Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View (14 page)

Chapter Thirteen

“I really do think they are dying.” Sarah whispered into the phone receiver.

Her grandparents would not hear her over the blast of the 6:00 news,
but she kept her voice low anyway. The commentary on the broadcast rankled, but her grandfather loved the hysterical conservative views that Sarah found repugnant.  But since Sarah insisted on helping her grandparents fill out their absentee ballots, her liberally inclined conscience was clear. Grandpa could rant all he liked; he had voted Democrat in the last three elections.

“Honey, haven’t they been dying for years now?”  Her mother’s voice
was both weary and indifferent.

Sarah glanced into the living room.  Her grandparents
had sunk so thoroughly into the sprung confines of their matching recliners, she couldn’t tell where the chairs ended and their collapsed bodies began.  She could hear her grandfather’s labored breathing from where she stood in the kitchen.

Sarah sensed her mother rolling her eyes. The few hours her mother wasn’t high, she
was cynical and angry, especially when the discussion focused on her parents. The only reason Sarah ever called was to deliver an update on those very parents. The conversations were rarely cheerful.

“Come on, do I have to? Didn’t I see them at Christmas?”
  Her mother whined like a teenage girl.

“No, you
did not see them at Christmas, you had an emergency and couldn’t come down.” An emergency for her mother was running out of gas so she couldn’t drive down to visit, and by the time Sarah sent up the money for gas, her mother had run out of drugs and subsequently used the gas money for more drugs. And then had no money for gas.

It was a
n effective system for avoiding the parents.

Sarah rubbed her eyes and leaned against the
doorframe. Dorothy Gale had a whole village of people to take care of her, watch after her.  Sarah relished that role, the role of the girl who had people willing to help her: The Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow. Dorothy had friends, even at the end of her adventure.  What did Sarah have?  

“Don’t do it for them.”  Sarah said
, her last ditch effort to actually be the adult even if her mother, and grandparents for that matter, refused to co-operate. “Do it for yourself. You can’t afford the amount of drugs it will take to wipe out the guilt you’ll feel if you don’t visit one last time.”

She knew what it was like to miss the good
-byes.  She liked Danny Timmons and his friend Jimmy. Even though they were much older than she, they had always been nice to her.  And suddenly they were gone, just like that.  No final words, no good bye. If you can, say good-bye. Sarah knew that.

“Just for the afternoon, I think it’s important
.” She begged her mother.

“I could probably fit in something during an afternoon. I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“Oh sure, your schedule.”  Sarah did not bother tempering the sarcasm in her tone. 

“Sarah, we can’t hear the TV, they got all quiet on us again!  These men need to speak up.”

She hung up the phone. “I’ll be right there.”

Tom stopped by right after Ben left.

Prue offered him coffee and a place at the table
whichTom gratefully accepted.

“Help me out here.  What did Mattie Timmons mean when she said Lucky killed Danny?” 

“The insulation in those homes is flammable.” Someone had to say it out loud, but Tom did not seem particularly surprised.

He nodded. “We think so
too, but since the proof went up in flames as well, there’s little to go on.  No records, Lucky destroyed all his records prior to 1995.”

“
Mattie has proof, from Danny.” I offered.

“I also heard rumors he started the fire.”

I thought so too, but I also knew Danny had raced back into the conflagration to save someone who was at least more innocent than Ben, or me, and lost his life in the effort.  However that fact was tempered by the fact that Danny was also willing to sacrifice Ben in that same fire.  In my own book of dastardly deeds, Danny was about even. 

“I don’t have anything to say about that
.” I said virtuously.

“That’s fine, don’t.  Penny filed a restraining order against Mattie Timmons. She was up at the house this morning.”

“Mattie was? Was she threatening Penny?”

He nodded. “Mattie Timmons is
also a member of the shooting range.  She was a crack shot in high school; they started a High School team just because she was so good.  I talked to George out at the range.  He said she came there a lot right after the divorce.  It’s a great way to let off steam.”

“So I hear.” 

“How about recently?”  Prue asked.  Tom nodded in her direction. 

“I asked too.  A couple times this month.”

“Who monitors the sign in sheet?”

“Honor system.”

“Of course.”   

“Is
Mattie a suspect then?”

“She makes a great suspect
.” Tom admitted. “But we have no proof and I can’t arrest someone on rumor.”

For which we all should be very grateful.  I glanced at Prue, who looked as pious and innocent as she could, which is to say, not very.

“Lucky organized the range so there was a membership fee and more control.  He used to bring Penny out here, a real father/daughter activity.”

“Was Penny a good shot?”

“Not really, she wasn’t as enthusiastic about the sport as Lucky.  Since her mother died, they really didn’t get along.”

“That’s why she had that house on the hill and Lucky lived in town
,” Prue commented.  “Lucky always liked being in the center of things.  The new house was too far away for him.”

“Still is
.” I agreed.

Tom took his leave
. Carrie helped Prue upstairs for a nap and I started calling local real estate agents.  For the right price, people will sell their homes, even if the home is not officially for sale. 

“Anything can be had for the right price.” I pressed the
keypad on my phone.

Carrie appeared downstairs.
“What about love?” 

After a gratifying short time, Ben returned.  “Are you up for a social call?”

I was alone in the kitchen, Carrie followed Prue’s example and was upstairs resting with her eyes closed.
An hour earlier I checked on both of them and covered each with an extra quilt.

“Sure.
Who are we calling upon?”

“Mattie Timmons
. I just cannot believe that she is as bad as Penny says.”

“Penny was ranting about Mattie? I would think Mattie would be too small
a fish in Penny’s pond to even merit notice.”

“Nothing is too small for Penny’s consideration.” Ben closed his eyes. “No wonder the woman never married, I don’t think I could get through
even a whole dinner with her.”

H
is admission cheered me no end.   “Sure, I’ll come with you, but, full disclosure, I am not her favorite person.”

“I
know,” he agreed. “She must realize by now that you and Danny were a long time ago.”

“I hope so.”

Mattie lived in one of the suburban tract developments popular in the sixties, before historic homes became all the rage in Claim Jump.  The house had been well cared for at some point in the past. Danny must have come by even after the divorce. But now that he was gone, the house was started to fray at the edges.  The grass was uncut, the windows were dusty and a number of roof tiles were missing.

Mattie
answered the door looking much calmer and dryer than when we last saw her. Her crinkly blond hair was well fluffed; the black strands underneath contrasted starkly against the blond.

“Oh,
it’s you.” She frowned, her expression falling into well-grooved lines on her face.  “Come in then.”  We followed her past the kitchen to a living room decorated in bold beige that overlooked a bedraggled lawn. Red dirt showed through where the grass had worn away.  A wooden swing set stood forlornly in one corner.

“I’m sorry about the funeral, but no one was saying it.” 
Mattie perched on the edge of the beige sectional.  We chose to sit on the two remaining beige chairs.

“Saying what?”

“That Lucky Masters was a first rate bastard.”

“
That is exactly why he donated heavily to the community, so no one would say it out loud.” I pointed out.

“Then why didn’t he buy me
out?” She whined, suddenly petulant.  “Danny was almost killed twice by Lucky’s shortcuts.”

“Did you know what the shortcuts were?”  Ben asked quickly
.

She crumpled
and slumped over the ottoman. Some of her self-righteousness and thank goodness, whining, stopped.  “It wasn’t until after the divorce. We didn’t talk much, and Danny kept to himself, I suppose I don’t blame him for that.  Lucky promised him job after job and that was enough to keep the poor bastard quiet. But it’s not right, Lucky owes me and now Penny owes me.”

She was
right; Danny had tried to tell me.  The insulation Lucky used for his tract homes was cheap, but not safe. It was in fact, flammable; one small kitchen fire hitting a wall, any wall, and the whole house would go up like a firebomb target.  Most communities had banned the product, but no one here knew about the insulation in the first place.  Plus, Lucky’s work was never that closely monitored. Danny discovered it and was killed before he could bring it to anyone’s attention.  But Danny was not killed by Lucky directly.  Mattie was wrong about that.

“Do you have any proof?”  Ben asked.

She slumped even further forward, her raw rough hands dangled between her knees.   “Danny didn’t share that much with me.  He always gave me child support; he was good about that. But now? Nothing. I had to go back to work …” she trailed off.  “I hate Penny.”

“
That’s understandable but it doesn’t sound like much of a case.”

“Now you sound like Tom Marten.”

“Tom Marten is right, you may want to keep your distance from Penny.”  Ben counseled. 

I glanced at him, he was more than serious
; he was warning her. 

But I
could not tell if Mattie was really listening.

We returned
to the car and I threw it in second to climb Mattie’s steep driveway.

“Do you remember we picked up all that
insulation I had on my hands?”

“After you pulled the door off the hinges to escape a
fiery death?  That insulation?”  That was the last time Ben had visited Claim Jump. Danny, ironically was part of the problem then. At the time, Danny mistook Ben for a housing inspector, and Danny did not want to take the fall for Lucky’s shortcuts. So he decided on the spur of the moment that Ben should take the fall.

“You make it sound so melodramatic
.” He teased,  “It was a flimsy door, and the fire was at least five minutes away.”

“Thanks
, that makes me feel so much better.”

He
waited. I turned the corner and headed back to Prue’s.  “Check the glove compartment.”

He did, after pulling out handfuls of
unnecessary AAA maps of places I no longer visited, three emergency lipsticks, a small travel size hand lotion, gum, mints, notepads and scratched New Century name badges, he found a flattened baggy wedged in the back corner of the compartment.

              “Don’t you think it’s a little risky to just drive around with a baggie of white powder in your car?”  He waved the folorn thing at me.

“Not really, it’s
not pretty and sparkly enough to be coke, it looks more like corn starch and that’s not yet a controlled substance.”

He hefted the bag.
“We can tell the story, but that won’t hold in court or in favor of a class-action suite”

“
No, no it wouldn’t.”

“I’ll take it down to a friend of mine in Davis, he can be the expert witness, if it comes to that.  Will you be okay if I’m gone overnight?”

“It’s Claim Jump
. I’ll be fine.”

“Just stay off the shooting range, and out of Penny’s way, and don’t sell any home
filled with this,” he rattled the bag then slipped it into his pocket.

“I’ll be careful.” I promised.

Chapter Fourteen

I should have been worried that there was a murderer lurking around the community, ready to strike again, but I was pretty certain this was a one shot deal, so to speak.  I was still convinced that a whole group of residents were responsible for Lucky’s death, which meant the whole town was crawling with would-be murderers. Perversely, I felt safer for it.

I picked up my phone and walked around the apartment until I found enough bars to make a call.

Tom answered on the first ring.  “It’s after hours.”

“This is not official business.”

“Allison.” His voice held a note of warning. I had no rights, Lucky wasn’t my father, but Penny wasn’t asking questions, so I would.

“Was the body tied up?” 

“No, but we did think of that.” He said with exaggerated patience.

“Do you have any leads?”

“Would I tell you?”

“No, but you may as well.”

“We have no leads. It’s a bizarre accident, we may never know what really happened.”

“Aren’t people clamoring for justice?”

I heard him blow out a breath.  “We’re talking about Lucky Masters here.  Penny isn’t pursuing the situation and Summer just discovered the theater will be generously endowed.  No one is protesting anything.”

“So you are going to write it off?”

“The mayor would like that.  Just bury the whole event along with Lucky and, as she put it, allow his good works to stand for themselves.”

“Or not.”

“Or not,” he agreed.

“Did you get very far with the cause of last fall’s fire?” I switched subjects.

He paused and then cleared his throat.  “We hit a dead end there too
; no evidence.”

I thought of Ben driving to his friend’s lab in Davis.  I did not bring that up, I don’t know why.

              “If you had evidence, would you open the case again?”

His pause was even longer. “Lucky’s insurance agency would like to know, and a pack of attorneys would like to know. But you know if there is a class action suit, like the kind Debbie is working to organize, all Lucky’s money will go to the plaintiffs.”

“Instead of the theater?”

“Instead of the theater.”  He agreed. “Instead of the Children’s Festival, Instead of the music hall for the high school, instead of the tympani drums for the symphony, instead of overtime for the police to organize the Constitution Day parade. Instead of a long list of things.”

“Thanks.”

“Stop calling me at home.”

I returned to the deserted kitchen in the main house to work on my computer since the apartment was out of Wi-Fi range. I skimmed the web for further reports on Lucky.  As annoying and sometimes scary as our receptionist Patricia was, she was excellent at researching the web. I had half a mind to call and ask for her help, but there was no excuse I could use.  Lucky was not a New Century client.

“What are you doing?”  Carrie padded down wearing a pair of my grandfather’s thick socks.

“Looking up informat
ion on Lucky Masters, what are you doing?”

“Mourning what could have been.”

I wondered, did they say anything about finding a cane at the scene?   I scrolled down and read the local news report and blog but there was no mention of a cane.

“He alwa
ys carried his cane.” I said out loud.

“What doe
s that have to do with anything?”  Carrie snapped.

“Someone needs a cookie.”  I continued to stare at the rows and rows of sentenc
es and letters willing them to form an answer to questions I didn’t know yet.

“It has to do with Lucky
’s ambulatory status at the time of death.”  I finally said out loud.

“What?”

“Did he walk out to the shooting range himself or was he carried?”

“Like tossing kittens in the lake
.” She said unexpectedly.

“Yes, yes.  It doesn’t say if the body was
tied or bagged.  Tom said it wasn’t tied.  Did the killer find him napping and without waking him, dragged him to the shooting range so a good twenty or so citizens of Claim Jump could plug him full of holes?”

“Drugged?
”

“Doesn’t say.” 

“Sometimes they don’t,” she pointed out.  She was right, it used to be that the fourth estate would helpfully print everything about a murder or suicide or killing of every kind. Now reporters were more circumspect. Evidence was withheld so the real killer could be discovered; I had personally run into that technique before.

The sky was dark and forbidding on April Fool’s Day, on odd day to schedule an event, but I was not in charge.

Patrick did fly in for the
weekend but he and Carrie were as frosty as the weather.  Ben and I pretended everything was fine.  We loaded the love birds into the back of my warm car ignoring their sidelong glances and glowering expressions.

I felt like a mom with
recalcitrant children who, minutes before boarding the car, wanted to stay home from the field trip after all. The good news was that I found a great new dress to wear. The bad news was that like a ballerina who has to wear a sweater over her costume for trick or treating, I had to pair the light jersey dress with winter black boots and my heavy coat. I was cranky, the weather was oppressive and cold, and Patrick and Carrie did not utter a word the whole trip up the mountain.

Ben’s news didn’t
do much to cheer us either. He returned Friday afternoon just a few hours ahead of Patrick.  Carrie and I were oddly unenthusiastic about our loved one’s homecomings.

“Thirty voice mails from my parents.”  Carrie announced. She deleted them all.  “I don’t know what they want from me. I don’t know what Patrick wants from me. Some kind of happy reconciliation?  They won’t change, and I wouldn’t trust them if they said they had.” 

“A note from an AA sponsor?”   I suggested.

“Even more than that.”  Carrie was my fabulous, liberal, caregiving, kitten saving friend.  She makes Mother Teresa look like nothing more than a publicity hound.  Carrie saves everything and everyone who crosses her path.  But her charitable propensities did not begin at home.

“Maybe they just want to reconnect.”

She gave me a withering look.  “I’ve been drinking Cooper milk all my life, this is not lost on my parents. They want a cut, they want money.”

“Can you give them enough to get make them stop harassing you?”

“There will never be enough money for extortionists,” she said.  “They would never leave me alone. I already know that.”

“What about Patrick?”

“He’s coming.”

That was all she said on the subject.

Ben’s news wasn’t remarkable or dramatic or even very helpful.  The insulation was flammable.  Great.  We knew that.  We had a signed statement from a real research professor, but we still did not know what the hell to do with the information.  Especially since no one really wanted it.

It was a low point in our visit.  Patrick, who burst into the house with a blast of icy
air, was a welcome distraction. To her credit, Carrie immediately greeted him in the hall.

Ben listened to for a moment.  “I think we should all take Prue out for dinner.  No one can misbehave in the presence of a grandma figure.”

He was right of course.  Patrick would never make a public scene, and Carrie wouldn’t put Prue through anything embarrassing, not in such a small town.  We grimaced and made small talk and chatted as much as we could to get through the evening.

The open house event was perfect, a distraction. 

Penny’s house, built on upper Gold Mountain, was located in an exclusive area called Oak Glen, the development Scott thought was too fancy, and he was right. Lucky developed it and sold it as the only place anyone who was anyone could possibly live. I remember reading the ads in the Sunday
Chronicle
when I was little, even then I remembered thinking, Claim Jump?  Exclusive? 

But enough wealthy former Bay Area residents took the bait in the eighties and built their monstrous dream homes with views well under 380 degrees.  Penny’s house was the crown jewel in the development.

We drove though an elaborate iron gate that was usually locked to keep out the commoners. It was propped open for this event. We drove past dogwood trees covered by delicate pink and white flat flowers. Penny’s house sat at the top of a crest surrounded by similarly sized homes: some built in Tudor style, some built to resemble Queen Anne, all pretentious, none very funky.  One prairie style home was enhanced by a blue Coldwell Banker for sale sign waving next to the mailbox built into a stacked stone pillar.  I could show that to Scott tomorrow.  I squinted at the front door.

Ben saw what I was doing, and dashed to the house.

“What are you doing?”  I called after him.

“Checking for a lockbox.”

He quickly return
ed. “There is one on the front door. You’re good to go.”

Penny was stationed at her front door, greeting the guests like the good hostess she was, or at least aspired to be.

“
I want you to sell my father’s house.” Penny stated right after I said hello to her in her foyer. “Ben says that you are the best.”

She batted her eyes at Ben as she said it.

“Yes, I am, but what about Lucky’s friends?  Your dad was in the business. He must have a number of Realtors who could help.”  Good, Allison, now you’re deflecting business.  What was wrong with me? But I couldn’t snatch a listing from someone like that nice Coldwell Banker guy, Leonard. Leonard liked Lucky, and he’d probably do a great job at selling the place.

Would Scott want Lucky’s house? It was only a few doors down from the library, short commute, beautiful place, historic as all get out, riddled with character.

She ignored my suggestion. “Will you do it?” she continued to squeeze my hand, not hard, she wasn’t capable of that, but insistent.  I suddenly understood Ben’s position better.  Penny didn’t give a person much time or space to consider her proposal or even say no.

“How much do you want for it?”  I acquiesced.  I agreed with Leonard, there was no way to comp the house, and no way to put a price tag on the former home of the murdered Lucky Masters. I would either have a stampede on my hands or I’d have to call in professional psychic cleaners to run around the house with smudging sticks. I was already mentally ordering the plastic statue of St. Joseph to bury in the back yard.

“Lockbox?”  I asked, hoping I could borrow one from the New Century office; maybe they could share Inez’s percentage if they helped me.

“Of course,” agreed the daughter of a developer. She knew the score; I’ll give her points in her favor for that.

“
See me tomorrow.” Penny dropped my hand and walked away. Her work was done.  I wasn’t sure if I was flattered or deeply insulted.

“See?”  Ben came up behind me.  “There is nothing you can do, resistance is futile.”

              “What just happened?”  Carrie asked.

“I just got a listing.”  I said, still feeling a bit stunned.  “This will make Inez and the national office happy.”  And at least this time the dead body was not located IN the house.

“You’re selling Lucky’s place?” Carrie asked. “
Won’t people just be curious and tramp all over the house?” 

“
Of course they will; I would.  But morbid curiosity can sell just as well as perfection, and Summer is practically across the street at the theater, she can shoo away the merely curious.”

“What about privacy?”

“You don’t buy a huge house like that and expect privacy.” I lectured. “You live up here for privacy.  The buyer can always plant laurels in the front yard.”

              As if on time, I spotted my client, Scott Lewis. Sarah Miller was with him, not holding his hand, but hovering close by. I wondered what the members of the Brotherhood would make of that.

“Hi.” I greeted them both.

“Hi Allison. This is Sarah Miller.”

“Hello Sarah.”  I shook her hand, it was rough from housework, but she returned my grip with equal strength.

“Hospice is with my grandparents, or rather Melissa is with them. I didn’t leave them alone just so I could come to this.” Her words tumbled out as if I had accused her of neglect.

“You have a great reputation for caring well for them.” I soothed.

“I wanted you to know that Lucky’s house is officially for sale.”  I told Scott.

“I remember his house.” Scott said. “Dad and I liked walking around the town when I was a kid, just imagining the lives of people who could afford just marvelous places. Dad said that Lucky’s house reminded him of the movie
It’s a Wonderful Life
.”

I wondered if it was the house, or Lucky’s attempt to turn Claim Jump into Lucky Town, just like Potterville.  

“Yes,” I agreed. “It does have that feeling of a grand house. I have a couple of calls in for Gold Way.”