FOUR
Though she opposed new development on Wapiti out of principles both selfish and unselfish, Belle had no objection to trading in established properties, in this case, a large piece by the marina. The original owner had bought cheap, tacked up a small camp and outbuildings, then squatted on it for decades, paying only minimal taxes. Then about twenty years ago, as lakefront grew scarce, land values had started to climb. The price had risen to 95K for each of three lots in the last hot market. Why Julia Kraav wanted to purchase all three properties was a puzzle. Perhaps she had a big family.
In order not to waste time and effort, Belle had vetted her client as carefully as the law allowed. The older woman had been almost embarrassingly frank in disclosing her financial assets. Not only a fine brick home on York Street but over 700K in rock-solid investments. How had the Kraavs saved so much, the husband a Sudbury Transit driver and the wife a salesclerk? Then Julia had described their life plan: no kids, a tiny house shared with her parents, every cent banked, the last ten years in GIC’s when the rates hit double-figures. A year of retirement and Tomas had died of liver cancer, she had added with bitterness. “Congenital heart disease killed all of my family before fifty-five. And here I am, alive and kicking after two operations, and my darling man is gone. Life is not rational.”
As Belle rolled down the driveway, she wondered if Julia were intending to sell her house as well; if so, the broker’s commission would be impressive. The open garage beside the house held trailers with a Seadoo and a 40 horse bass boat, strange toys for an elderly woman without children. A fancy Jeep Cherokee with leather interior was parked in the drive, its fender suspiciously creased. Evidence of costly landscaping peeked from the snow: new tie beds and pink crushed stone as expensive as marble. Life-size bronze statues of a doe feeding and a buck boasting ten-point antlers graced the front lawn. A hedge of small cedars from the walkway to the house gave way to a row of six-foot junipers. Belle had priced one of those charmers before shouldering her shovel and heading to the bush for a handy pine.
As she stepped up to the porch, Belle peered into every Northerner’s dream: a Florida room containing a hot tub, heavy-leaved tropical plants, and floor-to-ceiling glass, probably low-E, which regulated the heat transfer for efficiency. What a spa. Take a trip and never leave the farm. Suddenly she wished that she and Julia were better friends. Answering Belle’s knock at the stained glass door, her client stood in a velvet morning gown. “Come in, dear. I’ve been expecting you.” Even thinner than when Belle had last seen her, Julia glittered with feverish excitement, massaging her tiny hands, a blinding diamond on the ring finger. “I have such plans!” A younger look-a-like, conservatively dressed in jeans and silk blouse, sat on the couch, twisting the tassel of a pillow; she was introduced as Emily, a “baby” sister, and her eyes were afraid.
“I have been in touch with Mr. Converse,” Belle said as Julia took her coat and showed her to a wing chair. “He is willing to offer all three adjoining properties as a package for $70,000 each. That’s quite a drop, but winter is a bad time for cottage lots. Nobody wants to buy what they can’t use immediately. A bargain for you, though.”
Pacing back and forth, the woman beamed as she waved a double checkbook. “I can give you the money now. I’m just so thrilled to have found the perfect place for my project. And now everything will be completed by summer.”
Belle glanced at Emily and felt some misgivings at the concerned expression on her face. If Emily had doubts about the value of the purchase, perhaps reassurance would help. “It is excellent property. You’ll have over 750 feet in lakefront with three acres across the road. A sandy beach and plenty of room for septic. There’s a dug well, but for my money you’d be better off pumping out of the lake. Less iron.”
“I remember the day you took me there, when we drove over the hill and saw the trees and the lake beyond spread out like the promised land. I closed my eyes and saw my vision come to life. So many good people to help. Isn’t God wonderful, Emily?” Her sister sat mutely tearing a tissue into bits, a thin smile in answer.
“I’m a bit confused, Mrs. Kraav. What do you mean by ‘so many people’? These are just cottage lots,” Belle said, suddenly aware that she was clicking her retractable ball-point pen like a set of worry beads.
Julia shuffled a pile of letters across the coffee table, passing Belle envelopes with hand-written addresses, the crabbed alphabet of the barely literate. “Look at the responses to my ad.”
Julia’s too-merry laugh, just a tone below hysterical, raised the tension. “Oh, you don’t understand. It’s Tomas, my husband, as I told you. He came all this way as a boy from Estonia without a penny in his pocket. Didn’t know a word of English either. What a story. I’m writing a book about our life, and I’m up to 1955 with the first three chapters. It’ll be a bestseller, you watch. Even a movie eventually. Anyway, this whole development is for him, something really special to keep his name alive long after I’m gone.” She picked up another sheet. “Here’s the notice I placed across the country in the major newspapers,” she said.
It read: “All Estonians are welcome to relocate to Northern Ontario to live at the Tomas Kraav Memorial Apartments. Moving expenses paid, free rent, a lakefront for recreation and nursing care for the elderly. Apply Box 23432 Sudbury, Ontario.” Belle passed from Julia’s radiant face to Emily’s pale terror, struggling for words which she feared would destroy this illusion.
“But the land isn’t zoned for multiple dwellings.”
“Oh, you.” She tapped Belle’s knee with her fingers, drew out the words coyly, as if being teased. “My builder told me, ‘No problem, no problem at all.’ The whole east side will be developed along with that new park. Maybe a mall for shopping and a theatre. Won’t that be a miracle for those poor souls? Many of them have never had a decent meal or a warm bed.” As Julia clapped her hands, Belle saw through a shift in her gown a deep burgundy scar traversing her thin breastbone, which rose and fell with her quick breathing as if nourishing itself upon impossible dreams. The sight reminded Belle of a baby robin, blind, featherless, heart beating in a fierce rhythm to keep warm.
Belle scribbled a few meaningless notes to buy time, not knowing how to continue. “Do you think I could have a glass of water?”
“Oh, certainly. Hostess with the leastest, aren’t I, Emily? Just excited. Would you prefer coffee?” When Belle shook her head, Julia floated her gown out of the room, leaving a faint trace of Estée Lauder.
The sister spoke quickly. “You’re an honest woman, I can see. This scheme will break her, take every penny. She can buy the land and put up the buildings, but what then? There’ll be nothing left for the support she promised them, or for her own expenses. It’ll be a nightmare.”
Belle sighed. “Of course. And she’d need an act of Parliament to change the zoning. That’s single residence only. How do you want to handle this? She looks pretty fragile.”
“Yes, she’s been mixing Tomas’s drugs with whatever garbage she could scrounge from her doctor. We’re preparing to get a court order by Friday to lock up her finances until she can manage on her own again. Maybe you saw some of the toys she’s been using to attract her friends and relatives. She wants to buy the world for anyone who loves her. Thank God she didn’t hurt anyone with the Cherokee. But it’s Tomas’s death, you see. That’s the centre of it all. I’m trying to get her into grief therapy.”
Having invented some plausible stall technique which involved another meeting with the owner, Belle crossed town and logged in at the office. Uncle Harold had converted the downstairs of a splendid Victorian house in an older section of town lined with elegant cottonwoods. The upstairs rented to a retired couple who wintered in Florida
