Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out

by Catharine Bramkamp

  “It’s okay,” Patrick cut in quickly. “You got the gist of it.” He squeezed Carrie’s arm gently. “We’re meeting my parents at The Barn in an hour. Coming Allison?”

  The Barn restaurant is indeed a large converted barn. The owners kept the agricultural theme that is still the gestalt of Healdsburg. Farm implements decorated the rough wood walls and patrons sat at brightly painted picnic tables, the classic benches fitted with backs for comfort. It is as expensive and exclusive as the Madrona Manor, but more trendy. It had quickly gained fame for serving locally sourced, and of course delicious food, one spoonful at a time. Ben and I tried out the place when it opened. We left $200 poorer and still ravenous. We stopped by McDonalds on the way home.

  I kept a change of clothes at Emily’s for just such an emergency as this and so headed there for a brief respite. Emily wasn’t home and neither was Ben. I was tempted to call Prue and check to see how Debbie Smith was doing, but resisted, I didn’t want more information than I could handle.

  I changed into a better dress and pumps, way over dressed for the Barn specifically and for Healdsburg in general, but it was all I had. This was not going to be that difficult. I anticipated that all I would be required to do was participate in some small talk, kiss Carrie, take two bites of Ahi tuna and wasabi tart coupled with three new potatoes and aoli sauce and drink a glass of sparkling wine. It would be an early evening. I needed to locate Ben. Maybe we could meet and eat dinner downtown. The phone buzzed as I searched for a parking spot, it was Peter Klaussen O’Reilly the third. I swung around the Barn’s parking lot and briefly illuminated a pedestrian hiking in from another parking area. Why would O’Reilly call?

  I found street parking three blocks away. Returning O’Reilly’s call would entertain me during the walk back to the restaurant.

  “Allison.”

  “You don’t sound very good.”

  He choked and paused to catch his breath. I stopped walking. My hand clutched the phone tightly.

  “Cassandra.”

  I took a few slow steps forward wary of the uneven sidewalk and lovely trees that would catch at my hair if I didn’t take care.

  “Who else knows?” I breathed.

  “I called Ben, he asked me to catch you before the rehearsal dinner.”

  I vaguely nodded to a leather-vested biker waiting in the patio area. People spilled out of the lit restaurant and hovered over picnic tables. All the guests were armed with large glasses of wine. I glanced around and moved to a quiet spot on the very edge of the open space.

  “When?” I tucked my arms close to my body and gripped my phone. I was cold, my pumps pinched my feet, abruptly, I was miserable all over.

  “This afternoon. We aren’t saying anything, we don’t want to ruin the wedding.”

  Guests crunched on the deconstructed gravel and laughed into the warm October night. I stood in a shadow. Guests were silhouettes against the open barn doors, moving in and out with ease. It was a night without sweaters, a night without cares.

  “I’m so sorry.” I watched Carrie’s form separate from the group. She stepped outside, glanced around, then retreated. I only knew Peter O’Reilly through other people, two degrees of separation. He and Ben carried on a love/ hate relationship, fighting over the same woman, rescuing the same woman. Now that woman was gone.

  “Thanks.” He choked, then recovered. “I’m serious, don’t tell anyone.”

  The barn was packed with people and I couldn’t tell if our group had joined a larger melee or if these were all members of the wedding party who had somehow missed the rehearsal but managed to show up for the food. I edged my way through animated conversations and past trays packed with substantial hors d’ouvers that belied the Barn’s reputation.

  I hugged Carrie. “And who are all these people?”

  “My new closest friends. These are all the out of town guests,” Carrie yelled over the noise. “I don’t know half these people and Patrick swears he doesn’t know the other half.” She took in a deep breath and released it slowly and carefully. “It doesn’t really matter does it?”

  “You are about to launch into a life where you may never know every guest at every party,” I yelled.

  “The good news is I already know who my real friends are.”

  “That would be true, just continue to invite those true friends to your shallow, fabulous, stranger filled parties and we’re good.” I watched her closely; she was tense, but reasonably pleased. I had news, lots of news. I bit my tongue. It all could wait. Twenty hours wasn’t much time. It could wait.

  “So far, they’ve all been very nice!” Carrie beamed. I beamed back. “It’s wonderful, I’m so happy for you.” I spotted Kathleen and Claire, they spotted me, but I ducked between a tight group of out of town guests.

  My phone buzzed, I jumped. I couldn’t ignore it. Was I wishing for different news about Cassandra? Was Debbie all right? Of course, it was Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. I made my way back out to the patio to take the call, it was only marginally quieter outside but I was disinclined to walk into the dark parking lot in the name of better reception.

  I steeled myself for another complaint and another delay, she was usually so good at calling me the minute some hitch appeared in the system and I in turn had been calling her as often as I could just to be annoying. It was a partnership made in hell. “Yes?” I admired the tiny orange lights dangling from the heavy branches of the live oaks protecting the patio. They dimpled the red picnic tables with yellow light.

  “I’m just calling,” Marcia explained in a deadpan voice. “To tell you the loan finally closed. We record Monday. How soon can your client be out?”

  “I’m excited too,” I said. Oh, is that all, I sold my house. Tears suddenly welled up. I must be allergic to something in the garden.

  “I’ll email a list of what you should leave behind. Sign it and get it back to me by tomorrow,” she grimly instructed.

  “I’m in a wedding tomorrow,” I pointed out. “Can it wait until Monday?”

  “My clients are very anxious to move,” she continued, ignoring my claims to a life on Saturday. “You know I do every . .”

  I blew into the receiver. “Oh, sorry, I think you’re breaking up.” I clicked off the phone.

  Patrick’s parents appeared in the courtyard. Mr. Sullivan sported a gray ponytail that contrasted nicely with his summer weight wool suit, Patrick’s mother wore a long flowing black dress, highlighted by a wide topaz necklace. She limited her good works to the north part of the county – Geyserville and the needy in Ukiah because Cooper had a milk distribution center there. That’s why Carrie and I hadn’t run into the woman before; she’s not part of the small group of formidable women in River’s Bend who inflict help and charity wherever they go.

  “Hi,” I dropped my phone in my bag and approached the couple. “ I’m Allison Little with New Century Realty.”

  “I’ve heard of you.” His handshake was warm and firm. “You found Carrie at the Homeless Prevention League office.”

  “Yes, sorry about all that.” I summed up a Christmas of severe difficulties for just about everyone in one off-hand sentence.

  “Not important,” he assured me. “You are a good friend to Carrie, that’s good enough for us.”

  “It is?”

  The mother smiled wanly and inclined her head but her eyes drifted to the parking lot just behind me. “We are so excited for Patrick.”

  Her husband placed a protective hand on her arm. “We would rather trust people, it’s how we built our reputation. It’s how we want Patrick to work and be in the world. Patrick speaks of you in the most complimentary of terms.”

  I was relieved. “Thank you. Patrick is lucky to be marrying Carrie.”

  We stood in silence for a lengthy minute, I then excused myself to seek out Carrie and say good-bye. I had enough happiness and partying. I still needed to cry, to mourn. I saw the Furies first, they would do.

  I nudged Claire and she jumped v
isibly. “Don’t do that,” she snapped.

  “Sorry, I have to go, this was lovely, can you tell Carrie goodbye? ” I couldn’t even see my friend in the crush of guests jammed into the dining room. And I did not trust myself at all; I may blurt out the terrible truth and ruin her perfect day. Better I take my increasingly morose self back to my now temporary home. My chest hurt.

  “See you at exactly noon,” Claire tapped her Omega watch, a birthday gift from Patrick. She touched one sister on the arm and Kathleen jumped even more visibly. I wanted to ask about the coincidence in Claim Jump but the two didn’t really seem up for even a friendly interrogation.

  “Sorry. Twelve o’clock.” It seemed a little early, but I wasn’t in charge.

  Kathleen nodded mutely as her eyes darted around the room. I automatically glanced around but all I saw were happy people celebrating the happy couple. As it should be.

  I exited with alacrity. The big biker guy’s friends must be late for he was still smoking and pacing outside. I didn’t bother to acknowledge him again. I dragged my feet to the car, the phone buzzed again, oh, honestly. I noticed it was only seven o’clock as I accepted the call.

  “You still up here?”

  “I’m just leaving the Barn.”

  “Come back to the winery.” Ben was terse and for once I did not take it personally.

  The Prophesy Estates tasting room was brightly lit. Yellow squares patterned the dark patio. I saw Ben through the window, leaning against the marble bench.

  I walked in and touched his arm. He looked up and I saw his features were drawn as if he had been to hell and back.

  “O’Reilly got hold of you?” he searched my eyes. I nodded. He swallowed and leaned forward and ran his hands through his hair. He stared at the shiny wood floor.

  Jose stood next to Ben, his arms crossed like a silent sentry. I walked past both of them and glanced into the office. The desk and shabby furniture had been cleared of every scrap of paper. This is where Carrie would dress tomorrow. Someone had whisked the paper work away. It hadn’t been Cassandra.

  Ben’s step was heavy. “Beth moved all the paperwork and took it down to O’Reilly’s office to sort it out.”

  “I imagine there was quite a bit to sort out.”

  “She kept promising Beth the paper work, that she’d sign this form or that form. O’Reilly and I didn’t know.”

  “And Mark?”

  “He came in late, they met at a party here in the States. He gave her some money for the barrels and a tank, but apparently he wasn’t much of a hands on guy.” He glanced at me.

  “What else?” I didn’t respond to Ben’s look. I knew Mark was in this for the contacts, to leverage the next big deal, as if start ups were his drug of choice, that, and women. He loved women, he just didn’t like them very much.

  “Come.” Jose gestured to the back. The warehouse was empty. Jose flipped on a set of overhead lights creating the same effect as when poor Fred died. I shuddered. Two deaths, one injury. “Cassandra didn’t build this on an Indian burial ground did she?”

  Jose shook his head. “Just bad luck, a lot of bad luck.”

  “Your crew is new,” Ben commented. A pile of spent pallets sagged in a far corner. All the tubing was neatly draped over the cat walk struts. The floor was washed clean, as clean as I had ever seen it.

  “All new except me,” Jose confirmed. “She fired everyone three weeks ago, all the new crew had to do was bring in these last two tons and,” he rubbed his eyes. “You know what happened. You wanted to take a look?”

  Jose gestured to the stacked barrels off in the corner. Ben was already heading there, I just followed, not sure what my role was. One always wishes for an enemy to die, but not in such a horrible way. And now that Cassandra was gone, I was becoming rather fond of her. I glanced around at the gleaming tanks, barrels and fermenting bins. What would happen to all this without Cassandra? Did Ben suddenly own a winery with the unspeakable Mark Cincet? God, what a horrible situation that would be, like sharing child custody with the worst ex in the world.

  “Last two tons?” Ben paused and looked up at the barrels of red wine. “But she just had enough in the barrels here.”

  “I’m just crushing,” Jose opened his hands in supplication. “She insisted, and there was no one to ask. That other owner, Mark? He said to go ahead and do it.”

  “He’s an idiot.” Ben regarded the stack of barrels only for a moment. Before I could suggest anything, he stepped up on the end of the rack using it as a makeshift ladder. It swayed under his weight.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed, even though I really didn’t have to be quiet, no one was here.

  “I don’t think we’re insured for that,” Jose called up in a moment of black humor.

  Ben balanced on the metal barrel rack and leaned over to wiggle the bung out of the closest barrel. He tired to peer down the hole, but apparently couldn’t see anything.

  “Flashlight?”

  Jose fetched one and tossed it up. Ben caught it single handed and shined it into the hole. He swore. Loudly.

  He pushed the barrel next to the one he was so precariously balanced against, it rocked on its curved stand. He swore again. I watched the barrel move, as much as it would during a tremor.

  Ben climbed down and I let out my breath. If a person stuffed her hands into her pockets and just tipped over, she could crack her head open on the cement and die. All it took was a distance of five feet, eight inches, more if she’s wearing Manalo Blahnik pumps. A fall from the top of the barrels would certainly be fatal. I glanced over at what was left of the wine cases shipped from Australia. They had been reconfigured and were not stacked as high as before.

  “What?”

  “They’re empty.” He handed the flashlight to Jose.

  “She was going to fill them with the new wine.” I said. It seemed sensible to me.

  “They were already full. Or suppose to be full.”

  We both turned to Jose, the only man left standing. He opened his mouth, and then closed it.

  “It probably doesn’t matter now.”

  “Everything matters.” Ben’s affect was flat, colorless. How could she do that to him? I felt my blood pressure rise on his behalf. The bitch.

  Jose hesitated, his shoulders slumped. “She dropped too much metabite sulphite into the first batch, killed it all.”

  That’s why I didn’t smell fermenting when I came with Carrie on our inspection. “I was sworn to secrecy and she fired everyone else. Fred knew because he had discovered the mistake.

  You knew he worked for Wind Runner before he came here?”

  Jose glanced up at the empty barrels. “Mrs. Gault didn’t think Cassandra had it in her to be a wine maker. Maybe she was right. But every one makes mistakes.”

  Ben considered the empty barrels, then suddenly strode to the cases of white. He pulled out a bottle. He flicked at the edges of the purple label, then began to tear at it in earnest.

  “What are you doing?” I was still hungry. I needed food and he was messing around with wine labels.

  The labels peeled off and under it was nothing but smooth glass. “Are you looking for the golden ticket?”

  “Someone else’s wine.” He dropped the bottle back into the case. “I don’t think this is hers at all. I think she bought the wine in Australia, slapped on her own labels here and is passing it off as hers.”

  “Why?”

  “Why did she do any of this? It will take a while to sort it out.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Come on, you can treat me to dinner.” I glanced at poor Jose. He was scowling at the cases. “Come with us, we can’t figure out what to do if we’re hungry.”

  If I wasn’t convinced I looked like a fire truck in my red dress, Robert’s expression did.

  “Oh. My. God.” Robert pushed me into his chair and deftly smothered as much of the dress as possible with one of his largest grey drapes.

  “I know.” I carefully settle
d into the chair, the crunch of the stiff tulle rattled through the salon. “I know.”

  “Well, you won’t be overlooked, that’s for sure.” He pulled out the band holding my hair.

  “This is the wedding of the year isn’t it?”

  I glanced at my watch, I had two hours, was that long enough for Robert to work his magic?

  “So, I hear your ex-fiancé is in town.” Robert’s expression had faded from horrified to studiously neutral.

  “Now, how the hell did you know that?”

  He brandished a comb, then went back to teasing innocent hair shafts. “I hear everything, he was at the Flamingo picking up girls, he was very smooth, invited every girl he met to a wedding.”

  “Who took them up on it?”

  “Just one I heard, pretty and vivacious, of course.”

  He paused studied the effect and then went back to work.

  He ratted back the hair and wielded a deadly hot curling iron a little too close to my sensitive skin. He whirled me around and assaulted me from the other side. “Anyway, I know the type, they are always looking for the next big thing, taking huge risks then getting mad when the risks turn out to be risky.”

  “What do they do when they are mad?”

  Robert sighed and shoved some hair pins into my head.

  “They get even.”

  Hair now in place, my dress mostly unwrinkled, I still had to stop by the office on my way to the wedding to retrieve a damn fax, sign it and return it to damn, damn, damn, Marcia, Marcia, Marcia, who apparently hadn’t heard of electronic signatures and if she had, did not care. If I didn’t return this last piece of paper now, I’d be fielding her calls during the ceremony. I didn’t even bother to tell Marcia I was in a wedding, she would see that not only as a weakness but also another example of my inability to focus on what was truly important: work.