Champagne for Buzzards

by Phyllis Smallman

  “Hello,” a thin voice called from the front door. That was followed by, “Excuse me.”

  “April,” I said. “Thank God, she’s come back for the dog.” I sat down on the table and slid to the floor.

  “Just don’t use it as an excuse to be gone all day,” Marley said, stuffing newspaper back into the last cardboard box.

  “You know, with a little more effort you could become a real pain in the butt,” I told her as I went by.

  “Saturday is four days away, remember? It’s your party. I’m only doing this for you.” She went to take the box out to the back porch where Ziggy was breaking the empty boxes down.

  I went to see who was visiting us, with Dog clicking along beside me.

  Laura Kemp stood beyond the screen door on the front porch. At the end of her right arm hung catalogues of material and in her left hand was a black portfolio case.

  Struck speechless, a great rarity for me, I stared at her in stunned silence.

  “I thought, for Clay’s sake, I’d come out and go over a new design with you. He seems to feel you should have some input.” Words seemed to stick in her throat and she swallowed before she got out, “For Clay’s sake, I think we should put our own personal feelings behind us.”

  “How lovely,” I said, with a smile every bit as sincere as her words. I opened the screen door. Dog, still hugging my side, stretched out his neck and sniffed her crotch. Not a dog lover, she yelped and jerked backwards, swinging her heavy portfolio around in front of her for protection.

  “Please come in,” I said and stood aside, waving her into the front hall.

  With her samples behind her and the portfolio in front of her — to guard against all canine possibilities — Laura Kemp came reluctantly forward.

  The hall seemed to startle her. She stopped, turned to me with her mouth still open, started to say something and then closed it; she looked back to the stripes Marley had us paint in the hall, at the round mahogany table in the center of the foyer with a big vase of lilies on it, and then into the dining room on the left.

  “I brought in a few family pieces,” I told her, which was not a lie. They were pieces that had once belonged to a family — just not my family. In the single wide trailer on the edge of a swamp where I’d grown up it had been Super Discount sales items all the way, and if it wasn’t plastic and faux-grained we didn’t own it.

  I stepped around the stunned Laura and led the way into the dining room. We’d put the two extra leaves into the mahogany table, opening it up to its full length to fill the huge space. Uncle Ziggy had rubbed every inch of the rich wood down with beeswax. It glowed. The chandelier sparkled and gleamed. It had taken me an hour to wash and polish those little devils before I hung them. A silver champagne bucket on the table was filled with Peruvian lilies.

  On the matching mahogany sideboard sat the silver tea set and two silver chargers, polished and waiting for food to be laid out. The red velvet drapes we bought at the secondhand store hung at the edge of the windows and pooled on the floor. The air smelled of beeswax and lilies.

  In the carved rosewood mirror over the buffet I met Laura Kemp’s eyes. They were filled with shock and defeat. I turned away and led the way to the sitting room across the hall, the most formal room in the house.

  The sun coming in the bow window made Marley’s shiny cream stripes the center of attention, but the rosewood settee covered in blue and silver satin looked pretty good too. A group of bronze greyhounds sat on a rosewood table in front of the settee while over the settee was a huge painting of horses in front of a grand house. The bay window was hung with more red velvet drapes. Two Victorian chairs on small casters sat on either side of a mahogany table with a glass oil lamp, a pot of orchids and a small silver box. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a massive rosewood secretary with ivory inlay and two upholstered wingback chairs. The room was anchored by a Persian rug that covered most of the floor. The effect was that of quiet elegance and understated wealth.

  “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “No, not really,” she said.

  “How about the powder room? It’s fabo.”

  “No,” she said, stalking to the front door, no longer worrying about protecting herself from Dog, more intent on getting out of the house than she was on being sniffed. Laura was through the door and down the front steps before I could even offer her tea.

  “But you haven’t met my family,” I protested as she pitched her samples into the back seat of her Audi. “You must stay and meet them.”

  “No,” she said, without stopping or even looking back. But then she’d already met Tully and Ziggy. Understandable if she couldn’t take the excitement of that twice.

  “Well, you all come back real soon now, you hear?” I said, all biscuits and grits.

  When she didn’t reply I was thinking that a return visit wasn’t going to happen in my lifetime. She slammed the door on her materials, hopped into her Audi and was gone. Dog leaned up against me and sighed.

  Marley came up behind me, chewing on an apple and asked, “Who’s that?”

  “Laura Kemp.”

  “What? No shit! And I missed it. Damn.”

  “Seems she didn’t want to meet you. I tried, but there was just no way she was going to hang around if you were here.” I leaned over and kissed Marley on the cheek.

  She took a big bite of her apple and said around her mouthful, “What’s that for?” Bits of apple sprayed me but I didn’t object. She held out the apple.

  “That, Marley my friend, was for messing with Laura Kemp’s mind and for saving my bacon. It’s the first time I ever felt on equal footing with one of Jacaranda’s gentry. Who knew it only took a shitload of heavily polished old wood.” I took a bite out of the apple and gave it back. “You’re ace.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “But I still wish I’d been here.”

  “She’s worth seeing, the queen of bitches with the crown and sash to prove it.”

  We laughed. The great thing about our friendship is we can be as nasty as we like, behave as badly as we please, without the other one thinking less of us.

  She looked out at the yard. “Crazy weather.”

  The air was heavy and hot, threatening rain. Barely a breeze stirred the leaves. Ominous and breathless, the darkening day seemed to be braced for what was to come.

  I considered the sky and said, “We never get rain this time of year. Hope it stops before the weekend.”

  I always worry about the wrong things. It was silly to be worrying about the weather with what was about to hit us.

  CHAPTER 35

  I took my cell out to a rocker on the porch and called Clay. There was a little sweet talk and I was just getting down to telling him what was going on in Independence, when he said, “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  I waited, pretty certain I wasn’t going to like what was coming.

  “I’m in a little bit of trouble,” Clay said. I sat up straighter. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Financial,” he said and went quiet.

  “I need a little more information than that.”

  “My contractor has gone bankrupt, leaving unpaid bills. The banks are calling in my loans, and my partners pulled out months ago. They read the writing on the wall. I didn’t. I bought them out. Now, nothing’s selling. This isn’t the economy to sell vacation homes in the Florida Panhandle. Those retirees are all staying up North with their money.”

  “Yeah, I know. We’ve been seeing that at the restaurant;

  business is down twenty percent over last year. The only thing that keeps it from being worse is having a restaurant right on the beach.” I realized I’d taken over the conversation. “Sorry,” I apologized, “you were telling me about your worries and I jumped in with mine. How bad is it, Cla
y?”

  “About as bad as it can get. I used my other properties as security for this one when everyone started pulling out. The resort is half done, eating money, and without finishing the marina and the units on the water, the condos aren’t going to sell. I have to have the whole package. I’m trying to refinance and bring in a new partner. Unless that happens, and happens quickly, I’m dead.”

  I started to make a joke and tell him he could always bus tables at the Sunset but stopped myself in time.

  He said, “It may get worse.” He went silent and I waited for the really bad news I knew was coming. Clay had a large chunk of money in the Sunset. I’d used Jimmy’s insurance money and Clay had made up the difference on the multimillion-dollar property. The restaurant and the rental properties barely carried the mortgage, taxes and overheads — don’t even think of profit. If I lost one of the stores, a definite possibility given the economy, I wouldn’t be making the mortgage payments any longer.

  “I’m sorry, Clay.”

  He said, “I can’t make it home this weekend. Brian is here, we’re working through the refinancing.”

  “But, I’m having…” I took a deep breath. “The house looks perfect. I wanted you to see it. And it’s your birthday.” “I’m sorry, Sherri. I have one more chance at making this right. I’ve got a meeting with a guy that may partner up with me on this. Can’t you come up here?” I said, “Let’s talk tomorrow.”

  I’d have to let more staff go. Where would they find jobs? Nobody would be hiring wait staff and bartenders. If things got worse I wouldn’t have a job myself. The little bit of money I sent Ruth Ann every month, where would I find that? There was a question I hadn’t asked. If Clay lost his development in Cedar Key, would he also lose his share of the Sunset?

  One minute everything was fine and the next, well, my life was swirling around the bowl and about to go for the big flush.

  Marley stuck her head out the door as I hung up. “This is going to be the best party ever. When is Clay getting here? I hope it isn’t until after most of the guests have arrived, won’t be much of a surprise otherwise.”

  After dinner I slunk off to my bedroom to decide what I’d do if I lost the Sunset. Nothing came to me and hours later Marley burst in and started to tell me about her really good idea.

  “I was watching this program on PBS, all about Western dude ranches in Arizona, Utah and like that. That’s what Clay should do with this place. It would be great. Hundreds of acres to ride through, creeks to canoe down and Independence even has a rodeo — every one of these little towns out here has a rodeo in the tourist season. And the beaches are only an hour away.”

  She was bouncing with excitement, planning the layout from turning the bunkhouse into a guesthouse to constructing more. “Of course, at first we could treat it like a B&B with horses and trails — there’s enough bedrooms, might need more bathrooms. Do you think every bedroom would need to have its own bath or would people be willing to walk down the hall?”

  I nearly bit her head off.

  “All right,” she said, “but I still think this is a great idea and I’m going to tell Clay about it no matter what you think. And if he goes for it, well, I’m going to be part of it.” She slammed the door on her way out.

  CHAPTER 36

  In the morning, after we walked all the horses out to the paddock, my nearest and dearest piled into their vehicles and left the ranch. Marley didn’t say what her plans were, barely spoke to me after I told her I was canceling the party, but Tully and Ziggy were going to look at Lovey for an hour. Ziggy just had to get his fix and the eagerness with which Tully tagged along convinced me Tully had been bitten by the same bug as Uncle Ziggy.

  I stayed behind on the farm to talk to Clay. I wanted details, wanted to know if there was any hope.

  “I have a meeting with some of my lenders on Friday,” he told me. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll file a legal action, an assignment for the benefit of creditors, which is really pretty much like bankruptcy but it may force my lenders to take a proper look at things and negotiate with me. The problem is my property in Cedar Key has lost value so the banks want me to make up for this. If I don’t come up with the money, they won’t renew the loans on the land; if I can’t renew, I’m in default and they can take all of my property here plus what I put up as security. The banks are telling me to come up with the additional money or they will force me into foreclosure.”

  “Sounds like you’ve really got your tail caught in the door. What about Riverwood, can’t you use that to make up the difference?”

  “It isn’t enough. And besides, it might turn out to be throwing pennies after dollars that are already gone. Even if I were willing to put up Riverwood, it wouldn’t be enough to keep the banks from moving in and the question is, do I protect what I’ve got or push everything onto the table and risk the whole pot?”

  I asked the really big question, “What about the Sunset?”

  “If I lose my securities, it means you’ll have a new partner.”

  “The bank?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Which will tear it down and put up condos.” Clay had always said that the moment the Sunset stopped carrying itself he was going to replace it with condos on the beach and that’s exactly what the banks would do.

  “Not in this market,” he assured me. “Nothing’s going to be torn down and rebuilt in this economy and, besides, to do that they would have to buy you out.”

  “Yeah, but how much will they pay for it? I’m betting the value of the Sunset is less than we paid for it.”

  “Not according to what they lent me on my share. I don’t think you’ll lose money.”

  “So we still have something left?”

  “We? There’s still a we?”

  “Hell, yeah,” I said. “You haven’t killed anyone, have you?”

  His voice was so quiet I could barely hear his next words. “I thought you might leave me.”

  “Now how am I going to make your life a misery if I leave you?”

  “I should have told you I was in trouble sooner but I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Okay, I can see that, but not worrying over a specific problem now means I worry all the time about what might be happening that I don’t know about.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t keep secrets.” It didn’t escape my attention that I’d been keeping a few secrets of my own but that was different, wasn’t it?

  “I may be starting over, no more penthouse,” Clay warned.

  “Well, I know a great trailer park. Drunks, losers and even the odd saint passes through — they’ll make you feel real welcome.”

  “Don’t joke. I’m more than a little scared it’ll turn out to be true.”

  I laughed. I’d always known that the penthouse wasn’t permanent. One way or another it was bound to end, but it had been fun while it lasted. “Being poor isn’t all that hard. I’m real good at it; I’ll show you how.”

  After our tender goodbyes I settled in to cancel the party, a party being the very last thing Clay would want to deal with if he got back Saturday night. Come to that, a party was the last thing I wanted to deal with. While I was joking with Clay, I’d also been saying goodbye to the good life in the penthouse on the beach. It was sweet while it lasted.

  When I finished with the e-mails and calls, I moved restlessly about the kitchen, trying to decide what came next. Marley had left a couple of oddities from the last of the unpacking in the hall. I took the box of leftovers upstairs to the junk room.

  The binoculars where still where I’d left them. I picked them up and went to the back window to check out where I’d last seen Boomer. Two ATVs burst out of the woods, one ridden by Sheriff Hozen, with a rifle across the handlebars, and the other by Boomer, also carrying a weapon. They got to the opening to the lane, following something on the
ground, and came on a hundred yards before they had a discussion. Red Hozen pointed behind them and turned back but Boomer didn’t. He looked up at the house and then down at the ground and then back at the house, shouted something over his shoulder and came on towards the house.

  I threw down the glasses without waiting to see where he was headed. I just ran.

  CHAPTER 37

  I was getting out of there. If Boomer was coming to visit I wasn’t going to be sitting on the porch waiting for him.

  I grabbed my purse off the back of the kitchen door and bolted for the drive shed, with Dog at my heels.

  Reality brought me to a dead stop; there was neither truck nor car sheltering under the tin roof, no way of escaping. I was trapped out in this wilderness with a madman.

  Dread and fear prickled along the hairs of my arms. My palms were damp. My heart was racing and I was whimpering with fear. Beside me Dog growled. Did he sense my mood or was danger closer than I knew?

  What were my choices? Even if Tully and Ziggy had cell phones there was no time for them to get back to Riverwood before Boomer got me. Hide, I had to hide. That was my only choice, but where? “Think, think,” I told myself. I looked behind me at the house. It was impossible to secure the house. Not enough time to close all the windows. He could punch out the old-fashioned screens and step into the house through any window. And upstairs there were no locks on the bedrooms.

  I could hear the machine getting louder. Clearly, whatever I did, I had to make up my mind quickly. The deep threatening drone was coming closer. “Hurry, hurry,” I whispered aloud.

  “Come on,” I said to Dog and headed back to the house. I opened the door to the kitchen and let him in, closing the door quickly behind him and trapping him inside. “Sorry,” I told him.

  The problem was I couldn’t trust Dog to be quiet. He might growl and give me away and, while he’d do his best to protect me, a dog was no match for a gun. I had no doubt that Boomer would shoot Dog if he got in Boomer’s way.