Read Online Obstruction of Justice by Perri O'Shaughnessy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Perri O'Shaughnessy
Tags: Fiction
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looking for something large?" Almost imperceptibly, the edges of his mouth tipped up.
"Is there such a thing as property bordering on national forest or something? So that you have some privacy, but don’t have to buy acres and acres of land?"
"Occasionally. Naturally, that adds to the price." The words rolled familiarly off his tongue. He navigated the big car around a corner, his tie flapping in the wind from the open window. The only thing lacking was a yachting cap.
"What I’d really love is lakefront," Nina went on.
"Wouldn’t we all?"
"I don’t suppose there are any fixer-uppers with their own little beach?"
"People who own lakefront property usually maintain it. But, of course, there’s the Tahoe Keys," he said. "Most of the houses there have private docks. You’re not on a beach, but it’s water. Hop in your motorboat and let ’er rip."
He drove slowly through the Keys, which looked like a suburban neighborhood anywhere, with orderly dead-end streets lined with stucco-sided ranch houses on small lots with double garages. Grass huddled in scanty clumps as if waiting for the snow to come. Behind the houses, narrow man-made canals flowed out to the lake. The view toward the surrounding mountains was unobstructed.
The canals and view would be nice, but she would feel exposed out here, in the lake practically. She wanted sun, but filtered through tall trees. "Something more woodsy?" she said.
"Ah. Woodsy it is."
They drove through another neighborhood, close to the city offices and court buildings, and past rustic cabins in an area called Tahoe Paradise, continuing from there along Pioneer Trail, stopping at a few vacant properties. Nina thought she liked Tahoe Paradise best, a heavily wooded area of A-frames and chalets, not too highfalutin. There were places nearby to walk and hike and the neighborhood was close enough to Matt’s house that Bobby could ride his bike there....
"Your price range?" Mr. Muntz was saying delicately but insistently, determined if possible to reduce her murmurs of approval to paperwork.
"I don’t know much about real estate up here. It’s hard to say."
That made him clutch his hands together tightly on the leather-wrapped wheel, the better to avoid rubbing them together with glee.
As they turned right on Highway 89 to head back up to the Y, Nina said, "Mr. Muntz, do you ... did you know Ray de Beers?"
"De Beers Construction. They build houses. Oh, yes, I knew Ray. Why do you ask about him? You thinking about buying a lot and building yourself? That’s one thing they do, build spec houses."
"No. But I recently ... met Mr. de Beers. Right before his death."
"He stood up there on that mountain and he said one too many times ’May God strike me dead if I’m lying,’ and God took him up on it," Mr. Muntz said with a malicious chuckle. "You heard he got killed by a lightning bolt?"
"I take it you didn’t like him."
"You take it right, honey. I used to sell Ray’s houses. His father, Quentin, had spent years building the business, but about ten years ago Ray moved in and started building the houses. And the houses were trashy junk. Ray worked his miracles with one-coat paint. I wouldn’t even show you one of his places, everybody’s so lawsuit-happy these days."
"Have you met his family?"
"His wife, once. Case in point: Ray took her out to one of his projects one fine day a few years back, and the damn thing fell down. Not really, just one of the joists came down because he wasn’t using the right-size nails. Broke both her legs. Poetic justice.’’
"Poetic justice would be if it broke both his legs, wouldn’t you say?" Nina said. Once again she was back on the mountain, hearing Ray say, Making sure I don’t get to forget it even for one lousy minute. So that was what he had meant.
They drove past the Y on 89, then turned left onto a wooded hill. "This is Gardner Mountain," Mr. Muntz said. "Some cozy places up here I think you might like. You say three
"Is there such a thing as property bordering on national forest or something? So that you have some privacy, but don’t have to buy acres and acres of land?"
"Occasionally. Naturally, that adds to the price." The words rolled familiarly off his tongue. He navigated the big car around a corner, his tie flapping in the wind from the open window. The only thing lacking was a yachting cap.
"What I’d really love is lakefront," Nina went on.
"Wouldn’t we all?"
"I don’t suppose there are any fixer-uppers with their own little beach?"
"People who own lakefront property usually maintain it. But, of course, there’s the Tahoe Keys," he said. "Most of the houses there have private docks. You’re not on a beach, but it’s water. Hop in your motorboat and let ’er rip."
He drove slowly through the Keys, which looked like a suburban neighborhood anywhere, with orderly dead-end streets lined with stucco-sided ranch houses on small lots with double garages. Grass huddled in scanty clumps as if waiting for the snow to come. Behind the houses, narrow man-made canals flowed out to the lake. The view toward the surrounding mountains was unobstructed.
The canals and view would be nice, but she would feel exposed out here, in the lake practically. She wanted sun, but filtered through tall trees. "Something more woodsy?" she said.
"Ah. Woodsy it is."
They drove through another neighborhood, close to the city offices and court buildings, and past rustic cabins in an area called Tahoe Paradise, continuing from there along Pioneer Trail, stopping at a few vacant properties. Nina thought she liked Tahoe Paradise best, a heavily wooded area of A-frames and chalets, not too highfalutin. There were places nearby to walk and hike and the neighborhood was close enough to Matt’s house that Bobby could ride his bike there....
"Your price range?" Mr. Muntz was saying delicately but insistently, determined if possible to reduce her murmurs of approval to paperwork.
"I don’t know much about real estate up here. It’s hard to say."
That made him clutch his hands together tightly on the leather-wrapped wheel, the better to avoid rubbing them together with glee.
As they turned right on Highway 89 to head back up to the Y, Nina said, "Mr. Muntz, do you ... did you know Ray de Beers?"
"De Beers Construction. They build houses. Oh, yes, I knew Ray. Why do you ask about him? You thinking about buying a lot and building yourself? That’s one thing they do, build spec houses."
"No. But I recently ... met Mr. de Beers. Right before his death."
"He stood up there on that mountain and he said one too many times ’May God strike me dead if I’m lying,’ and God took him up on it," Mr. Muntz said with a malicious chuckle. "You heard he got killed by a lightning bolt?"
"I take it you didn’t like him."
"You take it right, honey. I used to sell Ray’s houses. His father, Quentin, had spent years building the business, but about ten years ago Ray moved in and started building the houses. And the houses were trashy junk. Ray worked his miracles with one-coat paint. I wouldn’t even show you one of his places, everybody’s so lawsuit-happy these days."
"Have you met his family?"
"His wife, once. Case in point: Ray took her out to one of his projects one fine day a few years back, and the damn thing fell down. Not really, just one of the joists came down because he wasn’t using the right-size nails. Broke both her legs. Poetic justice.’’
"Poetic justice would be if it broke both his legs, wouldn’t you say?" Nina said. Once again she was back on the mountain, hearing Ray say, Making sure I don’t get to forget it even for one lousy minute. So that was what he had meant.
They drove past the Y on 89, then turned left onto a wooded hill. "This is Gardner Mountain," Mr. Muntz said. "Some cozy places up here I think you might like. You say three
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