Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 03 - In Good Faith (18 page)

I stood and cautiously walked to the back door.
I flipped the dead bolt and the noise reverberated through the door notifying the interloper of my intentions.

I saw a shadow, and decided on the element of surprise.

I banged the door open and shouted,  “what!”

“
Oh, hi there.” An embarrassed Mr. McMurry stood in his rubber clogs and a faded sweat suit at the edge of the deck, on the verge of complete escape.

“
Yes?” I inquired, with as much disgust as I could muster, considering how loudly my heart was pounding.

“
I was checking the deck, for a friend.”

“
You could have called.” I intoned. “You have my card.”

“
Err, yes.”

“
Have you been lurking around here every day?”  I asked.

By his expression, I had guessed right. 

“Good, keep an eye on the place, will you?”  Better to hire your rivals, as they say. Or is it keep your enemies close?  Well, at least they can watch the house.

He nodded and quickly ducked out to the front of the house and to the safety of his own yard.

“Give me a heart attack.” I made sure to bolt the door and returned to the pile of bills easier to sift through because they weren’t addressed to me. I finally found the Fed Ex receipts in the fourth pile. There were a couple of bills for boxes already shipped but the billing was addressed to Beverley here in Rivers Bend. The destination was cut off, perhaps saved somewhere else?  Shredded? In the landfill?

Damn! I was so close.  But, at least I knew her destination was warm, and the clothes were already ahead of her, traveling to where ever.

I had no doubt there was a person on the receiving end. Wouldn’t they wonder why the clothes had arrived before the woman?

I loaded up two of the empty boxes from the garage with armloads of clothing
from the upstairs closets.  

Carrie called while I was driving home. She was all worked up. I hadn’t heard her this agitated since the Humane Society decided to charge for spaying and neutering feral cats.

“Can you believe this?  Cyndi called me and actually told me that the RVs were perfectly placed, and I didn’t need more than that as confirmation that everything is fine.”

“Fine is what you embroider on a pillow
.” I said.  “What promoted a call from the President’s secretary?”  I stopped, then started, then pulled around the car in front of me who had decided to drive down the suicide lane with the right blinker cheerfully flashing red in the dimming afternoon.  

“I asked about the RVs, where they are parked, and if there was a rotation, who knew about it, and wouldn’t that be a problem for the residents? Wouldn’t it be difficult to get to your job if your homes was always on the move?”  

“Did she have an answer?” I dodged two jaywalkers.

“No! And that’s not the worst of it. I
was also treated to a call from Martha Anderson.”

“You shouldn’t give out your cell number.”  I finally made it to the freeway on ramp. The traffic was moving at a sensible clip of seven miles per hour, but at least there were no stray pedestrians
dashing into the middle of the road.

“
It’s on the board member list – those are coveted lists, let me tell you, everyone’s home number. Martha Anderson called to warn me about fraternizing with the shelter’s clients.”

“Are you kidding me?
”

“That’s what I said!”  She shrieked. “Do you know what she said to me?”

“No, I don’t.”  The choked freeway was decorated with streams of bright red tail-lights, very festive. 

“She said,
” Carrie continued at an unusually high pitch, “You probably don’t know this, being so young. But you don’t want to get too familiar with the clients.”

“Familiar?” I inched forward, and out of the goodness of my heart, let in a monstrous SUV who had been driving for miles on the right hand shoulder to pull ahead of seventeen cars. Normally I hate that, but he’ll have his own bad karma to deal with later. During the holidays, Karma turns around pretty quickly.

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“I knew what she meant,” Carrie said, a bit more calmly. 
“But it was such an odd warning. Who dates the clients of a non- profit for heaven’s sake?”

Since Carrie was determined not to end up poor and on welfare, the very idea of her “marrying down” was ludicrous. But Martha Anderson would not be aware of that.

“She said that there had been instances of some board members spending too much time with some of the clients.”

“And that means?” 

“Well, she refused to say more than that, she was trying to warn me off and be terribly discreet at the same time. So I had to back Anne into a corner after the tour  and get more of the story.  Apparently, Beverley and the professor were friendly. He was giving her advice on something, but no one could tell me what.”

“That’s a little bizarre
.” The professor didn’t strike me as a man who owned a gold American Express Card. And Beverley only dated men with the ability to pay her way.

“Funny, Anne seemed relieved that I was asking about Beverley.”  Carrie’s voice calmed down a bit.

“She was relieved you were asking about a murder?”

The news had finally hit the papers announcing Beverley’s link with the two women in the creek. Yet, all the details reporters revealed were that Beverly’s death was similar, no more than that.  A picture of restraint, our Rivers Bend Press. Too bad there isn’t a prize for that.

“Yeah, go figure.”

When I arrived to work Monday morning, the office was in an uproar because Rosemary was in an uproar, and she needs to share.

“What is going on?”  I paused at Patricia’s desk, not really wanting to go much further.  I had heard Rosemary’s voice as soon as I exited my car in the parking lot.  

“
The Rivers Bend Sign Elimination Committee For the Betterment of Rivers Bend called. They gave Rosemary a warning,” Patricia said.  “Hey, another girl was murdered!  They think it was the same guy who killed the creek women.”

“
Yes.” I acknowledged, there was no point denying the murder. 

“
What they’d get her for?”  I cowered at Patricia’s desk. At least the Rivers Bend Sign Elimination Committee For the Betterment of Rivers Bend was a safer subject than Beverley’s new, upgraded status as the murder victim of a serial killer. Still at large.

“
Brookwood.” Patricia replied. “That house we saw Monday on tour. It’s at the end of that long driveway.”

I nodded. Rosemary had placed the
For Sale
sign on the street at the top of the driveway, otherwise, no one would see that the house was for sale. In our industry, that
For Sale
sign is the second most effective marketing tool we have.

“
Off the street? They want it off the street, and only in front of the house?  Why don’t I put it in the back yard for good measure? We wouldn’t want to let anyone KNOW the house is for sale!”  Rosemary’s voice echoed down the hall.

My phone buzzed.
              “We are on a mission.” Carrie said.

“A mission from God?”  I was slightly distracted.

“I have an idea.” Rosemary continued at full volume. “Why don’t I paint For Sale on the side of the house in orange spray paint? That will increase the value of the surrounding neighborhood properties, that will add to Rivers Bend’s God damn betterment.”

I could barely make out Inez
’s conciliatory tones.

“No, not that kind of mission.  I want to find those shelters
.” Carrie said.

“
Or chalk the frigging side walk, how about that? 
For sale
written up and down the block. Can we get these people on restraint of trade charges?”

“Why?”  I asked. 

“Because, something is wrong.”  

“But you just saw them.”  

“Rosemary.” Inez finally made her voice loud enough. “Have you eaten?”             

“Did you tell the staff what you want to do?” I asked Carrie.

Carrie didn’t even pause, “I asked Cyndi about it, but she was pretty vague. I asked about the other trailers, and she said they are, and I quote, around.”

I eyed Rosemary as she stomped through the lobby to her office. I only nodded in Rosemary’s direction, it was not wise to engage any of us when we’ve been hit by the Rivers Bend Sign Elimination Committee For the Betterment of Rivers Bend.       

“That’s it, that’s their tightly organized system? Homeless shelters that are - around?” Carrie’s voice rose in sarcasm.

Rosemary was bellowing something about placing a directional sign on every block to retaliate. I love those red arrows signs. They show the way to unknown possibilities accessible
through seductive, tree-lined street.  I hoped her idea worked, as a blow for justice for all of us.

“That’s it? The shelters are “around”? We are going to find them. Are you with me?”  Carrie asked.

“I’ll pick you up at three.” God knows I’ve dragged Carrie around on wild chases, and sometimes the chase didn’t end all that well, although we survived. According to the Pirate Code of Friendship, it was my turn.

Carrie was ready and standing outside the Senior Center at exactly three o’clock.  She hopped into my car, a Lexus with leather seats. Carrie drives a used, slightly battered, Honda with worn seats. I don’t even want to sit in her car, let alone be seen climbing out of it. But it works for Carrie in that it’s paid for.

“I made a map of where they told me the five RVs are parked.”

“Didn’t they give you a map
in the first place?”
             

Carrie shook her dark head
. “No, we weren’t given maps. I told you, I couldn’t get the locations or a list or any information at all. And I’m on the board.  The web site has vague language about the where-abouts – to protect the residents, they claim. I’m surprised they didn’t blindfold us during the tour.”

So we drove around, taking the short cuts to the places
on the hand-drawn map.  According to the papers, especially our own local harbinger of doom – the Rivers Bend Press - all retail stores were reporting low numbers, shopping is down, things are looking terrible.  Judging from the cars zipping in and out of the big box centers, cars making left hand turns into traffic, cars slowing to make right hand turns into the Do Not Enter driveways, the hundreds of drivers out on the streets this afternoon, had not read this morning’s edition. 

“Wow
.” Carrie gripped the door handle as I braked to let the last left hand turn car go across me, even though my light was green.

“Damn amateurs
.” I growled.

She ignored my vocalize editorials. “It was to the right, behind the Target store
.” She directed me to a place next to the creek.

“See?  There is it. That’s one
.” She squinted at the RV in the low afternoon light.

“What?” 

“I could have swore the one here was a copper color, but this one is greenish.”

“The light maybe?”  It looked like a regular RV to me.  Boxy and top heavy, the greenish color did help it blend in with the high bushes, and thick, un-pruned trees that grew up from the creek bed.  The parking lot was half full, probably used for overflow parking.

“Okay, that’s the one where we picked up the professor.” Carrie said.  “So now, let’s find the one over by Wal-Mart.”

I dutifully pulled back into the fray and we drove, crawled, stopped and swerved down the few blocks to the next site.

“It should be at the end of the parking lot, sort of behind, watch out!”

I avoided a battered VW bus packed with people, and inched my way past the front of the store. Business was so busy, the store probably
had needed to hire more greeters. A job for the homeless?

“Does Wal-Mart hire the homeless as greeters?”

“No, but I have seniors who are greeters, gives them a reason to get up in the morning.”

“Well, we all need that
.” I agreed.

“Around here
.” Carrie confirmed on her map.

We squinted at the site.  A worker dragged out a huge can of trash, glanced at us, but didn’t stop.

“It was right here.” Carrie peered out the windshield.  It was getting dark, but a vehicle as large as a RV, even a green one, doesn’t fade into the shadows all that easily.

“It’s not here
.” She sat back, defeated.

“Okay, how about the third one?” I did not want to linger in the oil stained parking lot
, both the cars and the customers made me nervous.

She directed me north
on the freeway, because it was the fastest way, most of the year.

“Did you take the freeway on the tour?” I asked, stopping and starting.