not take any furniture from the great room. I had forgotten to turn on the heat but at least the west facing kitchen felt a few degrees warmer. It must get pretty hot during the summer months. I stepped outside to check for, and found a retractable awning. Good Realtors notice those details. I didn’t recall if there had been more personal things around the back room or not, we hadn’t been allowed to linger here. Certainly the flat panel TV screen spoke to a more modern life than the museum quality front rooms.
“But that piece would be perfect, you can’t take it.” Summer protested. Her voice became stronger the closer she came to the back of the house.
“Oh grow up, Penny gets 30% of the sale. What are you giving her?” I heard Mike demand.
I decided to meet Summer halfway. I rounded the corner to the hallway. Summer glared at Pat and Pat glared back at her. Debbie now appeared on the scene, now that all the heavy lifting was finished. She stood two steps behind Summer.
I didn’t think Debbie was the best kind of friend for Summer. I come to this opinion honestly; I quizzed my grandmother. She told me Debbie is about fifty years old. And fifty does not look good on her. Coco Chanel said that by fifty, you get the face you deserve. If that is true, Debbie had been a very bad girl indeed.
“Debbie used to live on Gold Way.” Prue commented. “There was a fire.”
“Did Lucky own the building?”
“It was a house.” Prue had corrected. “There are no buildings on Gold Way.”
I kept quiet and let her continue.
“I don’t know why she came up here, following up on something she had going in Sacramento I suppose.”
“Was she working for Lucky?” It was a good guess, so many people were.
“I don’t know. Raul?”
Raul shook his head, his eyes glued to his computer. “After the fire she claimed she was almost was run off the road.” He flapped his hand in the general direction of down hill. “On the way to the river. No one believed.” He paused and hit a few keys. “Her,” he finished his thought.
“Locals pass on that road all the time, then run out of room.” I mused. “It could have been local versus flatlander.”
Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View Page 19
