Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 03 - In Good Faith (6 page)

“It was tragic.”  Carrie waved her hand in an excellent impersonation of Martha Anderson, one of the big, and by that I mean an even larger circumference than me, philanthropists in Rivers Bend.

“It was ALLL so Tragic.” Carrie drawled.  “The whole funeral was all about the,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “tragedy of it all.  She was so young.”

Carrie was on a roll, and I had to give her credit. She imitated the second most formidable woman in town with a certain panache.

I leaned back and surveyed the restaurant. It was a Thursday afternoon, and not terribly crowded. The windows of the enclosed patio opened to the vineyards. A few tenacious leaves hung to the bare twisted vines. The vines were beautiful in a stark, artistic way, even in the low light of December. That’s why guests are so willing to pay the high entree prices at this restaurant; it’s beautiful.

“Are you and Patrick taking acting lessons or something?  That was really good.”

“No.” She lowered her voice to her normal tones. “Since we quit the personal trainer nonsense, we’ve been looking for something to work on together that we both can agree is a good use of our time.”

Carrie won Patrick Sullivan in a fair fight; actually there was no fight at all. Once the young Mr. Sullivan, scion of the Cooper Milk fortune, took one look at Carrie Elliot of the less-said-the-better-Eliots, he was a goner. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer man.

“What about those lectures?” I asked.

She sighed and picked up her hamburger, allowing me to snag a half dozen fries. “I was getting kind of fond of those JC lectures, but they don’t schedule them during the holidays.”

“People are busy.”

“Well, I guess we’re busy. We have a bunch of parties to attend from now until Christmas, I have your sister-in-law
’s party on my calendar, should I bring Patrick? How is Richard holding up?”

“
Yes you should, he can slum for one evening. Richard is fine, so far. Thanksgiving was pretty calm. Richard won’t over indulge at the club, he meets too many old high school friends there.”

She nodded
. “What do you think will happen during Christmas?”

“
I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I have no idea why Debbie insists on organizing a home grown family Christmas.”

“
Maybe she’s tired of the country club scene.”

“I have to admit, the country club is a good way to keep things civil.”

“
You’re lucky to have civil.” Carrie said curtly.

I didn
’t need to answer her. I knew about her family. They are a long back-story.  Carrie works hard to leave her past behind, so I help her by not bringing it up. It’s part of our Pirate Code.

“You will do fine this holiday, you have Patrick. Why the glum face?”

“I heard rumors about Beverley’s Weiss’s death. That it wasn’t an accident.”

“They said it was an accident at the funeral?”

“That was the assumption, yes. According to the papers. Why?”  She narrowed her eyes and abruptly stopped another theft of her fries with a stab of her knife.

“
Do you know something?”  She asked suspiciously.

“
Me?” I tugged gently at the French fry, but she did not release it.  The papers, for once, had left my name out of the article on Beverley Weiss’s death, because I am a possible suspect. After all, I did find her, and I had no excuses for the night before. I also have no motive since I hadn’t meet the woman before Thanksgiving week. On the other hand, I’m dating her ex-husband.

“
Patrick and I were at the funeral because Cooper Milk is a major donor to the Homeless Prevention League and well, it looks good to support those things. I noticed that Ben was there, at the funeral.”

“
Of course.”

“
Ben?”  She shifted her knife slightly, but didn’t quite release the fry.

I sighed and gave up.
“Ben’s her ex-husband. They divorced years ago.”

She released the fry. 
“Ben Stone and Beverley Weiss?”

“
The very same.” I popped the fry into my mouth before she could change her mind.

Carrie sat back. She had eaten almost all her blue cheese, bacon burger and some of her own fries. She doesn’t often eat that much.

“Ben and Beverley Weiss.” Carrie repeated.  It was not seemingly to smile at the demise of a rival, but here with me, she could do it.  I didn’t dare tell her I found the body.

“Dessert ladies?” Cooed our waiter.

We both nodded and ordered. Carrie was on a roll, and it was my turn to pay, so she didn’t hold back. I have a better job than Carrie. She is the secretary for the local senior center, practically a volunteer job.

“She was a snob, overbearing and not very nice on top of it.” Carrie blurted out.

“
I didn’t think you knew her.”

Carrie
picked up a piece of bread and began tearing it into tiny bits. “The Senior Center use to hold these joint fundraisers with the Homeless Prevention League. I worked with Anna, their marketing director, mostly.  The Senior Center and the League had overlapping clients, so we tried to maximize what services we had. Sometimes I helped at the events, the wine auction and polo match, larger events. Beverley Weiss would sweep through wearing a spectacular hat or something and look right through the staff, as if you were nothing. You understand how that is?”

“Oh, I understand
.” I reassured her. I did not mention that it was Carrie’s turn to sweep into a volunteer event, wear the magnificent hat and be as snotty as she wanted. We were discussing Beverley.

“Anyway, I never admired her attitude. Every one is a person and important, don’t you think?”

“Did she help out at all?”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, important activities: rounding up cats, pouring wine, feeding the hungry, that kind of thing.”

Carrie shook her head. 
“She wasn’t all that physically involved. The Homeless Prevention League is having a big party in her honor. The Executive Director, although he calls himself the President and CEO, when did all these executive directors decide to elevate themselves to CEO and President? Why can’t they be happy as an Executive Director? What is wrong with the title of Executive Director?”

She looked at me.

I looked at her, and took another French fry, as payment for her outburst. She can get quite passionate about the volunteer systems in Rivers Bend.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“The President and CEO, Steven, announced the event date at the funeral. I heard from Anne that Beverley didn’t even leave any money to them, not one dime.”

“She didn’t have much to leave.” I said, “unless there is a hedge fund she’s hiding somewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“The house was mortgaged up past its value.  Ben will be lucky to clear ten grand from the transaction, maybe less. And it appears much of her income went to the Shopping Network.”

“You have a lot of inside information.”

I took a deep breath, “I listed her house. And I still have the listing.”

“Ben still wants to sell?
”  Carrie made the immediate and logical jump. I do love that about her. She looks cute, adorable, and in the right light, completely innocent, but I have learned not to underestimate her. Ever.

“Yes, he does
.” I admitted.

Carrie tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Beverley loved to talk about
her things.  I heard she couldn’t get through a conversation without mentioning how much money she had and all the high fashion items she was planning to buy. She and Cynthia, the ED, sorry, President and CEO’s secretary at the Homeless Prevention League were always talking about sales at Nordstrom and the newest designs at Tiffany’s. Cyndi wasn’t at the funeral. I thought those two might have been friends, but then Cyndi was merely a secretary. Beverley was a board member.”  

“A secretary and board member can
’t be friends?”

“What? Oh, God no.”  Carrie said it with great authority, and I believed her. She knew more about the inner structure and social mores of a non-profit than I did.   

“A lack of money does not prevent you from buying more stuff.” I pointed out. It was necessary to point that out to Carrie. She was naturally frugal, but she did it with style.

“
Beverley’s credit cards were maxed out.” I continued, not that it was really public knowledge, but Carrie was my best friend.  “She had no savings, no IRA, nothing.”  I shook my head, as a single woman, that kind of attitude was financial suicide, what did the woman think was going to happen? That Prince Charming was coming in to sweep her off her feet and take her to live happily ever after in Mexico or Tahiti?

No Prince Charming will save you. Sometimes what Prince Charming really wants is a loan. Forget the prince; invest in your IRA.

“Patrick is a big donor, so we’ll have to be there.” Carrie broke into my thoughts, “at the tribute event.”

Our waiter, James, brought a crème
brûlée for me, and a chocolate lava cake for Carrie.

“I’m impressed.”  I gazed at her chocolate dessert. No matter what I order, the other dessert always looks better.

“I’m celebrating.”  Carrie poked her spoon into the surface of the dense pudding, and a small eruption of hot chocolate flowed down to the white plate. She toasted me with her chocolate- mounded spoon.  “Patrick fired our personal trainer.”

Katherine
and Rosemary should be so lucky.

There is nothing better than a three-hour lunch (with wine) with Carrie to revive my faith in the world.  I floated into the office intending to be seen, then I planned to float out just as quickly, pretending I had a series of important appointments to attend. What I was actually planning to do was nap. There is not much else a person can do with the afternoon after consuming half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

My cell rang, and I foolishly answered, breaking up my euphoria and my immediate plans.

“Come with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t ask questions, say yes and come with me.” He repeated.

“
To the Kasbah, to Hawaii, to Tahiti (once I mentioned it, it was on my mind), on a long cruise?”

“No, to the Homeless Prevention League dinner.”

“Why is it a League?” 

“League sounds more official. They once wanted to call it a fleet, after the number of RVs for the homeless they have, but I suppose that was too pompous.”

“Or someone else already secured the URL.”

“That too,” he agreed.  “So come with me.”

“When is it?”  I fished out my calendar from the matching brief case.

Say what you want about electronics, I still haven’t mastered how to stay on the phone and check my calendar – also on the phone – simultaneously.

He had the decency to pause. “Uh, tomorrow?”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s a last minute tribute, they added it to an already scheduled event. More efficient that way.”

“Well I’m all for non-profit efficiency.”  I pretended to spend time studying my calendar.

“You are in luck, I happen to be free tomorrow tonight.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You’re impossible.”

“
To warn you, they are planning to make a long speech about Beverley and bestow me with some God awful plaque or something, as the officially bereaved husband.”

“Ex-husband
.” I helpfully supplied.  “No family?”

“Her parents came to the funeral
. But they won’t attend an event that’s so formal. They don’t drive at night.”

“
They could stay over.”

“
They don’t drive at night.” He repeated sternly. I wondered how long he put up with these parents. They didn’t sound very, flexible.

“
I’ll meet you there.” I promised.

According to the beautiful, artsy web site, The Homeless Prevention League does very good and innovative work. The HPL developed the innovative idea that instead of homeless encampments or large group homes, they would provide RVs able to accommodate four to eight people (all the same gender and propensity) and move said RV around the community so that no one neighbor could cry “NIMBY” and claim the homeless, er, homes, were a blight on his neighborhood.  Most of us in the business have asked the Homeless Prevention League, at one time or another, for a schedule of the RV parking – mostly for MLS photos or to make sure an RV isn’t parked next to a property
during an open house.  The staff at the Homeless Prevention League has never, in recent memory, been that forthcoming with information.  All the staff members said the same thing: placement of the RVs is random.

According to their site, HPL owns about 35 RVs in all.  A big operation.

I heard Patricia greet Katherine, as the door chime rang.  I wandered out to the foyer.