Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out by Catharine Bramkamp Page A

prone form as if commanding him to rise. It wasn’t working.
    “You are not ruined , ” Carrie snapped.  “You are still in business, this was an unfortunate accident and we’ll just have to move on.” Carrie leaned over Cassandra and smacked her arm.  “Are you listening?”
    “Honey, ” Patrick wiped his hands on his elegant slacks and approached Carrie. He folded his arms around her and led her away.   “It will be fine, it’s just an accident, terrible ; we all felt the tremor. But we’ll cope, we’ll help Cassandra cope.”   In a lower voice he murmured, “ the wedding will be fine.”
    For the very first time I wondered what Patrick thought about this insane wedding.  Would he have preferred a quick trip to Vegas?  Carrie never intimated that he would, but now I wondered.
    Ben’s heavy tread distracted me for a moment.  “There’s another injury.”  His face was grave.
    “Where?”
    “Further under the cases.”
    Carrie glanced back at me.  I exchanged the look.
    “Who?”  I kept my eyes on my friend.  In our experience events labeled accidents were often anything but.  However, for the next few weeks we may be forced to assiduously not know what really happened. This was an act of God, you don’t have to investigate an act of God, there isn’t even another form to fill out, at least from my end.  It would be hard to get a signature.
    Ben lifted his head.  “Is the ambulance on the way?”
    A siren beeped and wailed as if in answer.
    “Who?”  I asked because no one else was asking. The young boy who had helped with Fred appeared in the sun with another guest .  Between them sagged a woman dressed in linen slacks and a now stained tunic. Her white hair was matted with blood; her tan face was smeared with blood mixed with wine. They laid her gently on the ground and the boy disappeared again. 
    Cassandra took one look and groaned anew. Her hand wringing escala ted to a frantic level. I thought of Lady Mac b eth, but knew it really didn’t apply, Cassandra was just overwrought , Lady Mac b eth had been guilty. Cassandra’s own hands were clean.
    “Who is it?”  Carrie asked.
    The ambulance screeched up to the back doors. The crowd obediently parted to allow the two EMTs through.  They took one look at poor Fred and left him where he lay . First they help the living. 
    The young cellar rat , rushed back clutching two fuzzy picnic blankets from the gift store .   He covered the woman with one and folded the other for a pillow.
    “Trisha Gault.”  Ben leaned over and picked out a piece of glass from her head, he didn’t dare wipe her face; there could be hundreds of glass pieces caught on her skin.
     
    The name was familiar.
     
    “She owns Wind Runner W inery.”  Patrick gingerly patted the blanket covering the woman.  “I don’t know what she was doing here.”
     
    “She’s mad at me, this is all my fault!”  Cassandra said wildly.
     
    The EMT’s looked at Cassandra with interest.
     
    “Get her out of here.”  Ben shot me a commanding look as he stepped between the EMTs and Cassandra. M e? And where was her lover boy, Mark?  Conspicuously absent in times of crisis. I reached out, gripped Cassandra mid-hand wring and pulled her away from her former tasting room manager .  I simultaneously banished bridezilla to parts unknown with a regal wave of my hand . Patrick helped by whisking her away. I wouldn’t have minded leaving myself, but that was not to be, I was with Ben and Ben was with his old friend . 
    The sun slipped behind the hills , I carefully walked Cassandra around the shadowed patio to the office. The scream of the siren roared past us and out to the road. I exchanged her wine soaked silk with black yoga pants, tee shirt and jacket all emblazoned with the Prophecy Estates logo. The dark navy ensemble did little to alleviate her pallor. I felt I was dressing Winemaker Barbie.  She tolerated my ministrations in silence, which was just as