Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 03 - In Good Faith (26 page)

“No good deed goes unpunished.”  Ben declared. Which was my holiday theme.

He led me to the shower and left me in peace to wash away the afternoon, but he was ready with his thick terry cloth robe when I emerged. Barefoot, my hair in a ponytail because that was all there was to do, I found two blue SpongeBob band-aids in my purse, and wrapped my damaged, nail-less fingers.  Sure, applying first aid made the loss of the two nails more obvious, but much more cheerful.  I buried my hand into the pocket of his robe and was ready to endure a festive Christmas Eve.

We walked down an inner stairs, and into the family room that blended seamlessly into the inviting kitchen. A large fake pine tree barely cleared the high ceiling. It was festooned with frosted grapes and miniature wine glasses, along with gold dipped grape leaves. Purple and red lights made it glow. It was startlingly elegant.

“Oh my goodness you poor thing!”  Emily greeted me warmly, more warmly than I deserved.  “Come here, sit down. What possessed you to walk into the den of a murderer?”

“It was an RV
.” I hitched up the robe and regarded her a bit warily. She had warmed considerably since our last conversion at the jail, did I trust her?

“Ben told me you found out who killed Beverley.”  She guided me to the kitchen table
. Two large ceramic bowls were filled with cracked crab legs and bodies. Two empty bowls were ready for the carnage to follow.  It’s kind of odd to massacre a crab in honor of Christmas, but December is Crab Season and we Californians love our crab.

I had a choice of melted butter or mayonnaise. Ah, a woman after my own heart. I relaxed a little more.

Ben poured me a glass of white wine. I didn’t bother to scrutinize the label.

“It was an accident. I didn’t guess he was the murderer
until he told me.” 

You may not believe that I really do find these murderers and killers completely by accident. Perhaps, I should have my chi re-calibrated, or whatever Rosemary does periodically.  Or I could spend the day at the spa at  Sonoma Mission Inn; that would work well in the re-calibration department.

“Why?”  Ben asked.  He passed me the crab parts, I took a white piece of body and two large legs.  I broke them open, and started fishing out the moist meat.

I knew what Ben was asking.  “I think he wanted the attention. And murder, something gruesome, had the best chance of getting covered by the media. He didn’t count on the media, at least in Rivers Bend, to be sensitive to both the victims, and the survivors. His work was not reported on as thoroughly as he hoped.”

“That was it? Why didn’t he publish a book or something?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it to get a book contract?”  I countered. I swirled my delectable crabmeat into the clarified butter, and popped it into my mouth, if there is a heaven; they are serving Dungeness crab.

“The professor knew that Beverley was popular and famous, at least locally. It made sense to think her death would make the news.”

“Okay, how did they get in?”  Ben demanded, calmly.  I did not take offense, he needed answers and I was not myself
. I knew I wasn’t delivering information as quickly as he needed.

“She simply let him in. She knew him, why not? There were rumors about board members fraternizing with the clients, nothing concrete. I don
’t think it was only about Beverley and the president.”

“
Beverley and the president of the Homeless Prevention League?” Ben drank down half his wine.

“
Sorry, I thought you knew.”

Ben shook his head and gestured with a crab claw for me to continue.  Emily expertly pulled apart a crab body and listened.

“Remember, we overheard that Beverley hired the homeless?  She needed to paint over Thanksgiving weekend, who else would help her?  The Professor probably showed up for some spending money, and apparently decided to stay and get himself fifteen minutes of fame.”

“
That, he got.”   

“You have been working on this for the last month
.” Emily concluded. She poured more wine for all of us.

“With Ben.” I pointed out.

Emily shook her head.  “I don’t think anyone’s ever done something like that for Ben, ever.”

I acknowledged her compliment silently. Considering what I’ve done TO Ben I wasn’t sure that doing something FOR Ben put me back in the black as far as doing good deeds was concerned, but I was happy to take her praise. I was very happy to accept her praise.

Emily toasted me with a crab leg.  “Welcome to the family.”

Chapter 19

Even though it was gruesome, what with Richard and Allen racing around the house, fighting over the toys, stealing each other’s candy, tearing open gifts, including mine, in a orgy of greed, I do miss those childhood Christmas mornings.

On the other hand, it was delicious to wake up with someone on Christmas morning.

Ben served me coffee and the paper in bed. 

The headlines in the Rivers Bend Press under
Happy Holidays
read: “The Professor is the Madman.”  Someone who reads real books actually works at the Press.

Murderer found! Stalwart Donor Halts Escape.  A blurry picture of Martha’s car, the high centered Escalade, occupied the rest of the page.  Towards the bottom, the headline “Not a Merry Christmas for the Homeless Prevention League” took up the rest of the front page.

“Didn’t even get his photo in the paper.” I commented.

“So much for the fifteen minutes of fame.”  Ben poured me more coffee.

“I can see why you give to the arts.”

“
A more boring choice, certainly. Until the museum you support purchases stolen art.”

“That would be a problem
.” I agreed.

Beverley was named again, clearly one of the victims of the madman. Her house, however, was not mentioned, nor was I. I escaped the scene of the capture before Chris Connor appeared. Ah, Merry Christmas to me.

Chris Conner had only the police and upright (and stalwart), Martha Anderson to interview. That suited me fine.  I was infamous enough.

The professor was being held for psychiatric evaluation.  

“Come on.” Ben tossed the papers on the floor, and took my cup for me. “The best part of the day is the morning, we need to go down.”

I had been too busy and too distracted to leave stuff at his house – only that one bag from Thanksgiving and those clothes had been overused. So I sucked it up and went downstairs  dressed
again in his robe.

Emily greeted me with a hug.  She wore a cashmere robe, but no slippers. Her feet were twisted and deformed from years of wearing pointed high heel shoes. I hoped I wasn’t looking into the future of my own feet and toes.

Emily served some rolls that pop out of a can, and which I love, and more coffee. She also served up Christmas stockings for Ben and Allison.

“Grandma, where did you find these?”  Ben stroked his stocking as if remembering it by touch.

“I found them yesterday.” Emily said with great satisfaction.  “I think they’ve been here for years, obviously your mother never missed them.” Emily gestured with her coffee mug to my stocking, “That one is for you, hope you don’t mind, it was Donald’s.”

T
he old fashion knit stockings were delightful because they were such a homely contrast to the rest of the sleek Craftsman, modern, and completely tasteful home. Ben’s stocking featured a lively elf, mine, a snowman.  It was perfect. Emily had stuffed the stockings with Godiva chocolates, oranges and small toys. We each found a miniature car that ran on the floor by dragging it backward and releasing it.  Ben unwrapped a yo-yo.

I almost cried again.

By eight o’clock, the sun came out, and illuminated the brown stakes of the grape vines. The mustard between the lines of vineyards had turned green, from all the rain. I sat in the living room, curled up with my coffee and gazing out the windows.

“We usually start out this way, the two of us.
” Emily sat down next to Ben on the couch. “Ben indulges me by acting the little boy, and appreciating my silly toys.”

Picturing Emily as silly was difficult, but I kept a straight face.

“A single moment of happiness.”  Emily stroked his hair.  

Ben and Emily were scheduled to drive down to the City for their family Christmas and early dinner
as was I. 

“
Merry Christmas.” Emily gave me a warm hug as we all left - them in their finery, me in yesterday’s clothes. My skirt still reeked of turkey grease. It had been the best twelve hours of the season. 

“
I think she trusts you.” Ben nuzzled my hair. “Which is pretty exceptional.”

I drove to my house under the hazy shade of winter. Low mist dragged through the valley, but the sky was clear, the roads were dry.  What a lovely beginning.  Emily was kind to include me.

I took my time changing my outfit at my own house. I ate more Godiva chocolates and put together the paper work for Owen to sign. All I’d need to do was print at the office.

Rosemary
’s Mercedes was parked in the otherwise deserted parking lot.

I stepped into the office and Rosemary flipped from her solitaire game to the opening screen for our local MLS.

“Oh hi.” She greeted me.

“
Hi.”  I remembered Rosemary commenting that her family was away for the holidays. “away” being the whole of her geographic explanation. For a woman who traveled the world, she was fairly vague as to the location of her own offspring.  

“So you have an escrow
.” She said as a way of greeting.

“
Yes, I put in the papers a couple days ago. All cash, it should go pretty quickly.”

I headed to my own office to access the paper work for Owen Spencer’s Purchase Agreement.

“Good for you.” Rosemary called.

I was tempted to call back, don’t forget the black seven on the red eight.  We are all very good at solitaire, there is little else to do while waiting for the phone, or waiting for the client who is running late, or waiting for someone to call the office. Some agents play so many games of solitaire they play to beat their own time.  I once suggested an office-wide solitaire tournament, but no one will admit how good they were at the game.

Owen has made no fewer than seventeen offers on seventeen different condos. So I wasn’t holding out for a miracle on this, the eighteenth offer, but I was willing to take another chance that this time, Owen was sincere. That’s the hallmark of our business – we are always ready to re-shuffle the same deck and start a new game.

I pressed print, and wandered back to the lobby to chat, while I waited for my papers to print.

“So have you thought of being friends with Katherine?”  I suggested.

“
She’s a snob.” Rosemary said dismissively.  She started a new game and began clicking on cards as she talked.  “And she teases me about my hobbies.”

“Come on, the time you erased your computer hard drive with your healing magnet bracelets was pretty funny.”

“Those bracelets are a wonderful way to balance your energy field.” Rosemary pulled up to her full height – she’s five foot seven -  and gave me a haughty stare.

“Sorry.” I retrieved the papers and folded them into a New Century Realty binder. This would be a most excellent gift – the exiting of Owen Spenser from my immediate concern.

“Well, Happy Holidays.”

Rosemary nodded, concentrating on her new game. 
“Merry Christmas, Allison.”

One could ask, during this holiday season, Allison, do you have any clients you actually enjoy? I enjoy Ben.

“You’re late.” Debbie greeted me and she wrenched open the front door. Jingle Bells raged around us because Debbie stood smack in the center of her holiday floor mat.  Debbie’s sweater read Merry, Merry, Merry.

“This is a family gathering, and you are part of the family, you could at least come on time.” She accused.

“Had to work
.” I said succinctly.  Had to cuddle with Ben. Had to drink some more coffee and admire the old vines that swooped up and down the rolling hills right outside Emily’s living room windows. Had to cuddle some more.

I stepped over the mat to avoid another raucous chorus of Jingle Bells, but mid-step, I felt inner muscles pulling, protesting and refusing to cooperate.  I recovered as best I could, and limped towards the kitchen.
             

Debbie’s nostalgia Christmas tree loomed in the corner of the formal living room, big glass ornaments in pale colors winked in the afternoon sun. The pile of gifts spilled out from under the thick branches like a glacier overtaking the floor.  My six nieces and nephews snacked on cookies as they hovered at the edges of the glacier.

“Oh Allison, look at your nails.” Mom, dressed in a festive light green cashmere twin set and charcoal gray slacks, bustled up to me and eyed my bruised face, and of course, the missing nails.

“I had an accident
.” I explained.

“Really Allison, you should be more careful
.” She chided me. “Now hand me those rolls, there’s barely enough room in the oven to heat them up. You’re late, we’re about to open the gifts and eat.”

I glanced at my watch. Oh, my, it was almost one o’clock. That’s the latest
I’ve ever shown up for a family event.  Good for me.

“I had to work.” I called after her, but mom was already bustling about. She gave Mary some instructions, called for all the granddaughters to come and help and otherwise took over the kitchen.  Mom can’t cook, but she loves to bark out random orders.

“How is that nice Ben doing?”  Dad approached me, a glass of eggnog in his hand. I gave him a hug and wished him Merry Christmas. 

I grabbed a nephew and kissed him on the head, because he hates when I do that, so I always do.
             

“He’s fine
.” I said.  “We’re meeting up at four o’clock to exchange gifts.”

Debbie hustled over to me and relieved me of my gifts, all bagged and tagged, I don’t bother much with wrapping paper.

“I’ll put these under the tree. The boys will act as Santa, it will give them something to do. Merry Christmas Allison.”  She delivered a dry kiss to my bruised cheek and didn’t comment on my appearance, because Debbie never does. I am an affront to all she holds dear: family, organized children, clean house, soccer team duty, dieting.  I think of her life in terms of those home focused magazines that feature a recipe for a seven layer coconut cake smack up against the diet article promising that you can lose fifteen pounds in twenty seven minutes. Debbie always tries the diets, never the cake.

“There are a few hors d’ouvres left.” Debbie instructed.  “Go to the kitchen, we’re all in there, and in about seven minutes,” she check her watch.  “We will open the gifts.”

“Fran,” Debbie called out. “We’ll open gifts in about six and a half minutes. Richard! Where are you!”

I managed to get to the kitchen, grab one chip with onion dip before Debbie hustled us back into the formal living room.  My nephew, Tom pulled a Santa hat low on his head and quickly distributed the grown up gifts with the practiced acumen of a Vegas dealer. Richard appeared, looked a little worse for wear, and carefully joined Debbie on the couch. With exaggerated patience he set down his martini glass, then grinned at me as if to show that everything was simply fabulous.

Well, at least, he didn’t tip over, and so far, nothing had caught fire.

Gifts were duly opened and thank yous delivered.

Debbie eyed the small gift bag from me, out of place next to the elaborately wrapped gifts from Mary and my mother.  Mary followed Debbie’s gaze at the small bag with the words “Debbie” written on it, and looked up at me, and winked.

I grinned back.

Debbie saved my gift for last. For the most part we all give each other gift cards worth fifty dollars.  Everyone was pleased with their gift cards.   

Debbie delayed as long as she could, then finally accepted defeat, and picked up the small bag, the last gift. She pulled open the bag and pulled out the tissue paper.

“This better be good Allison.” 

“It could be a gift card. I’m really happy with mine
.” I responded.

Debbie pulled out the first bracelet and gasped, then the second, then the third.

“Where did you? Oh my God, these almost look real!”

“Almost,” I said quickly. “A little something I picked up. I thought of you.”  If they were real, well, when she lost one, it would be that much more tragic.  Made me happy thinking about it.

She was silent for a full minute as she gazed at the bracelets. Then she slipped them over her hand and jangled them on her wrist. I had a hit.  I hoped to never choose her name again.

Dinner was
eatable. Richard was quiet. Allen did not go near the fireplace.  I ate olives and the bread because Debbie overcooked the turkey and there was no way I was touching the creamed onions.  No one did. Debbie had to take a spoonful to be polite.

I was happy to have to leave by three thirty for my “Four o’clock time with Ben.”  The magic word, Ben, galvanized my mother, and she propelled me out of Debbie’s house.  She was so happy I had a man this holiday season, she didn’t even admonish me to stay to clean up. What can I say?
My new relationship was like an extra gift for her.

We met at
my house because it was halfway between the city and Emily’s. Emily was spending the night down in San Francisco, her token of holiday conciliation for her daughter. I had Ben to myself.