“So it’s a couple then, old like me, I guess. Wicken’s Hunt isn’t exactly a starter home from what my father told me.”
“Actually, they’re not a couple. And he’s older, but the property doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to her.”
Conklin leaned forward. “To her?”
Pemberton looked around for a moment, got up and fully shut the door to his conference room, and then sat back down.
“You understand that I’m telling you this in confidence.”
“Absolutely. I didn’t survive all those years on Wall Street without understanding confidences.”
“While the land records show a corporation as the title holder, the real owner of Wicken’s Hunt is a young woman. Catherine Savage. Obviously incredibly wealthy. Quite frankly, I’m not certain what the source of that wealth is, nor is it my business to ask. She lived abroad for years. Has a little girl about ten. Charlie Thomas — the older man — he and I have had some nice little discussions. They’ve been very generous with several local charities. She doesn’t come out in public very much, but that’s understandable.”
“Sure is. If I moved here, you might not see me for weeks on end.”
“Exactly. They seem to be real good people, though. They seem very happy here. Very happy.”
Conklin sat back and it was his turn to sigh. “Well, I guess they won’t be looking to move any time soon. Damn shame too.” He eyed Pemberton intently. “Real damn shame, since I make it my practice to pay a finder’s fee on top of any real estate commission you might collect from the seller.”
Pemberton perked up noticeably. “Is that right?”
“Now, there aren’t any ethical considerations that would prevent you from accepting such an inducement, are there?”
“None that I can think of,” Pemberton said quickly. “So, how much would that inducement come to?”
“Twenty percent of the purchase price.” Harry Conklin drummed his fingers on the tabletop and watched Pemberton’s face turn different colors.
If Pemberton hadn’t been sitting down, he would’ve toppled to the floor. “That’s very generous,” he finally managed to say.
“If I want something done, I find the best way to accomplish my goal is to provide decent incentives to those in a position to help me achieve that goal. But from the looks of things here, I don’t think it’s likely. Maybe I’ll try North Carolina, I hear good things about it.” Conklin started to get up.
“Wait a minute. Please wait just a minute.”
Conklin hesitated and then slowly resumed his seat.
“Actually, your timing may be perfect.”
“Why’s that?”
Pemberton leaned even closer to him. “There have been recent developments, very recent developments, that might give us an opening to approach them about selling.”
“If they just moved in, seem happy here, what kind of developments are we talking about? The place isn’t haunted, is it?”
“No, nothing like that. As I said, I had a breakfast meeting with Charlie. He was concerned about a person who had come to visit them. Asking for money.”
“So? That happens to me all the time. You think that’ll make them pack up and leave?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have thought so at first either, but the more I thought about it, the more unusual it sounded. I mean, you’re right, the rich get approached all the time, so why should this man upset them so? But he obviously did.”
“How do you know that?”
Pemberton smiled. “In many ways, in fact, in more ways than people around here care to admit, Charlottesville is a small town. Now I know for a fact that very recently Matt Riggs was up surveying Ms. Savage’s property line when he became engaged in a reckless chase with another car that almost got him killed.”
Conklin shook his head in confusion. “Who’s Matt Riggs?”
“A local contractor hired by Ms. Savage to install a security fence around her property.”
“So he was chasing another car? How does that tie in with Catherine Savage?”
“A friend of mine was heading to work that morning. He lives up in that same area and works in town. He was about to turn on to the main road heading into town when a charcoal gray BMW flew by. He said it must’ve been doing eighty. If he had pulled out a second sooner that BMW would’ve torn his car in half. He was so shaken, he couldn’t budge for a full minute. Good thing too, because while he’s sitting there trying to keep his breakfast down, Matt Riggs’s pickup comes barreling by and another car is locked on his bumper. They were obviously going at it.”
“Do you know who was in the BMW?”
“Now, I’ve never met her but I know people who have seen her. Catherine Savage is a tall, blond woman. Real good-looking. My friend only got a glimpse of the driver, but he said she was blond and pretty. And I saw a charcoal gray BMW parked up at Wicken’s Hunt when I went up to do a preclosing walk-through with Charlie.”
“So you think somebody was chasing her?”
“And I think Matt Riggs must’ve run smack into it. I know that his truck’s in the shop with a busted bumper. I also know that Sally Beecham — she’s the maid up at Wicken’s — saw Riggs walking off in a huff from the house later that same morning.”
Conklin stroked his chin. “Very interesting. Guess there’s no way to find out who was chasing her?”
“Yes there is. I mean I did. At least his location. You see, it gets even more interesting. As I said, Charlie invited me to breakfast. That’s when he told me about this man who had come by the house wanting money. Charlie wanted my help in finding out if the man was staying in the area. Of course, I agreed to do what I could. At that point I didn’t know about the car chase. I found that out later.”
“You said you were able to find the man? But how could you? Lots of places to hide around here, I would think.” Conklin asked this in a nonchalant manner.
Pemberton smiled triumphantly. “Not much escapes my notice, Harry. Like I said, I was born and raised here. Charlie gave me a description of the man and the car. I used my contacts and in less than twenty-four hours I had located him.”
“Probably holed up pretty far away, I’ll bet.”
Pemberton shook his head. “Not at all. He was right under their noses. A small cottage. It’s barely ten minutes from Wicken’s Hunt by car. But very isolated.”
“Help me out here. I don’t have my bearings here yet. Is it near Monticello?”
“Well, in the general vicinity, but the area I’m talking about is north of that, north of Interstate Sixty-four, in fact. The cottage isn’t too far from the Airslie Estate, off Highway Twenty-two, the Keswick Hunt area it’s called. The man had leased the cottage about a month ago.”
“Good gosh, did you get a name?”
“Tom Jones.” Pemberton smiled knowingly. “Obviously false.”
“Well, I guess they appreciated your help. So what happened?”
“I don’t know. My business keeps me hopping. I really haven’t talked to them about it any more.”
“Well, this Riggs fellow, I bet he’s sure sorry he got involved.”
“Well, he can take care of himself.”
“Maybe so, but getting banged around in a car in a high-speed chase? Most general contractors don’t do that.”
“Well, Riggs wasn’t always a G.C.”
“Really?” Conklin said, his features inscrutable. “You really do have the Peyton Place here. So what’s his story?”
Pemberton shrugged his shoulders. “Your guess is as good as mine. He never talks about his past. He just appeared one day about five years ago, started learning the building trade and he’s been here ever since. Pretty mysterious. Charlie thought he was a policeman. Frankly, I think he was with the government in some secret capacity and they put him out to pasture. Call it my gut.”