Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View (15 page)

“Thank you for letting me know.  Hey, how about a breakfast restaurant?”

“No.”

All the niceties, the greetings and business accomplished, we split up. Ben took Patrick’s arm and they wandered off to the right, Carrie and I wandered to the left.  The house itself was beautiful with Craftsman flourishes, tile and enough wood paneling to reforest Stern Grove. Lucky had removed most of the surrounding forest to build the house, it was a small comfort to imagine he had put all that wood back into the house. 

As naturally stunning as the place was, what was more eye catching and impressive were all the quilts. The house was packed with Penny’s hand sewn quilts. I recognized them; they looked like the ones hanging over the library shelves and gracing the brick walls of the theater. Red and blue quilts covered bedroom walls. Green and umber quilts doubled as shower curtains.  Quilts lined the upstairs hallway. Every bed in every bedroom was covered in an elaborately pieced, perfectly color matched, hand crafted quilt.

“These are fantastic. Look at the variation in the Wedding Ring pattern; I’ve never seen that.  And the gradations in the Log Cabin.” Carrie put her hands on her hips and surveyed what was the smallest guest room.  It looked like the guest room in my house - unused.

“These are amazing.” Carrie stroked the quilt.  “Where did she get them?” 

“She makes them.”   It was one of the few pieces of information I was certain of.

“Really?  The woman who owns the house?”

“Incongruous?”

“She doesn’t strike me as the domestic type.”

We listened to the other guests in adjacent rooms oohh and ahh over the quilts.  We slowly threaded through the crowd and made our way back to the main floor. We met up with Ben and Patrick in the living room. It was a large space with a soaring 20-foot ceiling dotted with glass. Very impressive, but it held no charm.  

To the right, over by the front foyer, Summer stood at a table piled with quilts. A hand lettered sign announced the quilts were valued at $500 apiece, checks to be made out as a donation to Summer Theater. She was doing brisk business.  Now there was a good fundraiser.  Carrie and I approached, not able to resist something for sale.             

Summer looked much better this afternoon, her hair was slicked back in a more restrained bob, her lipstick was bright red and mostly intact. “It’s about time, Lucky never allowed her work to be sold, as if they couldn’t leave the family!  But now, this will make Penny’s reputation.”

“Did she ever enter in the fair?”  I thought of the banners of quilts hanging along inside the Lucky Masters Building. 

“All the time.” Summer confirmed, “She told me she started making quilts right after her mother left, in the early eighties. It was terrible.  Her mother died soon after.”

Summer shook her head. “I just can’t imagine, the poor thing.  You know what Lucky told everyone?  That his wife was unstable.”

Unstable: as if life was only about successfully balancing in your first pair of high heel shoes.

“She used to decorate the house on Main Street for every holiday. Lucky was once very proud of her, but gradually things became worse and worse and she had to go away, but to lose your mother.”  Summer shook her head.

I did not have an answer to that, because I had no reference. Two women clutching three quilts each pushed up against me. I stepped aside. “You look busy, I’ll catch you later.”   

Carrie paused next to the huge river rock fireplace and frowned. Considering how much surface area in the house was covered by quilts in one shape or another, the area above the fireplace was conspicuous by its lack of decoration.

“A quilt
must have hung there.”  Carrie gazed up at the bare space.

“It didn’t necessarily have to be a quilt,” I pointed out. “Penny could have just retired a very large, aggressively poor painting. Maybe Lucky gave it to her as a gift and she was finally able to throw it out of her house.”             

At that moment Penny entered the living room
. She was dressed in a deep brown sweater and matching slacks, the color complimented her auburn hair and pale skin. She marched over to our little group.

“What happened to the quilt that hung up there?”  Carrie asked Penny.

Penny’s eyes traveled up to the blank space and then quickly looked away.

“Damaged.  Careless of me, but there you go, sometimes things get hurt.”

The fireplace was cold, scrupulously cleaned and all ready for summer. Except it was only the first of April.  There was still a chance for snow. Penny must have an efficient central heat system; maybe she didn’t need the fireplace except for show.

We all stood and gazed at the fireplace for a moment, then Ben and Patrick exchanged glances. “Okay, let’s go, we have appointments to keep, people to call, deals to make.”

Carrie and I both looked at the men in surprise, but we kept our mouths shut.

“But you’ll miss the luncheon.” Penny protested, “Stay, you won’t be sorry.” 

With that order, she left us again.

I glanced around the crowded living room. The house was now packed with people huffing and puffing, dressed for the cold outside and overheated in the warm house.  I recognized a few locals, a couple Brotherhood members.  Suzanne Chatterhill stood in a corner quizzing poor Scott and Sarah. I made a move towards that group to save the kids when I caught a glimpse of blond hair and bedraggled ski parka.

“Come with me.” I whispered to Carrie.  She followed me without a word.  Patrick and Ben were still standing in the living room; Patrick was muttering something about his phone. I could have told him there was no reception up here.

“Mattie.” I greeted her as quietly as I could.

“I tried to talk to Penny about the you know what.”  Mattie whispered.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.  “She has a restraining order out on you.”

“But this is a public event.”  She pulled out a damp ticket stub. “I paid the entrance fee.”

“Oh, good, especially since it’s for a worthy cause.” I glanced around. Carrie, skilled in years of fundraising experience, knew a pending crisis when she saw it. She moved forward and took Mattie’s arm.  We both hustled the woman into the kitchen. The Sacramento caterers ignored us.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, trying to sound fierce and stay quiet simultaneously.

“She won’t answer my calls.” Mattie whined. She shrugged out of her damp jacket and held it in front of her like a cloak of invisibility – it wasn’t working.

“Oh, you think?”  My frustration with the woman was rising along with my heart rate.

“She knows, but won’t admit it.”  Mattie shook her jacket for emphasis.

“Admit what?”  I grabbed a shrimp wrapped in prosciutto and pesto off a passing tray and popped it in my mouth.

“That she knows about that cheap flammable insulation Lucky blew into every house, probably even the one she’s living in, the bitch.”
              I didn’t think Penny was a bitch for living in a beautiful house, but she could very well be a bitch for the covetous eye she kept casting in the direction of my, let’s try it again, fiancé.

But I did not burden poor Mattie with that information.

“She said I couldn’t prove it, and Lucky already gave us money.”

I swallowed too quickly.  “Wait, he gave you money?  Why didn’t you mention this before?”

She shrugged, her bra strap slipped down below her tank top. For the occasion she wore what must be her best tight Wranglers and a green tank top. The look was held together by a massive silver colored belt buckle.

“He already paid you?”

“Yeah, right after the funeral he came to the house and wrote me a check for $10,000 as a condolence for Danny’s death.”

“He didn’t have to do that you know.” I pointed out. “You were divorced, you weren’t the beneficiary or anything.”  As if I knew all about those details.

“But  the money is gone now.”

I groaned inwardly.

“And Penny told you, no more.” I confirmed.  I took a slice of bruschetta as it passed by. Now I needed a drink.

“Can you believe it?”  Mattie demanded.  “And here I have, what’s the word, incriminating information, proof of that negligence.”

“Did you learn that word from Debbie?”  I guessed

She nodded.  “We could get all those home owners to sue, it’s called a Class Action lawsuit.”

“Where’s the proof?”  I asked, suddenly tired of all these accusations that didn’t add up to anything. Ben and I did have proof of course. Yet a small baggy of white stuff wouldn’t really help the situation, not after Tom spelled out some of those, what do you call them?  Unintended consequences.

“I have proof.”  Mattie said suddenly, her expression was smug.  “I have it where no one can find it.”

“That is never true.” I said automatically.

“In-coming.” Carrie sang out. 

Carrie and I quickly steered Mattie from the kitchen grabing another prawn on our way out. A light dusting of snow covered the back kitchen garden.  I swallowed my prawn, delicious, and looked at the snow again as if it was a new experience for me.  

“Where’s your car?”  I asked moving Mattie around the side of the house.  She slipped on her jacket; tiny dots of snow decorated the surface.  She nodded to a pick up parked a half a block away.

“Stick with Debbie.” We all moved towards the vehicle. “Just do what she says and stop working on your own.” I helped Mattie unlock a faded red Toyota truck which was far too different from the groupings of five different models of Subarus, and bundled her in.  “Debbie clearly knows more than we do.”

Mattie nodded and threw her car into gear.

“Behind you.” Carrie said quietly.   We both pasted big grins on our faces and enthusiastically waved good-bye to Mattie’s parting car.

“Good bye, thank you, we’ll be in touch!”  We called various versions of sentiment as the car careened on a slippery spot, recovered and pulled out of sight.

Penny marched up just as Mattie disappeared.

“Possible donor for the theater.”  Carrie said immediately.

“From out of town.”  I explained quickly.

“The prawns are fantastic.  Who is your caterer?”  Carrie took Penny’s arm and hustled her back into the house.  “I’m getting married this fall.” I heard her begin to explain.  But I didn’t know if we distracted to Penny soon enough.  She may have recognized the car.

I trailed behind.  I knew enough not to interfere with Carrie when she was on her concerned philanthropist roll.  Her propensity to help others at all cost almost got me killed over Christmas, but that hasn’t slowed Carrie, and truth be told, I don’t retain many lessons I’ve learned through experience myself.  So I followed. 

“Tell me more about the quilts.” She had linked arms with Penny and the two walked back towards the house.  The snow flurry thickened. The trees above me were suddenly obscured by low clouds.

I followed the two women just closely enough to hear Penny confide, “My father didn’t approve.”

“Parents can be quite a problem.” Carrie pulled open the kitchen door and we once again disrupted the caterers.

Penny must have heard the sincerity in Carrie’s tone, I sure did.

“Do you know what he did once?” Penny paused before entering the living room.   “My mother had to go back to the hospital for a rest and I was all alone, again.  I found this cute kitten. Its mother was gone too, so I thought we could keep each other company.”

Carried gripped Penny’s hands.

Penny drew in a breath.  “My father thought it was too much trouble, he grabbed it from me and got rid of it.”

Carrie’s eyes opened so wide she looked like a waif painting by the Keenes.

“Oh my God, you poor thing.”  Carrie spontaneously hugged Penny. The sudden contact startled the other woman, but slowly, slowly, she responded. She awkwardly patted Carrie’s back.

“What kind of monster does such a thing?”  Carrie asked quietly.

“A successful one.” Summer had snuck up on the scene and whispered in my ear.

“Here.” Penny marched into the living room, pulled a quilt draped over the couch and bundled it into Carrie’s arms. “For you, take it.”

“But I couldn’t!”  Carrie immediately protested.  “It’s too beautiful, you can sell it along with the others.”

“
It’s okay, we’ve already sold twenty.” Summer announced happily.

Carrie
looked longingly at the substantial quilt sagging in her arms.

Penny nodded and tossed
a folded quilt at me.  “There, now you each have your own.”

Startled
, I glanced down at the purple and red colored fabric swirled around a center of gold. Carrie was right; these were stunning, certainly original.

“Think of them as lovely parting gifts.” Penny smiled ironically.  “I can’t use them all.”

We took the quilts, bowing gracefully, exiting quickly.

Chapter
Fifteen

Ben and I couldn’t help overhearing the two of them. I didn’t think Patrick ever raised his voice; he probably never had to. Even now Carrie was doing the job for both of them.

“Unstable?  Unstable?” She shrieked.  “That’s all you think they are? What the hell do you know?”

There was a murmur from Patrick but apparently Carrie was not mollified. 

“I’ll tell you what they are Mr. Perfect. My father molested me! Are you satisfied?  Is that the answer you expected?” Her voice cracked. “That’s not unstable, that is criminally insane.”

Another pause then Carrie started up again.  I know it sounds like the rest of us, the three left in the house, were eavesdropping, but the sounds were coming at us at an assault level, there was no escape. And it was snowing outside. It wasn’t like we could take a nice walk around the block.

“What was there to report?  I was sixteen, who would believe me?”   

She was right. Plus, in the past, like last week, if a girl was the victim of abuse or rape and she did manage to work up the courage to report it, all it accomplished was to put her on an endless loop of telling the horrible story over and over to ostensibly caring adults who only wanted to hear the gory details. Carrie long dismissed the practice as barbaric and prurient. She told me she just refused to participate.  

“And now they think they can get away with anything. It stops now!”

“Wow.” Ben breathed.  “Did you know this?”

I nodded.  “But part of our pirate code is to never force your friend to relive the painful parts of her past.”  I looked down the dark hall.  The snow outside fell faster, the wind knocked at the windows.   “I could guess.  She never had to spell it out.”

“You aren’t damaged! That’s ridiculous.”  Patrick had finally raised his voice.

“When do we tell him the roads are closed?”  Ben asked.

“They may not care.” I said.

Ben squinted at the snow piling up outside.  “Think we’ll lose electricity?”

“It’s more romantic that way.” The snow storms in the foothills don’t rage. The snow doesn’t cascade down in a sudden blinding white storm. We don’t live that far in the interior of the continent. We are still west of the Sierras. Here, the snow is slow, but unrelenting. It just floats down like a slow man paid by the hour, just doing his job.

For the intrepid and those who are comfortable with installing snow chains, then removing the snow chains, then installing them again, snow is not a real problem. The snow piles up just gradually enough to give even the most reluctant of us about an hour to get out of town and head for lower, snow free, altitudes.  The other option is to give up completely and blame your own inactivity on the weather.

“Stay in the big house.”  Prue commanded. “I don’t want you freezing to death if the electricity goes out.”

“This place is rather fraught with natural disasters.”  Ben commented.

“No earthquakes.” I pointed out.

“That’s why we have gas heating and a gas stove.” Prue shot back. “But the apartment is all electric. Remember that,” she addressed me with the kind of authority I save for my first time homebuyers. “When you buy up here, remember to get a gas heater and a gas stove. You’ll thank me for it.”

“I am not moving up here.”  I protested.

“Go make up the back bedroom.” Prue instructed.  I wondered if Patrick would need his own room.

Carrie and Patrick strode into the kitchen.  Patrick looked pretty commanding given he was dressed in jeans, sweater and was barefoot despite the cold. His normally coiffed black hair was in complete disarray. He looked rather irresistible.

Except for the fact he was really pissed.

Carrie, to her great credit, did not back away. She followed closely behind him.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” He said formally. “But I need to go now.”

“Nope.” Ben said cheerfully.

“What?”  No one says no to Patrick Sullivan.  I could tell.

Ben gestured to the snowfall outside.  “We’re stuck and with any luck,” just as he said that, the electricity did indeed go out.

If this were a murder mystery, someone would scream. But I controlled myself.