The Stolen Gold Affair

10 Sabina

Vernon Purifoy’s address was listed in the city directory as 2675 Eighteenth Street, which put it at the foot of Potrero Hill rather than on the hill itself. Originally a Mexican land grant called Potrero Nuevo, Sabina had been told, the area had not been a convenient location to get to, separated as it was from the rest of the city by Mission Bay. It was not until the Long Bridge had been built in the mid-1860s that access to Potrero Hill was made easy enough to transform the area from a virtual wasteland into a desirable hub. In the years since, it had been settled by working-class families, many of whom toiled in the shipyards, iron factories, steel mills, and warehouses that stretched south along the bayfront between China Basin and Islais Creek Channel.

On Friday morning Sabina rode a trolley car across Long Bridge and another to Eighteenth Street to have a look at the Purifoy property. Gretchen Kantor had referred to the place as “a charming little cottage,” a decidedly rose-colored-glasses view. It was in fact an early, 1870s version of Pelton’s “Cheap Dwellings,” named for the architect who designed them and that proliferated in the Potrero and Irish Hill neighborhoods. Built on a lot no more than twenty feet wide, it appeared to be one of the four-room variety considered modestly stylish and attractive in its day, with a scrolled, Eastlake-style front door and a heavy projecting cornice. Time and neglect had taken their toll on it. Miss Kantor’s estimation that it was in need of renovation “to some extent” was another generous assessment; in fact it needed considerable work, including structural repairs, a fresh coat of paint, and a new roof.

What had made it ideal for Elmer Goodlove was that unlike many Pelton cottages, it was not one of a linked row built close to the street. Rather, it was set back a short distance behind a weedy front yard and screened from its neighbors, one a renovated and expanded Pelton, the other a brown-shingle dwelling, by clumps of unkempt shrubbery. A trespasser’s access to it, if casually managed, would be sure to go unnoticed.

Satisfied, Sabina proceeded to her next stop — Goodlove Real Estate, 1006 Guerrero Street.

As expected, this turned out to be a narrow storefront — what Elizabeth had referred to as a hole-in-the-wall. Goodlove had spent a minimal amount on rental space, but the sign above the door was artfully painted in a design similar to that on the Bromberg-printed business cards. Another sign on the door, equally artful, proclaimed: Peerless Homes and Lots for Sale. A good confidence man of Goodlove’s ilk knew when and how to put up a proper front while still minimizing his overhead.

A bell over the door tinkled musically when Sabina entered. The interior was one long room with a handful of functional furnishings — two desks, four chairs, a filing cabinet. One wall was adorned with photographs of dwellings in far better condition than Vernon Purifoy’s cottage and attractive vacant lots, under which another sign boldly lied: Purchases by Our Satisfied Clients.

The office’s only occupant had bounced up from one of the desks and hurried to greet Sabina. Elmer J. Goodlove in the flesh — short, roly-poly, with a fringe of white hair, shiny blue eyes, and skin as smooth and pink as a baby’s. “A hearty good morning to you, my good woman,” he said jovially, beaming. The shrewd blue eyes took immediate note of the fact that she was well dressed. “Welcome to Goodlove Real Estate. Elmer J. Goodlove, at your service. And you are?”

“Mrs. Jonathan Fredericks.”

“A pleasure, Mrs. Fredericks. What can I do for you?”

“I am interested in purchasing a home not far from here.”

“Indeed.” The fat smile grew even fatter. “I have some excellent properties of all types, sizes, price ranges—”

Sabina said imperiously, “My interest is in a specific property, if it should happen to be for sale. There is no sign to that effect and no one answered my ring at the door. I have come to you as the nearest agent in the hope that you might know if the property is for sale.”

“Splendid. Where is it located?”

“On Eighteenth Street. Number 2675, to be exact. A four-room Pelton cottage.”

Goodlove, like most confidence men, was an expert at concealing surprise. “Ah,” he said.

“Does that mean you are familiar with the property?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Other Pelton cottages, but not that one.”

“So you cannot say if it is for sale.”

“No. But I have a listing for another Pelton, as well as other, more attractive, well-constructed homes—”

“I am not interested in other Peltons or other homes of any sort. Only in that particular cottage.”

“May I ask why?”

“My brother saw it on a recent visit and expressed a liking for it, despite the fact that it is in poor repair, and for the neighborhood. He is a carpenter by trade, experienced in home repair, and I am encouraging him and his wife to move to San Francisco from Santa Rosa. He hasn’t much money, and I happen to be in more fortunate circumstances, so I would like to surprise him with a gift of the cottage he desires.”

“A generous gesture, most generous indeed,” Goodlove said. “But if I may say so, there are much more advantageous real estate investments than a Pelton—”

Sabina essayed an impatient gesture with her folded parasol. “Are you or are you not prepared to accommodate my wishes, sir?”

“Of course, most assuredly,” Goodlove said hastily, “if in fact the owner is willing to sell.”

“If he isn’t, I expect he can be talked into it for the right price. Money, Mr. Goodlove, is no object.”

“Indeed? Ah, may I ask how much you are willing to pay?”

“Whatever amount is necessary, within reason.”

“As much as one thousand dollars?”

“As much as three thousand dollars,” Sabina said.

Again nothing changed in Goodlove’s expression, but he could not prevent a flicker of avarice from showing in the bright blue eyes. Peltons were known as “cheap dwellings” for good reason, as Sabina had discovered in her research. In the early ’eighties a three-room cottage stripped of such frills as an indoor water closet could be bought for as little as $500, while a fully equipped four-room cottage was priced at $850. Their value had appreciated somewhat in the past two decades, but considering the run-down condition of Vernon Purifoy’s property, its real estate market value was hardly more than $1,000.

“Would you wish to pay the purchase price in installments?” Goodlove asked through his fat smile.

“Certainly not. My offer is an outright cash sale.”

The flicker of avarice had become a steady gleam. “Well, in that case the owner should be sorely tempted.”

“He would have to be a fool not to be,” Sabina said. “Of course, I do have one stipulation before I commit to purchase.”

“And that is?”

“That I be allowed an examination of the cottage’s interior.”

“For, ah, what reason?”

“To determine if any structural or other changes have been made that my brother might find objectionable.”

It was a somewhat thin explanation, but Goodlove seemed not to notice. “I could ask the owner—”

“Who might not give you an honest answer. No, that won’t do.”

“Well... would it be necessary for you to be present in person? I have considerable experience in such matters, and I could examine the rooms for you and make a list of any alterations—”

“Absolutely not. I have no doubt you are qualified, but I will need to visit the premises myself. I trust you understand.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Then you agree to act as my agent in this matter?”

“I do. With pleasure, Mrs. Fredericks. I will attempt to meet with the owner of the property at... what was the address again?”

“2675 Eighteenth Street.”

“Yes. To meet with the owner as soon as possible and do my very best to persuade him, or her, to sell on your terms.”

“I would appreciate an answer as soon as possible,” Sabina said. “Tomorrow, preferably.”

He balked at that, as she had known he would. He couldn’t be sure Vernon Purifoy would be away from home tomorrow. “That, ah, is very short notice. Too short, I fear. Property owners approached for an immediate sale often require time to think over an offer...”

“By Monday, then. That should be enough time.”

“Monday. Yes. I will do everything in my power to, ah, accommodate you by then. Assuming a sale can be arranged, how soon will your brother wish to take possession? Sixty days? Ninety?”

“Thirty. The sooner he is able to move into his new home, the happier we both will be.”

“Mmm, yes, I see. Very well. Step over to my desk, if you will be so good, and I shall draw up a preliminary agreement.”

The agreement was of a standard, bare-bones sort, more or less legally binding if Goodlove had been a legitimate real estate agent. Sabina signed it “Mrs. Jonathan Fredericks” in a disguised hand.

He said then, “I appreciate your faith in me, Mrs. Fredericks, indeed I do. May our association be mutually beneficial.” Sabina endured the moist clasp of his hand in hers. “I will try my very best to have a decision for you by Monday. Shall we meet here again at one o’clock?”

“The time is satisfactory, but I suggest we meet at the cottage. I expect the decision to be favorable, in which case I will be able to examine the interior without delay.”

Goodlove hesitated for three or four heartbeats before saying, “As you wish. One p.m. Monday at the Eighteenth Street address.”

Was he well enough hooked and hoodwinked by the prospect of a large amount of cash to run the risk of invading Vernon Purifoy’s cottage a second time? Sabina thought he was. Purifoy lived alone and would be away at his accountant’s job on Monday, so the risk was minimal and the reward considerable. The maximum figure she had named was surely too powerful a lure to resist, for he stood to collect the entire amount by simply claiming the owner refused to settle for less. Three thousand dollars was a considerable score for a small-time confidence man, even if it should mean abandoning his current setup sooner than expected.