Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out

by Catharine Bramkamp

  The count was thirteen minutes, thirty seconds. I hovered in the door of the tasting room and watched the guests assemble, first a trickle, then wave after wave of people filled the tiny wood chairs facing the gazebo. Three waiters circulated with sparkling wine to ease the wait.

  I watched my grandmother Prue limp a bit as she made her way to her seat, Emily, Ben’s grandmother spied her and marched over to help. The two greeted each other like long lost sisters. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Emily knew a great deal about Ben’s past, Pure knew everything about mine. But I couldn’t break them up. I’d just have to warn Ben later.

  “Put out my fire anytime.” Ben snuck up behind me and growled in my ear. “Have you lost weight?”

  “You say that to all the girls you try to bed,” I countered.

  “Maybe, but you have. You look good.” He quickly amended, “You always look good.”

  “That was too little, too late,” I teased lightly.

  “She’s here.”

  My stomach clenched. “Who is here?”

  “That Beth person, maybe she’s consoling Peter. He is not in good shape you know.”

  “I think he really loved her.”

  “Maybe he did, this time.”

  At five minutes and counting, we arranged ourselves behind the warehouse, ready to turn the corner at the signal. I was right in front of Carrie and there was no one behind her. The sounds of the strings were muted, we waited in relative silence. Kathleen and Claire glanced back at Carrie, as did I. This time I did not blame their jumpiness. I finally couldn’t stand it and reached back for Carrie’s hand.

  “It will be okay.” She squeezed my hand just as the ensemble struck up Handel’s Water Music. Kathleen stepped around the corner, I pulled Carrie along, not wanting to leave her to chance, or a crazy new sister-in-law.

  Claire rounded the corner, then it was my turn. I released Carrie’s hand and walked down the aisle, straining to hear any suspicious noise over the music. Patrick and his ushers dressed in their own tailored tuxes lined up under the gazebo. Enormous bright hibiscus flowers flown in from Oahu added to the riot of flowers covering the canopy. The brilliant red contrasted against the black tuxes and the flawless blue October sky. The Furies, sharp and dangerous, gripped their bouquets like lifelines. They surveyed the crowd, their eyes darting. Two wedding photographers, dressed in black, crouched in the aisle and snapped away.

  Prue waved but I ignored her. I also avoided looking at my mother and father, knowing they were visualizing my next trip down an aisle as a bride. I did not know if I had that kind of strength. I reached the gazebo and turned to wait for the bride. The music paused, then the three piece string ensemble broke into Cannon in D Major.

  I finally looked up and focused on the rows and rows of guests, still straining. Where was Carrie?

  My gaze caught on a familiar face. Was that possible? I shook my head to clear it. The second chorus started up. Patrick shifted. I heard Kathleen breath heavily next to me. There were no sounds save that of the quartet. I took a deep breath and held it. Counted to ten.

  As if waiting for the perfect moment of heightened tension, Carrie finally rounded the corner. The music swelled and Carrie, unscathed, perfect, radiant, calmly marched down the aisle. She walked alone, regal and self possessed. I took my eyes off Carrie for a second and suddenly spotted the woman again, her long braid was distinctive, her face, now that I knew who she was, familiar. Carrie must have spotted her across the creek in Claim Jump. Melissa must have encountered her and received help from a very unlikely source. I glanced at Carrie who was staring at me. I straightened and smiled encouragingly. But I had no idea how to call attention to the girl. Where were the security guys? They must have changed from biker outfits to tuxes to blend in with the well-dressed crowd. Damn it to hell.

  I smiled again at Carrie and took the red hibiscus bouquet from her so she could clasp hands with Patrick.

  Kimberly appeared at the edge of the group. I was already at the front behind Carrie. I watched her watch the opening prayer. She hovered, and then ducked into the shadow of the building. I almost elbowed Kathleen, but I wasn’t supposed to know what was going on. But the Furies knew. Oh yes, those women had been watching for their sister since the engagement announcement hit the papers. I tried to keep my expression natural, until I saw the infamous Beth slide into a far back seat.

  Patrick and Carrie were having and holding until death. I struggled to keep a cheerful expression on my face and an eye on Beth. She wore a light beige dress, all the better to blend in. Her hair was dark brown, not the rich tone of the girl who just disappeared. Was that who was in the video? I gripped both bouquets so hard they shook.

  If Beth was here, did she bring Mark? He knew full well I was part of the wedding. It would be just like him to show up and ruin the perfect day.

  Patrick slipped a diamond band that the folks in the back could probably see onto Carrie’s finger, and it was done.

  “Allison,” Carrie whispered, “let go of my bouquet.”

  “Sorry.” I released just as Lurch remembered to announce them as husband and wife.

  I glanced at the Furies. Kathleen actually wiped a tear from her eye. Claire was scanning the crowd, not very sentimental. But I understood. Their sister was very much at large, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Carrie was the target.

  I was the last down the aisle, holding onto James. I didn’t want to look but I couldn’t resist. Shit, there he was, next to Beth who wasn’t looking at Mark at all, but scanning the guests searching for someone else. I did not meet Mark’s eyes, but swept forward.

  “I have to go,” I told James, as soon as we passed the musicians.

  “We have photos, you better hurry.”

  Shit. I glanced longingly at the back of the winery where I was positive the answers were lurking.

  The wine and sparkling flowed as they say. People laughed with relief, I would have laughed with relief if I thought I’d never have to see the Furies again. But it wasn’t over. Ben was talking to Patrick and Carrie. Good. I was hot in the damn satin dress, where was this Kim?

  I dragged myself to the edge of the property for the photos. I grinned and angled my torso so I looked thinner in the photos. Where were the security guys? I finally spotted them as Patrick and Carrie mugged for a couple of “candid” shots. The security force could easily be mistaken for waiters, with, I hoped, guns. I gave then a little wave, they both smirked, but did not move. Okay, don’t listen to me.

  I left Carrie under the watchful eyes of just about everyone and dashed back towards the warehouse where I was certain Kim was hiding.

  I ran into Mark first, who was Beth-less. “What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed.

  “It’s a wedding, girls love weddings, it makes them very sentimental.” He winked.

  “Oh please, then where is your date?”

  He glanced around as if he mislaid his drink. Who knew that disaster was a bullet dodged?

  “She was here a minute ago.”

  I never could discern if Beth had been in the early videos for the winery. Had Beth been stalking Cassandra from the beginning? Was she stalking Carrie? And had Kimberly seen Cassandra as a threat? I didn’t have enough information. I felt like Debbie Smith who just barged into the situation with little more than a strong sense of self-righteousness and a clip board.

  “You will not believe this,” Chris Conner drew up beside me. She dabbed her forehead with a bright orange cocktail napkin. I shouldn’t be surprised to see her. I think the media were on the D list for the reception only.

  “I found out your Beth Johnson …”

  The name stopped me.

  “Yes,” Chris was triumphant. “Her sister works for you at New Century.”

  “Patricia’s sister,” I repeated dully. I shaded my eyes and scanned the crowd. Ah, my heart slowed a fraction. Carrie was still on the edges of the crowd with Patrick.

  “Thanks,�
� I said automatically. “I’ll talk to you in a minute.”

  But Chris Conner, intrepid girl reporter, was not willing to be put off that easily. She followed me like she was a hungry dog and I carried the last bone in the county.

  “You seem to find disaster.” She dogged my heels.

  “Me?” I looked as innocent as I could, which apparently was not successful judging from her skeptical expression. I need to spend more time practicing my innocent look in the mirror. “I’m just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Often, but I didn’t add that on.

  I entered the back door to the dark, damp warehouse. I knew I shouldn’t, I knew I would be much better off leaving whoever was lurking in the shadows to their own fate. I should be standing in the sunshine drinking sparkling wine and eating strawberries and cream.

  I pushed open the door, with the reporter breathing asthmatically behind me.

  “She was suppose to do everything in her power to find out what Cassandra was up to, get all the information on the extra wine, the shipped wine, everything so that Trisha had something to counter with, Beth Johnson was working for Trisha not Peter O’Reilly.”

  I had no reply, a double agent. Had she killed Cassandra? Has Trisha Gault asked her to manage another accident? Where would the winery go? Would Trisha take over? She could, just selling wine under false labeling would destroy Cassandra’s career. But it was not worth killing over. There had to be more. And that more was Kimberly, the wild card, the wild woman.

  The winery was silent. Large vats steamed from the (this time) fermenting grapes. The smell was pungent with yeast heavy with the smell of harvest.

  The two of us, unlikely cohorts, approached the office from the back way. The light was on and I could hear the voices drifting from the open door.

  “It wasn’t her wine.” It was Beth. “Fred was suppose to get some bottles for Trisha, he had to climb to the top of the cases to get to the bottles. But then the tremor happened. And I can’t climb, not when. . .” she broke off.

  “It was an accident.” It was our own Patricia, damn more animated than I had ever heard her, if you don’t count her tirade at Paul Christopher. “You didn’t have to get involved at all. What were you thinking!”

  “I was suspicious! You aren’t the only one who can find things! Trisha just wanted something she could use. The white wine would have been enough. Then the red was ruined, no one knew about that.”

  “Did you sabotage the scaffolding?” Patricia asked flatly, all the animation and panic drained from her voice.

  “How did you know she fell from the catwalk?” Oh please, Beth knew better than to ask her sister that.

  Then Beth went on the offensive. My guess is Beth is the baby of the family, Patricia the eldest. “Do you think I’m actually capable of that? When would I do such a thing? How would I do it? You know I’m no good at mechanical things.”

  “It was stable one day and the next, not.” Not an airtight conclusion, but Patricia hadn’t been thinking as clearly as usual, but she was under a lot of pressure.

  A cheer went up from the guests. Carrie and Patrick must have returned to the fray. I should be out there celebrating with her. This was her time.

  “And now it’s over,” Beth’s voice dropped to normal tones. “Trisha can take over the winery now.”

  Chris Conner had enough information to write three articles, but I knew perfectly well she needed this on the record. She pushed me to one side and barged in, recorder blinking like an angry eye. “Do you think Trisha Gault engineered Cassandra’s death?”

  I followed, Beth started at Chris Conner open mouthed. Patricia stood to one side looking like an extra in every Twilight sequel ever made. Her hair was disheveled her eyes sunk past their normal level.

  “She’s dead?” Beth clamped her hands over her mouth and looked in horror at the bearer of the bad news.

  “Beth,” Patricia growled. “Shut up!”

  “But she’s dead, oh my God!”

  “That’s quite enough.” Patricia grabbed her sister’s arm. “No more.” She pulled her sibling from her desk perch and pulled her towards the door.

  “But I’m responsible. I’m supposed to get the answers. I’m suppose to tell Ms. Gault what,”

  “What nothing, we’re finding your pretend boss right now.”

  We heard a wail and a hard slap. A car motor started up. Another cheer floated up from the guests outside.

  “What was that? Can she do that?” Chris Conner demanded. “We were just getting to the best part!”

  “Grab Beth before a dramatic confession?” I smoothed my skirt and rubbed my hands to get the circulation back. “I don’t think there are rules. Accidents maybe, not rules.” The pirate code certainly, and one of the tenants of that code was, thou shalt not spoil a friend’s wedding.

  “You people make me crazy!” Chris flounced back outside, which, with her heavy ass, was not an easy movement to pull off.

  I breathed easier knowing Beth was under the belligerent care of her sister. I must have always known. But, like most people, I only make sanctimonious proclamations after the danger has passed.

  How Beth knew where the action was, at all times, was amazing. But I was often privy to amazing things. I was relieved Beth was off the premise. Out of the corner of my eye I spied something that was unpleasant in the extreme.

  “Oh no,” I breathed.

  How could Mark still be here? Beth had been hauled off against her will for a bout of familial retaliation, leaving Mark high and dry. But I knew Mark, he’d be with a new girl in, I checked my watch, I’d give him at least seven minutes.

  He appeared in the door of the wine tasting room, his eyes swept over me as if I wasn’t wearing a huge fire engine red dress. He ducked back outside without a word. I waited for Mark to clear the area, and then slipped to the sunny patio.

  “There you are!” Ben rumbled up, grabbed me and crushed me to him in a big bear hug. “You may never let me do that again.”

  “Why?” I was still reeling from the Mark close encounter, and the Beth full encounter.

  “Something terrible,” he intoned.

  My heart fluttered. What else? Carrie? I looked quickly around but didn’t see her. Ben did not know the danger, and I didn’t bring it up.

  “They’re cutting the cake, she’s fine. Sorry I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

  “What’s so terrible?”

  “Our mothers are talking.”

  He let that sink in. “Crap.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What are we going to do?” I asked just as I saw Mark head around to the back of the warehouse. Why? What was lurking back there that was so enticing? It was decidedly odd behavior, even for Mark.

  “Can you stop them? I’m going to see what Mark is doing.”

  “Why, you think my mother will start doing the math?”

  I shook my head. “No, Mom and Dad married in November, Richard was born in February so the years always work out in polite company.” My mother gave birth to a nine pound pre-mature baby. No one cares about that kind of thing anymore, but at the time, in the sixties, it mattered a great deal. At least it mattered to my mother.

  “Clever. I’ll check it out.”

  He touched my arm, and then kissed me. “Be careful, he already broke your heart, don’t let him break anything else.”

  “I’ll be careful.” I lied. He knew I lied. And he knew he couldn’t stop me. Should we put that in the vows? I promise to love, trust and let everyone in the marriage make their own crazy mistakes.

  I walked slowly in the direction of the warehouse trying to appear as if I was just checking out the place. The interior was as dark as the first time I saw it. I stepped gingerly, but found no tubes or buckets in my path. At least Jose cleaned up, that was a blessing.

  Mark was indeed inside, and facing Kimberly. I recognized her long braid. They were surround by the shelves of what we knew now were empty barrels. I hid from view behind the rows and
peeked around the corner.

  Kimberly wore a black dress covered in sequins, not exactly afternoon garden attire but a close approximation of formal. In stark contrast to the elegant dress and shoes, her face was contorted and ugly as she confronted Mark.

  “Really, Kimberly, I was just Beth’s date and she dumped me, happy?”

  I winced on his behalf, that probably wasn’t the best approach, but then Mark wasn’t strategic when it came to women. A better term was gluttonous.

  “Do you know how connected these people are? I saw two angel investors as I walked in. Your family still has it. And they don’t even recognize me,” he added bitterly.

  “I recognized you. What are you doing here? To mock me? You used me to get at my family for business, and here you are doing it again. Jesus I can’t believe you. Thank God, I saved my sisters, no one, no one should go through what I went through.”

  “But you survived. You got help,” he protested meekly.

  I admit I wasn’t quite following the conversation, but I didn’t dare step closer. I was a beacon in the night in my red ensemble. I cautiously hugged the rough barrel and hid behind the second row to get a closer look but not so close to draw Mark’s attention. It would be just like him to think I really would save him.

  “Your brother married, it’s done. How does that make you feel?” His voice was rough, mean. I’d recommend not riling the woman up, but that’s just from my own small store of information on the matter.

  I carefully peeked around the rounded surface of the barrels careful not to catch my hair on the rough stave.

  Mark had edged around the dining table and Kimberly had followed. The table was now between Mark and Kimberly stood on one side of the table, I was hiding behind my protective stack of barrels on the opposite side. Kim’s back was to me, her plait had come undone and the braid was unraveling. Something flashed in her hand as a narrow shaft of light crept into the dim cellar. She gripped a substantial carving knife in the shape of a large triangle. The head chef of the catering company was known for his knives. This was fine steel, perfectly sharp, well balanced. She pointed the tip directly at Mark who had finally abandoned his elevator speech.