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

by Catharine Bramkamp

  The red dirt gripped my pretty boots and threatened to hold me in place. How could anyone drag a body all the way out here?

  As if reading my thoughts, Tom commented. “It was dry the night Lucky was dumped here. The storms started up only after he had been left.”

  Dragged, carted, God help us, did the murderer use a wheelbarrow?

  I stood in the chilly air, the stripped monoliths of ripped mountainside blocked what was left of the sunshine. The damp air brightened the striations of yellow, rose and tan that made up the surrounding bare hills. The area was fascinating if you were a geologist, depressing if you loved trees.

  We stepped just past the creepy human silhouettes decorated with shredded black and white targets. Shattered shards of plywood littered the rough ground. I staggered and the mud sucked at my feet as I took slow monster steps to the yellow caution tape.

  I had no idea what I was looking for. I had a vague idea that I’d just lean over and pick up the definitive clue to the murder, just like on TV. But even if such an item existed, the weather would have deleted any telltale signs. If the killer did use a wheelbarrow, there were no signs of a deep track or groove. There was nothing at all save for a couple of flattened Scotch Broom bushes.

  Defeated, I asked Tom what he thought.

  “I think he or she dragged the body out on a black tarp and then left the body here, right behind the targets. It wouldn’t look like much, just another hump of built up debris and mud, and more important, since no one expected to find a body out here, they didn’t see it. We found a muddy tarp in the recycling bin, but there was nothing on it.”

  “How about a quilt?” I asked suddenly. A quilt was not only sturdy, if Penny made it, the evidence would flame up and disappear in a matter of seconds. We would never recover it. Clever, I had to admire that approach.

  “What about the quilts?” Tom asked.

  “Penny’s quilts are stuffed with flammable insulation.” I blurted out.

  He raised an eyebrow and waited for the punch line.

  “There is no punch line, that’s it.” I freed one, then the other boot so I wouldn’t be stuck out here forever like poor Lucky. “Ben and I almost went up in a fireball the other night. The quilts are as flammable as the houses above Deer Creek.”

  He blinked. “Are you telling me Penny Masters is a mass murderer?”

  “I don’t know what it means.” I admitted helplessly. “Maybe she doesn’t know. And it certainly can’t be a focused kind of vendetta. How can she control who uses the quilts and what they’d do in bed?”

  Tom shook his head. “She can’t be that dumb.”

  “But she can be in denial.” It’s a popular river in my family; my mother cruises down De Nile on a regular basis.

  “I’ll look into it.” He promised. But I knew he could do as little with the information as me. A quilt is not a weapon. A person would have to wrap him or herself into the quilt and ask someone else to torch it. Not very dependable, as far as murder weapons go. Better to drag the body out to a firing range and let the community take care of the murder.

  It was not a cheerful meeting.

  “I’m back.” I called to Prue, but there was no answer. I wrestled off my boots outside and left them by the door. I padded into the chilly kitchen and called again. Where was my grandmother? It was past five o’clock and she usually hosts the cocktail hour during the week. Pat and Mike take the weekend.

  I stood in the cold room and called again. A little wave of panic snaked up my spine. She was injured after all. No, no, she was fine. I dashed upstairs to check hoping she was just napping. She was not.

  I took a deep breath. First thing was to contact the cocktail team. Carrie and Prue probably stopped by Pat and Mike’s after picking up the groceries.

  “Nope, she’s not here.” Pat said. “Did you lose her?”

  “Ha ha, very funny, no I’m just checking around.”

  I smacked my phone in my hand. Just checking around.

  I prowled through the house. Carrie wasn’t in evidence either, which made sense she was supposed to be with Prue. I dashed outside, soaking my socks in the process, but no Prue.

  I walked back to the kitchen door since it had the best number of bars for my phone service. I pulled off my sodden socks. No messages from Carrie. If they needed to stop somewhere, why wouldn’t they call?

  Thank goodness Ben picked up.

  “I’ll come right.” And then he faded out. He must be back out at Penny’s. She does not have great cell reception at her magnificent house.

  I was too worried about Prue to worry about where Ben was spending his time. Besides, he said he was coming. It would take him fifteen minutes to drive back down Penny’s mountain and back up this mountain. I wanted to wait for him outside so I could look for the car, but it was too cold to stand outside.

  “Where is spring?” I demanded to no one in particular. “Where are the darling buds of May?”

  It was only April. Spring came in May. But I needed spring now, right now. I pulled my boots back on over my bare feet and stomped around the yard. I wanted to find something, but at the same time, I didn’t. I couldn’t help thinking of Lucky wrapped in a tarp and Mattie Timmons wrapped in nothing at all. Teenage boys running across the fireing range. My own search of the property produced nothing of interest: no signs of struggle, no bodies, and the greenhouse was locked. The boots sucked at my feet and I couldn’t feel my toes. I abandoned the boots again at the door and marched barefoot back into the house. I found Prue’s cell phone in the knife drawer. The charger was in the liquor cabinet. Her purse was gone. Who had taken Prue? And had the same person taken the purse?

  I called Carrie’s number, but she didn’t pick up. Some joke? An accident? I groaned, and envisioned the two of them, run off the road, crashing down the side of the mountain, broken bodies, broken phones, unable to hit 911. Tom said that Mattie reported being run off the road, so it was possible. Here were my two favorite people, completely out of range. If they crashed on the side of the highway, they wouldn’t be able to get through, even if they could manage to raise a broken finger to hit send.

  Ben startled me. “I came as soon as I could get away from Penny.”

  “I can’t find my grandmother!” I tried to get the vision of crumpled cars and bloody steering wheels out of my head. I was only moderately successful.

  “She must have fallen!” The thought was awful. I’ve heard of old people who fall and can’t get up. “And,” I warmed up to my second worst fear. “ Old people lay on their sides for days in the dark, hungry and stiff and all the blood pools in their arms and they can’t move and it will be my fault for not finding her in time!”

  Did that high pitch wail come from, me? I believe it did.

  “Okay, Okay.” Ben tried to pat my arm, hug me, rub my back, all in an ineffectual attempt to calm me down. “Where was she last?”

  I sniffed and dragged the back of my hand across my nose.

  “I don’t know.” I admitted. “She and Carrie went out earlier. I thought they’d be back by now. I had a chance to see the shooting range and I didn’t pay attention to their plans, if they even mentioned what they were doing.”

  “Okay, where would she likely be? Did you search the house and the barn?”

  I gave him my best withering look, but didn’t hold it for long; he was, after all, trying to help. “Of course I did, it was the first thing I did. People fall in their home all the time, I even checked the bathtub although she never takes a bath. But you never know!”

  “Carrie, did you call her?”

  “Not picking up. I left a voice message.”

  “And where have you been again?” He finally circled back to that fact.

  “I had a chance to go see the shooting range.” I admitted.

  “So you aren’t going to say much about me helping Ms. Masters because you were outstanding in your field with the chief of police with whom you had more than a passing acquaintance.” He
correctly summarized.

  I stopped my blubbering for a second or two.

  “Oh my God, that is the most complimentary thing you have ever said to me. Except for the Mitchell brothers wet dream compliment, but that was just to my breasts.”

  He dragged his hands through his hair. “You are welcome. Come on, did you call the hospital?”

  “They would have called me.” I explained. “I’m the number on her call sheet.”

  “And you say I baby my grandmother.”

  “I never said that, I said I understood.”

  “Come on, think, where could she be?”

  “She doesn’t just leave places with no notes. Or clues.” Clues!

  I raced out to the front door. No scuffle, the door wasn’t locked, (Prue forgets to lock her door more often than not), no note, she usually leaves a paper, hard copy, and scribbles a couple words using the stub of a pencil that still has some good left in it.

  Maybe she and Carrie are just up the road. Maybe they decided to take a pleasant spring stroll to admire the daffodils. I didn’t really believe she’d do that. Not during the cocktail hour.

  A pessimist is never disappointed. Prue was not a friend of Lucky so why would his killer come after her? Then again, she said some trenchant comments about Lucky to Debbie and to Penny and to poor Mattie. Could someone be after her because she knows too much? Prue has always known too much, why would today be any different?

  “I don’t know!”

  “Then call this Tom Marten.” Ben suggested.

  I must have looked surprised. He nodded. I still wasn’t sure I endorsed his friendship with the redoubtable and possibly deranged Penny Masters. But here he was encouraging a call to an old friend. Ben was a bigger person than I.

  Tom gently informed me there was nothing he could officially do until 24 hours had passed.

  “Could she be in a back alley poker game? Drinking illegally?” He didn’t say what he really wanted to say, not over a cell phone. I let it pass.

  “I did check the greenhouse.” I said both to answer Tom and assure myself. “She’s not there either.”

  “You need a GPS chip in her.” Tom growled.

  “I know; she won’t do it.”

  “Where does she normally go on Tuesdays?” Tom acquiesced, which was pretty nice of him.

  “Book club every other Tuesday, Brotherhood of Cornish Men every third Tuesday. Cocktails with Pat and Mike every afternoon, but she’s not there.” I recited.

  “Where is the Brotherhood meeting nowadays?”

  “They’re still at the Library. Scott apparently hasn’t found the balls to kick them out.”

  “They are a formidable group.” Ben said sotto voice. “Give the kid a minute or two to brace up.”

  “Go there and call me when you find her.” Tom instructed.

  “If I find her.”

  “Allison.” He warned.

  “I’m going, we’re going right now.” I clicked off, snatched up my own purse and I headed out the kitchen door, Ben right behind me.

  “Allison.”

  I stepped out the kitchen door, heading for his truck. “What?”

  “Do you want to wear shoes to this event?”

  I glanced at my bare feet and at the boots. Crap. I wasted valuable time finding a pair of shoes appropriate for hunting down my grandmother. I finally stepped into Ben’s truck when the phone buzzed.

  “I’m not there yet.” I immediately protested.

  “Allison.” Tom’s voice had completely changed. I stopped suspended between the truck seat and the ground and remained completely still and completely silent. His voice indicated the news was bad, I could feel it even over the dodgy reception. I held my breath for his next sentence, the one that will be about death, broken dreams and despair.

  “Yes?” I tensed. I eased my leg back off the seat and stood in the driveway, phone pressed tightly to my ear.

  “The hospital just called. Someone found Raul. He had no ID on him, and the hospital administration is anxious about payments. I would usually call Prue since I know Raul is staying with her, but since you can’t get hold of her… ” He trailed off.

  “How is he?” Raul? Crazy Raul, hurt? “Was it a car accident? He doesn’t pay attention like he should, especially when he’s filming.”

  “No.” Tom interrupted. “It wasn’t a car accident.” He paused again. “When he wakes up I hope he can identify his assailants.”

  I didn’t know which way to turn. “Do you want me to go to the hospital right now?”

  “Go to the library first, call me.” He instructed.

  Shaken, I slowly climbed into the cab.

  “What?” Ben leaned over and looked at me quizzically. “Allison, talk to me, what happened? Did they find your grandmother?”

  I closed my eyes. “No, not grandma and Carrie. Raul. Ben, someone beat up Raul!”

  He threw the truck into drive and sped out the driveway. We drove down the street for exactly four seconds before I screamed. “Stop, stop, that’s Carrie.”

  Ben twisted the steering wheel and the back the truck swung too far to the left, he righted it and we bounced up onto the sidewalk inches from my friend.

  “Where were you!” I yelled out the window. “Where is my grandmother!”

  Carrie didn’t wait for a formal invitation. She yanked the back door of the cab and climbed in.

  “Library. Ben, drive to the library.”

  Carrie dropped her head in her hands. “They called an emergency meeting before we left, so we detoured over to the library. Prue went in and before I could follow, that Suzanne slammed the doors and locked them. Prue had the car keys, my phone, everything, in her bag.”

  Carrie snuffled. “Don’t yell at me! I had no idea. All the senior citizens I know are tired, they are never up for this kind of strenuous activity.”

  “Welcome to Claim Jump home of the enterprising octogenarian.” I felt churlish towards the whole lot of them. “So now we storm the Library. Why would they lock you out?”

  Carrie rubbed her hands. It was a more a rhetorical question anyway.

  A dozen cars were parked on the street in front of the library, some members parked in the theater parking across the street.

  We found them all in the library with Miss Scarlet and a candlestick. Actually it was Sarah who stood guard at the front door. I banged my fist on the original wavy glass, threatening to break it. Sarah open the door and I pushed her aside like a cardboard paper doll. Scott stood at the librarian’s desk, not wielding a candlestick, but rather punching numbers into his cell. He stopped when I crested the stairs.

  “She’s here.” He confirmed.

  “So I heard.”

  “You’re late.” Prue was a little too cheerful for the circumstances. She limped from the right of the library where the chronicles of the Brotherhood were housed.

  “We didn’t mean any harm.” Mary Beth, owlish in her black-rimmed glasses protested.

  “We just asked her to attend an emergency meeting.” Maria nodded, her grey curls shaking violently with the effort.

  “Yes, a meeting.” Suzanne favored Ben and me with a wide grin. One could even call it a shit-eating grin.

  “Oh for God’s sake.” I put my hands on my hips and glared at every one of them in turn. “What the hell did you think you’d accomplish?”

  “Prue doesn’t know anything.” Suzanne’s expression abruptly changed from satisfied to sour. Then just as quickly, as if she had delivered a pep talk to herself, she veered right back on track. “You must help us.”

  I was amazed at her temerity. Did she not have children to temper her and tell her what to do? Did she not have a disinterested neice to put her away into some nice – far away - rest home? There was an opening down in Auburn.

  “And kidnapping my grandmother is suppose to make me feel more favorably disposed towards your project?”

  “She was here for a emergency meeting, we needed to vote.”

 
; “You locked Carrie out.”

  “A secret vote.” Suzanne quickly amended. “Members only.”

  I rubbed my eyes. Thank godness they weren’t very good at this. Prue seemed okay. She was pale, she was tired and her foot probably hurt. But she was in one piece.

  I flipped my phone open and scrolled down to the police office line.

  “Who are you calling?” Suzanne lurched towards the phone, but I was too fast, I stepped aside and held the phone over my head as the number was dialed.

  “Tom Marten, please.”

  “The cops? You called the cops? No one calls the cops.” Marlene rolled her eyes as if calling the authorities was a sign of great weakness and lack of resourcefulness.

  “I found her.” I igored the protests from the criminal wanna bes.

  “Good.” It wasn’t difficult to visualize him checking off at least one thing on his long to-do list. “In one piece?”

  “Yes.” I breathed out.

  “Ask him if this will make the police blotter. Everyone reads that.” Marlene suggested

  “The Blotter only reports the 911 calls.” Mary Beth pointed out. “Did you call 911?” She looked at me hopefully, but I shook my head. Her face fell.

  “But kidnapping is a crime right?” Suzanne Chatterhill immediately thought of an alternative. “That should make the paper. Allison, call the paper.”

  During this exchange, Ben happily wandered around the building. I forgot he hadn’t visited the library before.

  “And what is this room?” He pointed to one of the many tiny office spaces behind the main reception desk.

  “The archive room.” Suzanne abandoned me to give an interested outsider the tour. “Here is where we index newspaper articles and columns from the Gold Rush, so if you want to know what your great aunt Ethel was doing up here, you can look it up here. Back then the paper actually reported the news.”

  I did not comment that the doings of Gold Hill Garden Club was only news because they were the only subscribers to the paper.

  “We need a Cornish Day parade.” Maria popped off.