Good Karma

by Christina Kelly

  “Do you know Audrey Cunningham?” Catherine asked.

  “I know who she is.” Amity recalled a glossy ad for Seven Oaks in Savannah magazine with a photo of a Realtor in a revealing button-down blouse and the tagline: “Let Audrey Cunningham Take You Home!” “I mean, who can forget that kind of brazen marketing? But I’ve never met her. My ex and I only worked with an agent downtown. We didn’t think to consider the safety behind the gates.” Amity was surprised by her own facetious laugh.

  “I need your expertise.”

  “How so?”

  “You found out about your husband, even though it wasn’t what you wanted or expected.”

  “I did.”

  “But you didn’t stop there. You left him. It’s the bravest thing in the world.”

  Amity hadn’t considered it bravery, only simple survival, but she still wasn’t following. “So?”

  “So I need you to help me figure out what Ralph and Audrey are up to. I need to know if they’re having an affair.”

  Amity might have said, Careful what you ask for, but for someone as needy as Catherine, she wanted to be a little more concrete without mentioning the gun. “Husbands keep secrets. Trust me on this. I’m sure yours does too.”

  “Which is why you are the woman for the job. You understand why this is so important to me.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Get me into Audrey’s office.”

  chapter 40

  Audrey strode through the welcome center and closed her office door. Everything was annoying her—the other salespeople, the rain, Leona. Since it had stormed all week, clients wanted to talk only about the weather and global warming. No one wanted to look at a house or sign a contract. No one wanted to see how granite counters, marble floors, or a media room could enhance their pathetic lives.

  Resting her high-heeled shoes on her desk, Audrey leaned back in the leather chair and looked out the office to the dark lagoon. Its crusted top resembled congealed chicken soup boiled too hard for too long. That’s how she felt too, as if she’d been on slow simmer for years. She was getting tired of hustling, trying to sell people things they didn’t need or appreciate or even understand.

  Even Leona, dear sweet Leona, was making a general nuisance of herself. It wasn’t necessarily the dog’s fault. Leona had barely been outside for three rainy days, and the lightning and electrical surges were making the shih tzu crazy. An hour earlier Audrey had found her peeing on the rug under the conference table, and Audrey was damn well not going to get down on her hands and knees to sponge it up.

  And to top it all off, Ralph was becoming a nervous wreck. A regular Larry Liability. What was he waiting for? A red carpet and an embossed invitation to join the deal? All he had to do was write her a check. It’s not as if a hundred thousand dollars would sink him, for god’s sake. He could take out a second mortgage, sell the Porsche, redeem some stocks. If he kept growing out his hair maybe he could sell it to some wig company. Maybe a balding twelve-year-old with alopecia was in the market for a gray ponytail. All it took was a little creative budgeting. If the world moved as slowly as he acted, they’d all live under a busted red light.

  She knew Ralph was interested in her, of course. He’d made that perfectly clear. So she needed to continue to reel him in carefully, pushing the advantages of her investments without addressing any fringe benefits. She was not ready to tell him that it was his wallet, not his wee willie wonka, she was interested in.

  The only one who had seemed at peace during the last few days was Mr. Peabody. The alligator lay for hours in the rain, in his little nest of leaves and sticks on the lagoon’s overgrown island. Sometimes he moved a few feet or disappeared into the dark water, his laser-white front teeth always ready for a photo shoot, the end of his long mouth curled into a smile. If Audrey were in charge, she’d get rid of the alligator and truss it up in exchange for a nice pair of pumps or a briefcase. She’d install a fountain with some photogenic mallards, practical wildlife the club chefs could use for duck à l’orange in a pinch.

  The ringing phone startled her. “Hello, Audrey Cunningham.”

  “Hello Miss Cunningham, this is Fred Wolfe. I’ve seen you once or twice at the dog park over the years and you dropped me a note recently.” She couldn’t quite picture him, so thankfully he added, “I have the Great Dane.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” How could she forget that dog? Each bowel movement must be like a souvenir from a bricklayer’s convention. A loudspeaker drowned whatever else Fred said. “Pardon?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m calling from the airport.”

  Though she couldn’t exactly picture him, she remembered he had marshfront property, so she opened her file cabinet where she kept notes on every wealthy homeowner over sixty. These older prospects would all die at some point, and she would be ready when they did. She flipped open a manila file to find the obituary she’d cut from the paper. There was his deceased wife—Lissa Amelia Wolfe—in a boxy headshot sporting a wide grin and a string of pearls, dolled up as if on her way to a White House dinner. When it was Audrey’s time, she would take out a full-page ad in the Savannah Morning News with the headline “See You Later, Alligators!” A scribbled note on the obituary confirmed she’d sent Fred a condolence letter and brochure about the Terraces, the local assisted-living facility.

  If his Great Dane conveniently died before a closing in the next month, she could sell him the priciest model at the Terraces, which didn’t allow pets. She might even spring for a silver urn in the shape of a paw print. Or, if this was her lucky day, Fred might have a chronic cough or a low white blood cell count, and she could get a nice commission for sending him directly to twenty-four-hour residential care.

  “How’s Sycamore?”

  “It’s Sequoia. Yes, she’s hanging in there.”

  That dog should have died when the broad died. They usually did. “So how can I help you?”

  “I’d like to sell my house.”

  It was refreshing to see a clown who knew when it was time to pack up the tent. Nothing worse than the two-hundred-year-old geezers who rattled around the island in oversize Cadillacs, their cataracts as big as sunglasses. “You’re on Jolly Badger, right?” Checking his address, she could picture exactly where he was, one of the original houses on a double lot. They could bulldoze the place in a day or two and build a sleek, modern residence closer to the marsh with an infinity pool. A few years ago, Audrey had had a brief affair with the building inspector, who helped her tweak the zoning ordinance. A single phone call to him and his wife at dinnertime would do the trick.

  “Yes, that’s right. We were original owners. Going on thirty-five years.”

  Good lord, she thought. She’d have to meet Fred for a walk-through to ooh and aah over a nightmare of wood paneling, shag carpeting, and a million fading photographs of his dead wife. If Audrey didn’t think it’d offend him, she’d prefer to tour the interior in crime scene protective gear—a white jumpsuit and a respirator. She could probably have the place condemned within a week. “When would you like to meet?”

  “My plane arrives at five ten. I can be at your office by six.”

  “Six tonight?” She liked a motivated seller, but really, what was the rush?

  As if sensing her hesitation he added, “At seventy-five, you never put off to tomorrow what you can do today.”

  chapter 41

  The drive from the Savannah airport took longer than expected. Flooding on DeRenne Avenue forced Fred to take Veterans Parkway to Route 204, so he was half an hour late to his appointment with Audrey Cunningham. Yet he didn’t think she’d mind. She struck him as a woman who might wait for another ice age if it meant a possible commission.

  He used to wish he could remain in his house until the end of his days, but a week in Maine had forced his decision. Even if he couldn’t write a happy ending to his own life, at least he might make a difference in Tommy’s. As the boy grew, he could fill the empty space of a father figure, whic
h his grandson needed. And maybe, just maybe, he could make peace with Danielle. His only regret in leaving Seven Oaks was not handling things differently with Catherine. Though he understood she had her own path to follow, he should have fought harder for her. Should have had the courage to tell her all that he felt. Should have grabbed her and held her as if his life depended on it.

  He pulled into the real estate center and realized he hadn’t been there in years. He had forgotten or maybe had never known that there were spaces for golf carts and bicycles and now there was even room and a charger for an electric car, as if next time there’d be one for an electric blender or blanket. Parked in front of a sign that read SALESPERSON OF THE MONTH sat another car, a black Mercedes sedan. Inside he saw Audrey Cunningham in the driver’s seat, speaking emphatically into her cell phone. She gave him a quick salute, finished her call, then stepped out to greet him.

  “Sorry I’m late. I hadn’t anticipated the flooding,” he explained as they shook hands.

  “No problem at all. You’ve missed a rough week weather-wise.” Audrey held Leona, the shih tzu. Fred didn’t remember the agent well from the dog park, but he recognized her from her advertising campaign. He sensed a distinct neediness in her, with her low-cut blouses and tight skirts. He understood this was about marketing, about attracting attention, but he much preferred the refined way Catherine dressed, without the need to broadcast her body. Then in an instant he imagined Catherine in slacks and a shirt, an exquisite Christmas present that he’d like to unwrap but would never have the pleasure to again.

  Audrey and Fred exchanged pleasantries as they approached the locked front door. “We closed at five,” Audrey explained, “so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

  An empty reception desk stood before them, and to the right was a waiting area decorated with a tall grandfather’s clock and shelves filled with novels and knickknacks. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he’d wandered into someone’s living room.

  “Come this way.” Audrey extended her hand to the welcome center ahead, and Fred was impressed by several flat-screen TVs and tall racks of glossy brochures. Wide four-color posters on the wall depicted the active lifestyle of Seven Oaks—a couple chipping onto a carpeted green, a family of five enjoying an oyster roast at sunset, a woman walking a brindle-colored dog on a wide sidewalk. Fred knew it wasn’t Catherine and Karma—the model was a young woman in her forties—but he still did a double take.

  “Wow, this is new.” Fred stood before a three-dimensional glass-cased diorama. Miniature figurines posed with frozen smiles on plastic faces. He vaguely recalled a rough Styrofoam display when he and Lissa had first visited Seven Oaks. Fred quickly followed Seven Oaks Way South, bordered by plexiglass lagoons and forest-green foam hedges, and found his house. All he could picture was being alone on his back deck, flipping a single hamburger on the grill.

  Audrey laughed. “New? It’s almost fifteen years old and heading to recycling next month to make room for an interactive touch table.” She motioned to what looked like a full wet bar and pantry. “Would you like a cappuccino?”

  “No, I’m fine,” he said.

  “Come.” She took his elbow, as if she thought he might slip on the carpeting, and escorted him to her glass-walled office, where they both sat. “So we can talk about selling, but let’s also figure out where you’re going to live once you move.” She said live emphatically, as if it involved salsa dancing.

  “Frankly, I’m not interested in buying. I’ll be moving out of state.”

  “The Terraces have some wonderful units. I think I can get you a discount if you make a deposit by the end of the month.”

  He thought of Lissa and Catherine. How life skirts by quickly. How investments made don’t always pay off. “Miss Cunningham, have you ever known love?”

  Audrey shuffled papers on her desk. “Excuse me?”

  “Love.”

  “I’ve never been married, if that’s your roundabout way of asking me.” She brushed her bleached blond hair back from her face with both hands.

  Fred sensed she was flirting with him, but he ignored her. “No, not marriage. Marriage may have complications. People can make mistakes, can hurt each other without meaning to. I’m talking love with a capital L. I’m talking desire and intensity. Losing yourself.”

  “I love selling real estate.” She looked around her office and motioned to the trophies behind her. They all wore tiny sailor caps made of what looked like diapers. Audrey stood, picked off the hats, and dropped them into the garbage. “And of course I love the safety and convenience of Seven Oaks.”

  “I’m talking about passion. Distinct and pure joy.”

  “I’m passionate about the new fitness center and our social clubs.”

  “No. Love. Pure and simple. For a person.” Perhaps he was overstepping his bounds, but it didn’t matter. She could chalk up his animated comments to senility, to an old man who doesn’t know any better. “About being so passionate about someone you don’t even know what hits you.” It felt good to speak his truth. If nothing else, he could spend the last years of his life teaching people about the power of love, and he would start with Tommy and Danielle and Audrey Cunningham.

  “Love.” Audrey said the word slowly. “I love Leona.”

  “Your dog, yes. But nothing else?”

  “Speaking of love, where is that damn shit-zoo? Leona!” Audrey yelled. “Get your shiny behind in here!”

  Fred heard tiny legs thundering down the hallway toward them, but the dog ran straight past the open doorway. He would pick up Sequoia from Ida Blue after his business here and, if it had stopped sprinkling, take her for an evening walk. “You see, it’s all about love. There is nothing else.” Audrey is still young, Fred thought. She can stand to take advice from someone who’s been around the proverbial block. “When you are old, like me, you will not remember the contracts or the checks or the accolades.”

  “Leona, come!” The dog flew inside the office and skidded to a stop in front of Audrey. She sniffed wildly at the door and the rug and the desk, then put her tiny paws on the file cabinet and even sniffed there.

  “You see, I’ve known true love twice in my life, which is two times more than many men. One woman I was married to for almost fifty years, and the other I met recently and just knew for a day or two.”

  “Uh-huh.” Audrey nodded, but he knew she wasn’t following. She was watching her dog, who was taking deep breaths of the rug by the closet. Sequoia did that when she was onto a squirrel.

  “Although the circumstances were different, the feelings were the same. They were equally strong and equally powerful. I’ve been a lucky man and don’t deserve the blessings I’ve had. It just feels right to quit while I’m ahead.”

  “But what if I get you a nice two-bedroom unit with a view?” The dog started to paw at the closet door, her tiny nails scraping the wood. “Cool it, Leona!”

  He was so very tired. He would have liked to have said it was the plane ride, the tight connection in Atlanta, or even the emotional toll of deciding to move. But it was more than that. It was because he’d lost Catherine. “There is no life here for me without love,” he said simply.

  And then they both heard a movement in the closet, a shuffling of a jacket, and the rattle of the door as it slid open.

  Catherine popped her head out. “You’re leaving?” she asked, incredulous.

  chapter 42

  Both Audrey and Fred turned suddenly to look at her. Audrey’s eyes opened wide and she screamed, “What the—”

  “Catherine?” Fred interrupted.

  Catherine pushed her way past Audrey’s blazers, golf umbrellas, and SOLD! signs and stepped out of the closet, into the room. “Did you mean what you said?” Catherine asked Fred.

  Audrey jumped up to grab the phone but Fred picked up the handset first. He held it tightly to his chest. “Take it easy,” he told Audrey. Then to Catherine: “Are you all right? What are you doing?”
r />   What was she doing? Sneaking around the Seven Oaks real estate office like a common criminal. Browsing Audrey Cunningham’s filing cabinet to see if she could find evidence of an affair with Ralph. Swan-diving into Audrey’s closet when she heard voices approaching. “I’m falling apart,” she answered. “I fell apart after I lost you.”

  “After you lost him?” Audrey asked.

  Then they all heard the front bell and the anxious rattle of a locked door. Leona barked wildly, a child throwing a tantrum.

  “Well if this just ain’t Grand Central Terminal,” Audrey muttered, leaving the room.

  “You did?” Fred asked. “You fell apart?”

  “I lost my compass,” Catherine said, flatly. She sat down in a corner chair. “My north star.” Even in the confusion of the moment she wanted to go to Fred and have him wrap her in his arms. Perhaps she’d overreacted about his “lost” dog. Certainly she’d underestimated her need for him. But before she could explain anything to him she heard a familiar voice in the welcome center.

  “Don’t call security, Audrey, I’ve already alerted them.” Ralph stepped into the office to face Fred. “Is this the guy?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Fred asked.

  “You’ve been pretty busy with practical jokes, eh?”

  “Look, I’m not sure—”

  “Audrey told me about you. The authorities are on their way.” Ralph took off his windbreaker, hooked it around a chair, then took a step closer to Fred. “Conveniently delayed till after office hours, huh?” They stood almost chest to chest. “And you keep yourself busy breaking into vacant houses, do you? You enjoy making prank phone calls to agents impersonating a seller when all you really want is to frighten someone with a dead raccoon? That’s just sick.”

  Catherine waved to Ralph from her seated position in the corner. “Not him. That would be me.”

  Ralph turned to her and stepped back. “What are you doing here?”