Go, Ivy, Go! (24 page)

“I can’t see Nixon in that tree, either in the photo or in Magnolia’s yard,” Mac said. He sounded regretful. “I just can’t. But I can see a similarity in the size and general arrangement of the trees. I think this photo may very well be of Magnolia and Geoff’s trees.”

“So the Braxtons set up a new company and call it Radison Properties. What’s that got to do with a photo of Magnolia’s trees in this brochure?” I said, still a little grumpy.

“The Braxtons wanted something real in a photo so the brochure promoting Camelot Golden Age Condos wasn’t all ‘artist’s conception’ stuff. Magnolia’s trees looked great so they used a picture of them. I doubt they figured anyone would ever recognize
trees.
”

“So where did they get a photo of Magnolia’s trees?”

“They were in the area trying to kill you, so they just snapped a picture.”

Such as,
Hey, wait a minute, Brax, before you pull the trigger on the old lady. I gotta get a picture of these here trees.
I pointed to another actual photo. “If they were just snapping photos in the area, there isn’t any manmade waterfall like that around here.”

“It’s from somewhere else, then, maybe a stock photo off the internet.” Mac sounded impatient. “They just wanted photos that looked good. And real. Not an artist’s rendering.”

“There’s this one of the nice sign.” I pointed to the photo of the elegantly carved sign. Camelot Golden Age Condos – Gracious Senior Living. “That didn’t come off the internet. It’s a real sign.”

“Anyone can have a sign made and take a photo of it. It could be sitting in Drake Braxton’s back yard.”

“So exactly what is it we’re supposing?”
      

“Suppose one of the Braxtons is keeping an occasional eye on your place, watching for you to show up, and they see possibilities in an area that looks like it’s slipping downhill. A good area in which to buy up property. That big swampy area where nothing has been built is available too.”

“And has been for a long time. Probably because nothing
can
be built there. There are a zillion extra regulations on doing anything with something designated as wetland property.”

“Drake Braxton figures he can get around that. He comes up with this plan for a fancy condo project here. Maybe,
maybe,”
he stressed,
“
it starts out as a legitimate idea for a project.”

“He sets up Radison Properties and starts buying places.”

“Right.
He also sets up Camelot Golden Age Properties as a company. But then he runs short of money, so he invests in a fancy brochure with lots of artist’s renderings of a beautiful setup. He does some sales pitch meetings to get people to buy into the project before it’s built so he can keep it going. He uses money coming in from those deals not to actually start building anything but to buy more properties
and upgrade his own lifestyle.”

I expanded on Mac’s what-if’s. “But then he realizes that, rather than actually building anything, there’s easier money to be made by selling investors a portion of the business as an investment, sweetening the deal with an ‘opportunity’ to buy a condo at a bargain price.”

Mac nodded. “Or maybe he never intended to build anything. Maybe it’s all been a scam from the beginning. He was buying the Madison Street properties in case the legitimacy of the project was questioned, so it would look like the condo project was really in the works, just a little behind schedule. Now he’s gone big-time with ‘informational seminars’ in several states, probably figuring on expanding all over the country. With dinner, and, of course, that extra draw of the chance to win a free condo. And using money from new investors to pay dividends to earlier investors, so they think they’ve made a great investment. A Ponzi-type scheme.”

“Could he get away with that?”

“Con men have gotten away with schemes much more grandiose than that. I couldn’t find any projects that Braxton Construction has going locally, but Drake Braxton is getting money somewhere to finance Hummers and Porsches and expensive house additions. He may be cutting enough corners at Heart of Home to provide some profit, but not enough to finance the lifestyle he likes.”

True. “But what would it all have to do with killing Lillian Hunnicutt and blowing up my motorhome?”

“Nothing. Braxtons are capable of more than one criminal project at a time. Multi-tasking.”

“Is Heart of Home Hill connected with it?” I was the one who’d noticed the similarity between Magnolia’s magnolias and the trees in the brochure photo Mrs. Magnuson had given us, but the enormity of the scheme Mac was ‘supposing’ was more than I’d ever imagined.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with Heart of Home, other than that after prospective clients looked at that place and decided it was a dump, Drake Braxton came up with the bigger-and-better idea for Camelot Golden Age Condos. Along with the buy-into-the-company investment scheme for his own bigger and better profits.”

“But it’s possible it
isn’t
a scam. Maybe the Braxtons
are
selling pieces of a real business and have a real condo project going somewhere.”
      

“Maybe they do. It’s also possible there’s really a Tooth Fairy. And if there is, the Braxtons would probably figure out how to make a buck off used teeth.”

“There’s nothing in the brochure to suggest the condo project is here on Madison Street. Apparently they aren’t doing any sales pitches around here.”

“It’s easier to make a project sound glamorous from a distance, and they don’t want someone up close looking at the site and seeing there aren’t any signs of a condo project in progress. So they’re keeping their pitches away from this area.”

“Would anyone buy without actually seeing it?”

“Marguerite and I once went to a meeting, a
free dinner
meeting,” Mac emphasized, “with a sales pitch for parcels in some big subdivision project down in Florida. With slick ‘artist’s renderings’ of houses and roads and community buildings and people having fun on the beach. With a bargain price if we bought
now.
”

“Did you?”

“No, but a lot of people did. I heard later it was all out in a swamp somewhere, and the only beach overlooked some stagnant water and alligators. Nothing was ever built, and the people promoting it wound up in deep trouble for interstate fraud. There are a lot more state and federal rules and regulations now to keep something like that from happening, but guys like Drake Braxton dodge or ignore rules and regulations. I’m going back to the motorhome and see what I can find out about Camelot Golden Age Condos on the internet.”

“Can’t you do that right here with your smartphone?”

“I could. But when I’m really looking for something I’d rather have a bigger, old-fashioned computer screen to look at. I’ll be back later and we’ll go to dinner somewhere.”

Leaving me to consider the changes in my lifetime, from when a computer was an awesome new invention to now. When a computer screen is old fashioned.

I pulled up my shirt tail and looked at my daisies. I might have a fake tattoo around my belly-button, but I was definitely behind the times otherwise.

***

Tasha got home a little later. She’d spent the day on a temp job in an office, but she’d be returning to her old-lady disguise project next week. I returned the wig and padding I’d borrowed from her. She was on the sofa, one foot in her lap so she could rub it. Oh, to be so young and flexible!

“I wanted to ask— I had a real problem keeping the padding from shifting around. Do you ever have trouble with that?”

Tasha laughed. “I did at first, but then I learned how to tape it in place. I should have told you about that.” Then she turned gloomy. “But lately I’ve just been letting it sag or shift. When you’re
old
it doesn’t seem to matter. People don’t see you anyway, unless you really get in their face.”

Oh, yes, the invisible LOL scenario. I was familiar with it.
      

“I’m not sure I want to do any more of it.” She picked up the hip pad I’d returned to her and looked at it as if it were a snake. “It’s depressing, the people I encounter.”

“But surely you’ve run across some people who are nice to older women.”

“Oh, yeah, a few. A woman at one cosmetics counter went to a lot of trouble to find a blush that would look good on older skin. And a guy at an ice cream store told me they offered a senior discount, but he wasn’t sure I was old enough to be eligible. I knew he was kidding, but it was fun anyway. And he gave me an extra scoop.”

“And what you’re doing is worthwhile. Maybe when this woman publishes her results, it will actually make a difference in how some businesses and individuals perceive older people. You’re using your acting ability for a good cause.”

She gave me a cause-smause grimace. “Maybe it’s just being old that depresses me. A friend was telling me today about a job opening she knew about. Good pay, more than I’m making pretending to be an old lady. Lots of tips.”

“Waitressing?”

“Pole dancing.”

Pole dancing! Which even I knew did not mean a few tastefully-clad girls twirling to old-fashioned polka music around a ribbon-bedecked pole.

“I could, you know, do it like I’ve done some other jobs. Just make it an acting job.
Acting
like I’m a pole dancer, not
being
one.”

It seemed a rather fine distinction, but all I said was, “Are you going to do it?”
      

“I don’t know. I keep thinking, what if God’s watching? Do I want him to see me pole dancing?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t think so.”

***

That evening Mac and I went to the Chinese place with the red dragon. Mac ordered Mongolian chicken and I decided on shrimp chow mein. He spread a few pages he’d printed off the internet on the table.

I glanced through them. “They look like the same pictures that are in the brochure. Including Magnolia’s trees.”

No comment from Mac on the trees, with or without Nixon’s profile. “The website doesn’t spell out details about investing in the company along with buying a condo, although it several times mentions a ‘remarkable investment opportunity.’ It’s mostly pushing people to come to one of their ‘informational seminars.’ Which is where they hit you with the hard sell and put the pen in your hand so you can sign on the line.”

“So where and when are these seminars?”
      

“The closest one the website lists within the next few days is up in Minnesota, a St. Paul suburb. It’s this coming Thursday evening. I think they’re targeting people in cold weather areas where what they’re calling ‘the banana belt of the Midwest’ would look appealing as a place to live.”

“Actually, I’ve never heard of a banana belt in the Midwest.”

Mac pointed to a line on one of the pages he’d printed out. “You have now. It sounds like a wonderful place.”

“How long would it take to drive up to where this seminar is being held?”

“I figure we should allow a day and a half.”

“Plus a day and a half back. It’s a long way to go for a free dinner.”

“But don’t forget the chance to win a free condo! I really think Oliver MacPherson and Mother Anne should look into this awesome opportunity. And see what the Braxtons are up to.”

So Mac brought up the reservation form on his phone and filled it in. It asked various personal questions, including income range, which Mac dodged by answering “private information.” Before our dinner was finished, he had an e-mail reply confirming our reservation for the Thursday night dinner and seminar in Minnesota.

This time it seemed more than ever likely we’d actually encounter some in-person Braxtons, so before we left I borrowed the wig and padding from Tasha again.

This time I added a roll of duct tape, indispensible for all kinds of do-it-yourself projects. No more four where there should be only two.

Chapter Twenty-One

We headed out in Mac’s motorhome the next morning, Koop included. He’s been in Mac’s motorhome before and settled into a favorite spot in the bathroom sink. We stayed that night in an RV park in southern Minnesota. Mac generously gave me the comfortable bedroom, while he slept on the sofa. He said the sofa was comfortable too, but I figured, to be fair, the next night we should trade places.

The “seminar” was scheduled for a meeting room in a 3-story motel that looked fairly high-class when we drove by the following day. A waterfall burbled out front. With a half day to spare, we had lunch at Mickey’s Dining Car, a well-known 1930s art-deco diner with jukeboxes and great food. We drove by the impressive Cathedral of St. Paul and then toured Fort Snelling, the historical site of an 1820s military outpost. We laughed and had fun, a mini-vacation, although my nerves amped up when we dressed for the dinner. This did
not
, I kept telling myself, bear any similarities to the last meal served a convict before sentence is carried out.

This time I used strategically placed strips of duct tape to fasten the padding firmly in place, and everything felt as steady as if it were surgically implanted when we walked across the parking lot from the motorhome to the conference room. I psyched myself up along the way. Okay, Braxtons, bring it on! We’re going to nail you! Mac had a small digital recorder in his pocket to get their spiel down word for word. Dinner was scheduled for 6:00, “informational seminar” to follow. I wondered if they locked the door in case anyone tried to just eat and run. I didn’t let myself think what they did if they discovered their least-favorite LOL in there chowing down on their free steak.

Quite a few people were waiting in the hallway outside the door when we arrived. They looked like average people, not wealthy but probably financially capable of making a reasonable-sized investment. Mac, gregarious as always, quickly started up a conversation with an older couple. They said they wanted a warmer place to live than their home north of St. Paul, but they didn’t want to move too far from their grandchildren. They figured the banana belt of Camelot Golden Age Condos would be just right.