Read Online Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 03 - In Good Faith by Catharine Bramkamp - Free Book Online

stones are easy to transport. All that jewelry did the royal family no good in the end. I’m merely pointing out that a few rings are easier to pack than a 5 foot by 10 foot canvas.
    “She had jewelry, too,” 
    I stepped to the free-standing jewelry box, something Beverley probably bought through the Horchow Collection.  The box was packed with baubles, all in a jumble, the same as the living room, the same as her bedroom. Most of her stuff was faux, but good faux, faux that still ran into the thousands for each piece.
    Ben glanced into the box . “She certainly believed in being good to herself.”
    “Or her boyfriends did .” I said automatically.
    Ben winced . “I suppose she would get gifts from them.”
    I resisted picking up a piece or two.
    “Do you know any of her girlfriends?” I asked.
    “ I didn’t see anyone at the funeral who could have been a girlfriend, who had that girlfriend look. Of course, they wouldn’t seek me out, would they?”
    “Maybe she earned it .” I defended her jewelry, if only to protect the age-old contract women have with men. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.
    “Maybe .” Ben stared at the empty walls. “All gone, as if they didn’t matter.”
    “Did she have any siblings?”  I walked across the room to the closet. Had the cleaning team worked this area over, so I wouldn’t be surprised?  I held my breath and opened the door.
    The closet was one of those walk-in styles. It was the size of Carrie’s apartment. And packed with clothes, so many clothes the poles sagged and more clothes were lumped up under the racks. Three pyramids of shoes were piled in the middle of the floor.  
    “Beverley was an only child.”
    I heard him, but I was too distracted by the abundance before me.  
    “ What about her parents? Would they want this?”  I asked.
    “ They want nothing.” Ben confirmed,  “I’ll give them that much. They are farmers; I think artichokes. They were angry that Beverley made such a big deal out of my trust fund and about how she needed alimony. They weren’t too supportive of her decisions.”
    I picked my way through the tossed garments and separated one dress from the next and wiggled it out. It was a Gucci: silk, wild pattern, the real thing.  I pulled out another designer dress, then another.  All were in size eight, sometimes six. I looked more closely; some dresses still had the store tags. We could return them. But that would be a little bizarre. Donate them to the Hospice store?  To the homeless? Look stylish as you beg for money?  No.
    I kicked over a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes. These were black pumps with sharp, weapon-like heels, and brand-new. The bright red soles, the Louboutin signature, were unmarked.
    I held a shoe up to the light. Oh, to buy something this beautiful and not even wear it once. What a shame.
    Ben moved restlessly outside the door.  I reluctantly dropped the exquisite shoes. The closet was a riot of color: red, leopard, stripes, black, aubergine. The outfits wedged into the closet were all perfect for this season. I pulled out a severe St. John suit, very chairwoman of the board.  I found a sheared, mink jacket, dyed bright blue. It was politically incorrect, but it was lush to the touch.  I ran my hand over the fabrics, elegant party dresses, some beaded, some smooth and diaphanous; all were perfect for Christmas.
    I carefully backed away from all the temptation. It was a good thing I wasn ’t Beverley’s size, or I’d be all over the holiday action on those racks.
    “ Had enough?”  Ben asked.
    “ She must use another closet.” I said.
    “ For what? That one is stuffed.”
    I gave him a withering look but declined to comment.  I marched to the guest room – this was clearly used as a catch all. I recognized some of the tables from the living room. Random furniture and more clothes were piled around a double bed, decorated with a spread she bought in Target. I slid open the flat doors to