Gnosis

“No prob,” Angie said, cheerfully. “I’ve just finished showing a house, and my next showing isn’t for another two hours. If you like, we can meet here. It’s a terrific house. Who knows, maybe you’ll like it enough to buy it.”

“In McMeekin Place? On my salary? I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

“As Don Corleone so famously said, ‘I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.’”

“Yes, and as Sam Spade so famously said, ‘it’s the stuff that dreams are made of.’”

Both women laughed.

“When you turn into McMeekin Place, it will be the third house on the right,” Angie said. “You’ll see the ‘For Sale’ sign out front. You can park behind my black Volvo.”

“I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Angie Claybrooke was standing next to her Volvo, a hammer in one hand and a thick folder tucked under her arm. She wore a blue pants suit, white turtleneck, and black Michael Kors loafers. The ensemble was tailored to accentuate a still-impressive figure. Her auburn hair was long and pulled back into a ponytail, which gave her a youthful look. She wore no noticeable make-up, and the only visible jewelry was a gold chain necklace. Chic and professional without being pretentious was Laurie’s assessment.

Upon seeing Laurie drive up, Angie tossed the hammer and folder into the front seat, moved away from the car, and waved.

“Sam Spade-it’s nice to meet you,” she said, once Laurie got out of her car.

“Same here, Don Corleone.” Laurie motioned toward the house Angie was showing. “Nice spread. And you really thought I could buy it?”

“I had to give it a shot,” Angie said. “It’s how I make a buck.”

“I couldn’t afford this crib if I earned twice what I’m making now. This place is a palace.”

“And for a million-two this palace can be yours.”

Laurie whistled. “Knock off the million and we’ll talk.”

“I’m afraid that in my line of work, another movie line always comes into play-‘show me the money.’” Angie pointed at the house. “Let’s talk inside. There’s a marvelous antique table in the kitchen. We’ll sit there and pretend we’re wealthy.”

“I feel like a criminal just entering this mansion,” Laurie said.

She followed Angie up the walkway and around to the side of the house. Angie walked quickly, almost aggressively, as if she was striding toward a neighborhood donnybrook and wanted to be among the first to arrive. There was real purpose in every step she took. She moved with great intent, and with the grace of a superb athlete.

Laurie was struck by the fact that in no way did this Angie resemble the Angie portrayed by her mother. This Angie was a strikingly beautiful woman, tall, with a trim figure and a confident demeanor. There was nothing about her that said victim. No outward signs of a shattered or tormented psyche. Of course, Laurie knew, the exterior oftentimes lies in order to protect an individual by hiding the pain and hurt within. She wouldn’t know that until she spoke with Angie. But simply based on a first impression, Angie was a far cry from the pathetic woman described by her mother.

The sliding glass door opened to the kitchen, which was bare except for the antique oak table and six chairs. A stack of papers and several of Angie’s business cards lay scattered on the table. Angie gathered them up, paper- clipped them together, and put them on the counter.

“Have a seat,” Angie said, pulling a chair away from the table. “Make yourself at home. At the very least, pretend this is your kitchen.”

“This kitchen is half as big as my entire apartment. I’m not sure I would want a kitchen this big. Too much cleaning involved.”

“I can assure you the people who purchase this house will never pick up a dust rag. They’ll pay someone to do the cleaning.”

Laurie laughed. “Well, there’s one thing I have in common with the rich. I would hire someone to do my cleaning if I could afford it. But I can’t, so-”

“The cleaning doesn’t get done, right?”

“Right.” Laurie looked out at the swimming pool, then back at Angie. “You’re not at all like how I had you pictured.”

“How did you have me pictured?”

“I don’t know. More fragile, maybe. Less confident.”

Angie seemed puzzled for a few seconds, then her eyes widened. “Ah, now I get it,” she said, shaking her head. “You met my mother. That’s how you got my home number.”

“We didn’t meet, but I did speak with her on the phone.”

“And she told you I was a wreck of a human being because of what I saw that night. That I had to see a shrink and had nightmares and cost the family a small fortune and blah, blah, blah. She’s been telling that story for so long I’m sure she actually believes it.”

“It isn’t true?”

“Please! Do I look like someone who is a wreck of a human being? I’m very successful at my job, I’ve raised a wonderful daughter, and I live a happy, contented life. Do I wish I made more money and was in involved in a steady relationship with Mr. Right? Sure, I do. But all in all, my life is pretty darn good. Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother dearly, and I have tremendous respect for her, but the truth is, she’s a first-class drama queen.”

“No shrink, no nightmares?”

“I had a couple of bad dreams after the incident. So what? I’d had bad dreams before, so to me it was no big deal. Besides, I didn’t necessarily connect those dreams with what I saw that night. As for seeing a shrink, it’s simply not true. My father, God rest his soul, had a close friend who was a counselor at the VA hospital. I’m not sure what credentials he had, if he had any at all, but that’s who I spoke with. He was one of those guys who worked with veterans, especially the ones who had been in combat and had trouble adjusting when they returned home. Anyway, I met with him maybe two times. We talked about that night, what I saw, and how I felt about it. He could tell I wasn’t all that shook up or in need of serious counseling. And that’s what he told my father. The matter was dropped by everyone except my mother, who continues to tell anyone who will listen that I’m damaged goods.”

“She was also pretty tough on Greg Spurlock.”

“I know. He’s a bum, a loser, a druggie, treated me like crap. Again with the drama.”

“You got along with him okay?”

“Sure. He was a guy I went out with a few times in high school. Nothing serious, by any stretch.”

“What was he like?”

“Very cocky, very sure of himself, a daredevil kind of personality. Not all that unusual, I suppose, for someone who came from money.”

“His family was rich?”

“Not rich, rich. But very well off. I think his mother’s family had money.”

“Your mother mentioned drinking and drugs. Any truth to that?”

Angie rolled her eyes upward. “Beer and pot, maybe. But I couldn’t swear to it, because he never did any of that stuff around me. He was not a serious substance abuser, regardless of what my mother says.”

“Tell me about that night,” Laurie said. “From the beginning.”

“Greg and I went to a movie. We saw On Golden Pond, with Katharine Hepburn and Henry Fonda, which I thought was terrific. Jane Fonda was also in it. After the movie, we went to Pizza Hut to get something to eat. Then we drove around for a while, eventually ending up somewhere in the boondocks. We had been parked maybe twenty minutes when we saw the smoke. I remember telling Greg that it looked pretty serious, that maybe we should check it out.”

“What time of night was it?”