Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View (11 page)

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.”

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 oddest 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.

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.”