He held my gaze for a long time, then nodded. “In any case . . . I know this seems sudden, but in fact I spoke with Graham previously about whether Turner Construction might take over the Wakefield job, or even work together with Pete Nolan. Now, with what happened yesterday . . .” He trailed off, sadness in his eyes. “Anyway, we’re in a real race with time here, and I hear you’ve done joint projects in the past.”
“Only one, and it was a highly unusual project.”
“I think you’ll agree that this project is pretty unusual too,” said Elrich. “Not only will Wakefield serve as a retreat center for the Elrich Method, but also as a pilot project for incorporating green techniques in historical renovations. I understand that’s of particular interest to you.”
I shrugged and nodded. Clearly, Graham had been talking.
“Graham also mentioned you’re an anthropologist, which is perfect for this sort of project, which combines history, culture, and architecture. It’s an archaeologist’s dream.”
“I’m not really that kind of anthropologist.”
“I can’t just let this project grind to a halt. Nolan’s workers don’t deserve to lose their jobs over this. And combined with your own staff, you can employ all those people and get a great job done as well. Keep Graham Donovan working on the most exciting project of his career and be an essential part of a fantastic project yourself. I don’t have to tell you that this is the kind of building that can make history, and you’ll have the resources you need to make it happen, do it right.”
Stan and Dad were watching the proceedings with avid interest, but they kept mute. I appreciated the way they were standing back and letting me make this decision, as head of the company. When I’d stepped in to take over Turner Construction “for a few months” after my father fell apart following the sudden loss of my mother, I’d assumed Dad would pull himself together and step back in to run the company he had built, and I would take off for Europe. But it had been years now, and I had come to accept that my dad was permanently retired. The company was now mine, for better or worse. I should have gotten used to it.
But still, Dad and Stan were both invested in the future of Turner Construction, and they were as nervous as I was about the lack of work in the pipeline. Here stood a fabulously wealthy client with a project seemingly custom-made for Turner Construction, and I was balking? Since I hadn’t filled them in on the details of what happened yesterday, they were bound to be confused by my attitude.
Elrich reached down to pet Dog. The canine wagged his tail and leaned his considerable weight against the billionaire’s leg, leaving long brown hairs on his fine suit. Buzz looked annoyed on his boss’s behalf, but Elrich didn’t seem to mind; on the contrary, he seemed determined to make everyone like him, and he appeared to be doing so.
“I don’t know anything about reconstructing an ancient building,” I said. “I do historical reconstruction, but that’s in a San Francisco context—we’re talking a hundred years, not six hundred.”
“Not a problem,” said Elrich with a confident shake of his well-coiffed head. “I have a special consultant on the job, Florian Libole. Have you heard of him?”
No one in my business didn’t know the name of Florian Libole. So it really had been his inscription on those drawings Graham showed me.
“Of course,” I said, “Libole’s internationally renowned.”
“That’s right. He’s very anxious to meet you.”
“To meet me?”
“There aren’t that many firms that specialize in this sort of thing here in California, as you know. If you refuse me, I’m afraid I’ll have to import someone from back east or, worse, from Europe. They would take time getting their bearings, not to mention that a job of this magnitude should be dealt with locally as much as possible. Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know. I have several other jobs going, and with the commute . . .”
“You’re welcome to stay at my place,” he said. “It’s huge, built to house plenty of folks. I’ve got several people staying there now, and I’ve invited Graham as well. In fact, according to my assistant, the house could use some sprucing up. It’s a sort of Spanish-revival, mission style, lots of hand-painted tile—you didn’t get a chance to look through it yesterday, but I think you’ll like it. Don’t forget your bathing suit; we have a beautiful pool. And please bring the dog—he’ll love running free on the fenced grounds.”
I looked at Stan’s face, my dad, Caleb, even Dog. They all seemed to like Ellis Elrich. And Turner Construction needed a job like this.
But then, only Dog knew all the facts of what we’d seen yesterday, and he wasn’t talking.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I’m sorry. I can’t commit without thinking it over. I hope you didn’t come all the way here just to talk to me about this.”
“I had some business in San Francisco anyway, and I rarely take time to explore Oakland. Florian tells me I simply must stop by and see the Chapel of the Chimes while I’m here. He says it’s a hidden gem. Oakland really is a beautiful city.”
That was very politic of him. My dad’s house was nowhere near the Chapel of the Chimes; instead, we live in the Fruitvale section of Oakland, a neighborhood once chock-full of orchards but now jammed with small bungalows all in a row, with the exception of the old farmhouse. Working class, to be kind; “gritty” was the adjective most often applied to the area by outsiders.
“Just in case you decide to join us.” Elrich signaled to one of the burly men next to him, who reached into his breast pocket and extracted a plain manila envelope. He handed it to Elrich, who offered it to me. “This contains documents that will fill you in on a few of the details and, most importantly, a check with a deposit.”
I peeked in at the figure he’d written and gulped. The check was huge. It didn’t take an accountant to realize the sum would keep Turner Construction—and all the people we employed—solvent for a full year. And this was just his “deposit.”
“You think about it,” said Elrich. “And let me know by tomorrow morning. I’m sorry to rush you, but we don’t have much time to lose. Even with yesterday’s tragedy, it’s essential we keep on schedule to the extent possible.”
“Do you have the go-ahead from the police to start construction again already?”
“That won’t be a problem.”
“Okay, I’ll . . . think about it,” I repeated. I wasn’t promising anything, but I’d be lying if I claimed the size of that check hadn’t swayed me.
We watched the limo glide down the street. The appearance of the luxury vehicle had coaxed several of our neighbors out onto their porches, and a trio of laughing kids chased it for a block before giving up.
“A limo like that’s even more exciting than when the garbage truck fell into the sinkhole right there. Remember that?” observed Stan. He explained to Caleb: “It took three industrial tow trucks to pull the lumbering truck out of the hole, and it forced the city to finally fix the problem for good.”
“Seriously?” said Caleb.
“Yup.”
We waved at the neighbors, and when the limo turned the corner and zoomed out of sight, Dad turned back to me.
“I thought you said the site meeting in Marin yesterday didn’t result in anything.”
“I wasn’t planning on taking the job.”
“Why the devil not?”
“It’s sort of a good-news, bad-news situation,” I explained.
“I can’t wait to hear this,” he said, and I imagined he was mentally rolling his eyes.
“The good news is, someone died at the Wakefield jobsite yesterday. Was killed, actually.”
Dad, Stan, and Caleb looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Dog looked at me as though waiting for me to drop food, but that was his typical stare.
“Someone died?” asked Caleb. “Who?”
&nb
sp; “No one you know,” I said. “A building inspector.”
“Well, no one likes building inspectors,” Dad observed with a grunt.
“Even so,” said Stan, “I would have thought a murder would count as the bad news.”
“Yes,” I said. “Well, obviously, if you were the one killed. Or his family or . . . Okay, clearly it’s tragic. Horrible. All I’m saying is that in terms of me, at least the place is now predisastered.”
They still weren’t following my logic. I tried again.
“You know how lately I have a tendency to stumble across dead bodies on my jobsites? Well, this jobsite has already had one dead body. What are the chances I’ll come across another one?”
“We sure could use the work, babe,” said Dad with a shake of his head. “But I don’t want you on yet another job with yet another murderer running around.”
“That’s more good news, actually. The killer’s already in custody. He was the general on the job: Pete Nolan. Graham said you know him.”
“Sure, I know Pete,” said Dad. “They say Pete’s the one who killed this guy?”
“He’s a loose cannon, all right,” said Stan. “That SOB sucker-punched me once when he didn’t like what I said about the chances for Oakland Raiders to win the Super Bowl. Remember that?”
“That was back when he was still a drunk,” said my dad. “He hasn’t had any problems like that for years now.”
Stan shrugged, apparently unconvinced.
“Anyway, he’s in custody,” I continued. “So I guess that’s the end of that. That’s what I mean about the place being predisastered.”
“Okay, so if a dead guy on site is the good news,” said Caleb, “what’s the bad news?”
Ghosts. I thought to myself, but did not say aloud. Just the thought of whatever it was I saw hovering over Larry McCall gave me the shivers, but my family had enough to keep them preoccupied as it was; no need to pile on the worries. Besides, in the case of Wakefield, I couldn’t imagine the ghosts had anything to do with McCall’s death. Whatever spirits those stones held—with the exception of the newly departed Larry McCall—belonged to another land, another age. The building inspector’s demise was a senseless crime of passion, a case of testosterone run amok and tempers flaring out of hand. Period.
“The bad news is, it’s really too far for me to commute. Raul can take over the day to day on the current projects we’re finishing up, but I’ll have to take Elrich up on his offer to stay up there for a while.” This, of course, was good news for me. I adored my father, and his friend Stan, and this old farmhouse. But there was no denying I could use some time away. As the guest of the stinking-rich Ellis Elrich in a beautiful old Spanish-style hacienda with a pool and a view of the ocean? Yes, please.
“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, babe,” said Dad.
I had to admit, he didn’t appear exactly broken up over the news. I supposed it was possible I had become a bit annoying, what with nagging him to eat organic vegetables and to stop watching so much TV.
Probably we could both use a little time apart.
“But I don’t know . . .” Dad trailed off, his attention seeming as divided as Caleb’s usually did. He kept staring at his new smartphone. “Maybe if you’re gonna go on up and stay at Elrich’s house, you should take a gun, just in case. You’re a good shot with that Glock.”
“Um . . . okay.”
He looked up, surprised, a slight smile on his face. “You’re getting smart, now, are you? Change your mind about gun control?”
Stan, who had a few decided opinions about gun control, gaped at me.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” I said. “I just . . . Just in case, it might not hurt to have a little extra protection.”
“You think you’ll be in danger?” asked Stan. “Mel, no job is worth putting yourself at risk.”
“No. Not really. Not at all. I’m just . . . I thought it might be a good idea. Considering my track record. Besides, Graham will be there, so I’ll have plenty of protection.”
“Still . . .” Dad trailed off again. This was not like him.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, annoyed.
“This smartphone isn’t near as smart as a person would hope.” Dad had only recently upgraded from his old-fashioned flip phone. He explained that he had been waiting to make sure it wasn’t just a fad. Now that he had broken down and bought the newfangled device, he appeared to be enamored with its many features and apps. “I’m trying to look up directions to the barbecue.”
I felt a sudden stab of worry. I knew Dad was getting older, slowing down, but he wasn’t that old, was he?
“Dad, you’ve been going to Garfield Lumber for thirty years. You need to look up the directions?”
“I just want to hear the voice tell me how to get there. See if she’s right. I like her voice, sounds like a real nice gal.”
Caleb rolled his eyes, but smiled and held out his hand. “Here. Give it to me, Bill. I’ll show you.”
“Okay, everybody ready?” I asked, wanting to get the show on the road. “Shall we take the van?”
Stan was in a wheelchair after a construction accident years ago. It was easiest to take the specially outfitted van so he didn’t have to get out of his chair.
“Sure,” Dad said, tossing me the keys. As we were all climbing in—he and Caleb in back, Stan riding shotgun—he added: “Hey, when are you and Graham gonna make me a grandfather again?”
Stan hooted with laughter.
Wow. That was out of left field. I was just beginning to move past my I-hate-all-men phase; that didn’t mean I was ready to move on to procreation.
“You’ve got Caleb,” I said, trying to ignore the strange sensation in the pit of my stomach. “That’s about all I’m guaranteeing at the moment.”
“Well, now, I guess he’ll do just fine,” Dad said.
Caleb pretended to be absorbed in programming Dad’s phone, but when I glanced at him in the rearview mirror, I could tell he was smiling.
“Hey, Bill,” Caleb said. “What do you call a ridiculous old man?”
“I give up. What?”
“A fossil fool.”
Dad chuckled.
Garfield Lumber’s stale hot dogs had never tasted better.
Unfortunately, construction workers are big on lame jokes; after Dad blabbed about what had happened at Wakefield, I’d been forced to listen to a million funny stories that culminated in dead building inspectors.
Maybe it was just too soon, but I didn’t find them amusing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Juliet Blackwell is the pseudonym for a mystery author who also writes the Haunted Home Renovation series and, together with her sister, wrote the Art Lover’s Mystery series. The first in that series, Feint of Art, was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Novel. Juliet’s lifelong interest in the paranormal world was triggered when her favorite aunt visited and read her fortune—with startling results. As an anthropologist, the author studied systems of spirituality, magic, and health across cultures and throughout history. She currently resides in a happily haunted house in Oakland, California.
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A Vision in Velvet: A Witchcraft Mystery Page 30
