Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View

by Catharine Bramkamp

  “Good thing it snowed after the house tour.” Ben remarked.

  The house looked the same. I could see the wood ripple under the eaves and grain of inexpensive lumber emerging from under an increasingly faded coat of paint.

  “Not the best side of town.” Carrie concluded.

  “No, but she was keeping it together.”

  Carrie squinted at the shabby house. “Wasn’t her husband in construction?”

  “Not so you could tell.” Ben confirmed.

  “She works at a dentist office.” I remembered Danny told me she had a job but still bled him dry for alimony anyway. His passing did not make her life any easier. It was enough to drive a woman to murder.

  “What if she’s dangerous?”

  “Oh please, with three kids?” Carrie brushed past me and banged on the door.

  My phone buzzed, on cue. I glanced down. It was my mother. If she wanted to call the house, she could. Then I realized Mom probably had called the house and Prue, true to her name Prudence, had not picked up. My grandmother did not have anything as high tech as caller ID on her wall mounted princess phone, so how she knew not to answer her daughter’s calls was nothing short of voodoo magic. I shook my head in awe of my grandmother, and let my mother go to voice mail.

  “Hello! Anyone home!” Carrie banged the door again then pushed it open.

  “You can’t.” I started to say, just walk in, but changed my mind. Apparenly she can just walk in. Ben and I trailed behind Carrie.

  The short hall branched to a kitchen on the right and the living room on the left. I remembered the long sliding glass doors from the living room led to the back yard. I glanced at the dimly lit yard. Ben flipped on the kitchen lights and they blazed in white-hot fluorescent splendor. A second later the TV in the living room popped on, three lights down the hall turned on.

  I felt like primitive man, look fire! Look moving pictures!

  “Mattie!” I called. “The power’s on.” Just in case she was hiding in her bathroom and needed to use her curling iron for a hair styling emergency.

  “Mattie!” I called again. Ben walked to the back of the house and quickly returned. I held my breath for a minute; I do not have good luck with master bedrooms and bodies.

  “Not there.”

  I let my breath out. I turned towards the living room. There was no one in the living room to appreciate the morning news (top story, power outages across the tri -county area). Ben picked up the remote and snapped off the TV. I glanced around. I saw a few toys, a video game consol on top of the TV, a DVD player. I was surprised the TV wasn’t a new flat panel model. People may not be able to pay rent, but they manage to pay installments on what is really important, a big screen. Not Mattie. I kind of admired her for holding out.

  “What’s that in the back yard?” Carrie asked.

  “A swing set. ” I replied. “Toys.”

  I glanced out the window. A lump the size of a person was awkwardly positioned on the back lawn. It was covered by an inch of snow. The back outdoor lights cast a yellow glow on the figure, making it look almost human.

  It was human.

  “Oh crap.” I said out loud.

  “Better call your friend.” Ben said.

  Tom Marten made good time.

  “I suppose you are here under the auspicious of the Brotherhood?” He was justifiably suspicious.

  “This or take the kids.”

  He tucked his notebook back into his jacket pocket. “You chose wisely.”

  Tom didn’t try to keep us away, but did politely ask us not to muddy the already muddied and snow covered body and surrounding muddy evidence. I didn’t see why we couldn’t stomp around; kids, animals, and the weather had already effectively destroyed what was left of the yard.

  “The killer could have come in the back or the front.” Tom observed unenthusiastically. “Shit, and those kids.” He dragged his hands down his face.

  “The front door was unlocked.” I pointed out helpfully.

  “No one locks their front door in this neighborhood.” He kicked at a soggy clump of grass. “Too much trouble to remember to bring along a key. I keep telling people if the door’s not locked, it’s harder to collect insurance if they’re robbed. But they don’t listen. Especially if we went to school together.”

  “She had evidence. She told me.” I said.

  Tom looked at me with a gimlet eye. “She told everyone.”

  “Didn’t that bother Lucky or even Penny?” I asked.

  “Debbie was prepared to do something about it, but I don’t know if Mattie ever turned over the evidence. Maybe not.” The grass clump broke free and he pushed it aside.

  “Summer is depending on that CRT.” I pointed out.

  “A lot of people are depending on the largess of Lucky, now that he’s gone,” Tom responded.

  “Is that bad?”

  “I told you, it makes it more complicated.”

  If a class action suit was successful, there would be nothing left for the town. Without Lucky’s money, Summer may have to shut down the theater, the Brotherhood wouldn’t be able to afford more books; the police wouldn’t get any more laptops.

  It was very complicated indeed.

  “Then who?”

  Tom squinted at me. “Everybody?”

  Mattie did have family; there were people, other than us, or the members of the Brotherhood, who could take over. Tom looked more haggard than usual. I told him so.

  “Lots of dead bodies.”

  “At least the Millers died of natural causes.” I commented.

  “Debbie actually confided in me that she thought they were killed to keep them quiet.”

  I frowned. “That is a stretch, even for the most wild imagination. The Millers were already quiet. Prue says they haven’t attended a Brotherhood meeting in months.”

  He nodded. “I agree, but you know Debbie.”

  I just looked at him. “Oh,” he amended. “You don’t know Debbie.”

  He shuffled his feet and gazed up at the unforgiving sky. It had stopped snowing but black clouds hovered between us and the spring sun like a bully blocking the path to the school restroom.

  “She moved here, what?” He calculated. “About ten years ago. Had some trouble when she first arrived.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Well, she was from the city.”

  I nodded, that summarized so much. So many people moved to the bucolic mountains without really thinking it through. They quickly become disillusioned: the late paper deliveries, the lack of shoe stores, no Costco close by. City transplants even complain about the lack of traffic. Claim Jump residents encourage as many of these unhappy residents as they can to go back to where they came from as quickly as possible. Some of the displaced city folks end up in Sacramento, which, at least, has proper shopping malls.

  “Her apartment burned when she first moved in.”

  “Arson?”

  “Probably just old wiring.” He scowled at his phone and texted something back. “But ever since the fire, we get a call from her about every six months. She’s convinced that she’s being followed or spied on by a deranged arsonist.”

  I thought of Raul and his ubiquitous web cams. But I did not share that with Tom. I was uncertain about the legality of Raul’s activities and I didn’t want him in trouble. Raul, not Tom.

  Was Raul keeping tabs on Debbie? Especially since she beat Prue in the City Council race? I never knew with Raul. His background was obscure at best. Sometimes he claimed he was from Russia and sometimes he spoke of happy years in San Francsico. Raul mentioned he knew or was acquainted with Penny long before he ended up in Claim Jump.

  “Let’s get back to the Millers. Why would anyone want to keep them quiet? Especially now, I’m sure they’ve blurted out everything they intended to blurt out.”

  “I don’t even care. Natural causes.” He nodded to the back yard. A body bag was suspended between the corner and the other officer. The ground w
as too rough for a gurney. “Unnatural causes.”

  “Was she shot?”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t look.”

  “I’m not that hardened.” I admitted. Ben frowned as the body bag swung between the two struggling men.

  “Boyfriend?” Tom switched subjects.

  “Fiancé,” I sighed.

  “Good. He looks capable enough to distract you. Try to hold off finding another dead body for at least 24 hours; I have work to do.”

  Other than power failures, funerals were my next most exciting activity in Claim Jump. Big fun here, nothing but big, big, fun. The summer season is far less hazardous.

  We attended the Miller funeral out of solidarity for poor Sarah and for the Brotherhood at large. We all stood around the damp basement of the Methodist church sipping bad wine and circulating the same stories around and around. I’ve been here before; I’ve had these discussions less than a week ago. The church basements in Auburn are identical to the church basements in Claim Jump.

  But this time I had my favorite secret weapon. Ben Stone, Rock Solid Service is irresistible to women of a certain age. And every single member of the Brotherhood was of a certain age. It didn’t make them any less dangerous or treacherous. But it did make them susceptible to Ben’s considerable charm.

  While Ben distracted and placated the Brotherhood at large, Prue pointed out Sarah’s mother to me. Sarah and her mother shared the same feature I shared with my own mother: we are nothing alike. Sarah’s mother was a perfect example of what happened when effort overrode skill. She had let her hair go years ago and it stood out from her head in an uncontrolled gray frizz. Old cake eyeliner emphasized how tiny her eyes were and how much sun damage she had sustained. Her dress ended in a limp, uneven hem that hovered over the preposterous heels. I got a vertiginous thrill just watching Ms. Miller right herself on her staggeringly high platform shoes, and I use staggering in the literal sense of the word.

  I glanced at the former Dorothy of Oz. Sarah must have shopped the same store where I found my black slacks and black sweater (now classics in that I wear them to all occasions, many being funerals). Thank goodness the storeowner talked Sarah into buying the sweater in midnight blue not black. Sarah’s new sweater clung to her slender curves and brought out the ice blue of her eyes. The matching blue skirt and high heel boots transformed her into the most elegant woman in the hall.

  I glanced out one of the clear, high windows. Debbie Smith, dressed in an easy to spot tie-dyed shirt bounced across the street carrying a small occasional table to the theater. Ah, looting Lucky’s house already. I assumed she had Penny’s blessing, and if not, the table wasn’t being carried very far.

  Scott was disinclined to leave Sarah alone, even for a minute. She looked wonderful, all Technicolor: the woman of his fantasies. His heart started beating faster every time he looked at her. She looked even better today than when she was costumed as Dorothy.

  Sarah’s mother approached, and Scott automatically hummed the theme music for the Wicked Witch of the West. At least the woman wasn’t fat. Before she died, Scott’s mother told him to always look at a girl’s mother to see how she’d end up. So, not fat. And he assumed the woman’s hair looked that way on purpose.

  “The term,” a man placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Is rode hard and put away wet.”

  Scott nodded not turning to look at his new friend. He was too focused on the women plowing through the crowds towards Sarah.

  If the rumors were true, and to date, all the Claim Jump rumors were true, this is what Sarah would look like if she had about 30 years of hard drugs, and he assumed, less than salubrious living conditions, behind her. In the hard drug department, Sarah was not keeping up.

  Lizzie Miller squinted at Sarah and then at Scott.

  “So you finally got a boyfriend.” She shook her head. “Your grandfather is probably rolling in his grave.”

  “Is not.” Sarah denied hotly.

  “Scott Lewis, nice to meet you.” Scott held out his hand and shook Mrs. Miller’s limp one.

  “And what do you do Scott?” She swayed, and then righted herself with only a bit of arm waving.

  “He owns the library.” Sarah quickly answered. “You must be starving.” She took her mother’s arm in a heavy grip and led her away from Scott. She glanced back and he nodded. He understood completely. Lizzie Miller looked a little drunk.

  “She never met a controlled substance she didn’t love.” Prue Singleton placed her hand on Scott’s arm to steady herself. She had a more legitimate reason for tipping over. According to the rumors, she tripped in her own greenhouse. There was something about the green house that was important, but he didn’t catch that part of the story. He automatically helped her.

  “But Sarah is not her mother.” He pointed out unnecessarily.

  “Or her grandmother, for which you should thank God. I think you’re safe.” The perky little old lady winked at Scott and limped away. Now, she would have been a good grandparent for Sarah, Scott mused.

  Allison Little approached him and blocked his view of Sarah and Lizzie.

  “What do you think of a pizza parlor?” He asked automatically.

  “No.”

  “Pet store?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you for taking such good care of Sarah.” Allison changed the subject.

  “Care? Oh, yes the grandparents.” He took a breath. Maybe his father had passed down some valuable qualities after all. That would be nice. He missed his father. All these funerals were difficult, but he couldn’t not show. He cared too much for Sarah to blow her off just because he still felt sad about the loss of his father.

  “It was the least I could do.”

  Allison Little nodded and looked at him thoughtfully.

  “I was the first person she called.” He blurted out.

  She smiled. She had a really dazzling smile. He almost thought she would be so pretty if… he stopped that speculation, it was an insult to who she was right now.

  He smiled awkwardly. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Only to the people who care.”

  He glanced around the sparsely populated basement.

  “Okay,” she admitted. “Everyone here probably cares.”

  “Look what I found.” Another man, tall and broadly built, joined Allison. She took the plastic cup of wine from him and glanced up with deep gratitude. Wow, Scott considered the couple. He had feelings for Sarah. But these two were so in love it radiated from them like, what was that called? Like an aura, Scott could almost make it out in the dim yellow light of the basement. It was almost shocking.

  “At least the snow stopped.” Allison Little took a sip of the wine, and stepped back an inch or so to make room for additional guests to join the conversation.

  “Yes, that’s a relief.” The man said. “I hear you bought the old library. What are your plans?”

  “Plans?” Scott automatically shrank from the question. Plans. Adults were always asking about the plan. What are you going to do with your life Scott? What are your interests Scott? Sometimes he had no answer; often he had no answer. Why does everyone need to know his business?

  “Scott is going to help me for a while.” Sarah returned sans mother, just in time to save Scott.

  Allison nodded with some private satisfaction. “That is very generous of you Scott.”

  Damn, she saw right through him! “I still want to know about those houses.”

  She took another sip of wine. “Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

  “What about my grandparent’s house?” Sarah asked. “Should I put it on the market? Mom wants her half of the money.”

  Allison narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that house for you? So you have somewhere to live, always have a roof over your head?”

  “She wants her half of all the money.” Sarah repeated miserably. “She said I’d have enough to rent an apartment for at least a few years. And I can work.”
/>   “Rent!” Allison snorted.

  “Honey.” Lizzie lurched back towards them. “I want you to meet my friend Jack, he’s here to help me with your grandparent’s things.”

  “Sure mother,” Sarah peered around her mother, but saw no one she didn’t already recognize. Was Jack an imaginary friend?

  “He’s over there.” Lizzie said impatiently.

  Sarah dutifully detached from their small group and followed her mother’s swaying figure. Apparently this Jack was best met one on one.

  “Sarah has good instincts.” I noted out loud.

  “But a terrible upbringing.”

  “I’m inclined to disagree.” Scott started.

  “No, no, she is lovely, clearly.” Prue said quickly. “But those Millers, all Fox news and Republican boneheads.” She shook her head, as if being Republican was the worst thing a person could be. I held my tongue.

  “She shouldn’t lose the house.” Scott said hotly.

  “No.” I watched the mother and her new boyfriend bend and sway towards Sarah. “No, she shouldn’t. Is there a will?”

  Scott nodded. “Their lawyer is Buster Porter, he’ll read the will later today, just family of course.”

  Buster Porter, Lucky’s lawyer. That was interesting.

  “Did Mr. Miller work for Lucky?”

  “In the seventies.” Prue confirmed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  One would think that after a funeral there would be time for contemplation, for ruminating on how short life really is, and wondering what the hell a person was doing with her own life. That’s what I thought. But when I watched poor Sarah Miller walk stiff legged with her mother (with what must have been Jack trailing behind) to the Miller’s Oldsmobile, I knew that in their case, contemplation would be more along the lines of financial remuneration, not big-picture spiritual questions.

  “Damn, I wish there was something I could do.” Scott stood next to me in the doorway of the basement and watched Sarah firmly take the keys from her mother and climb into the driver’s seat.

  “Just be by your phone.” I counseled. “She’s going to need a friend after this session with her mother.”