Perfect Murder, Perfect Town - Lawrence Schiller [102]
Whenever they had sales meetings, Patsy took over, organizing the catering and all the other details. Burke and my daughter, Lindsey, played together, and the four of us adults would often see each other for dinner. Then some big company invested in Access and John became president.
I never thought John could get Patsy to move out west. But she turned out to be open-minded, and that surprised me.
They first lived in a condo on Pearl Street at 19th until they found a house. Like all of us, they went through “sticker shock.” It’s hard coming from huge, magnificent homes in the East that cost very little compared to the prices here.
Patsy liked one home in a new development outside of town, in Rock Creek, because it had streets and sidewalks where kids could play and ride bicycles. JonBenét had just been born, and Patsy didn’t want to go through remodeling an old house. She wanted something brand-new.
John leaned more toward an older property, on 15th Street. He wanted to be in the city because he needed to establish himself and his family in the heart of the community where he was locating his company. When they asked us for advice, we said 15th Street was a better investment. The value would increase there far faster than out in the Rock Creek development. When they bought the house on 15th Street, they knew it had to be renovated. It was almost three stories, with an elevator that had to go.
John was busy running the business, and all the reconstruction was left to Patsy—dealing with builders, painters, and decorators, all of it. She always looked tired.
Then John lost his oldest daughter in a car accident in Chicago. It was devastating, and suddenly he looked like he was always hunched over. He started reading a lot of metaphysical books, on life after death. All kinds of spiritual books. Patsy told me he was trying to find answers to why this could possibly happen, and she was concerned for him. Patsy wanted to help, but she felt powerless to do anything for this person she really cared about. It frustrated her.
About that time, Burke started school and Patsy started volunteering at his school. She volunteered for anything and everything—fund-raising, parties, room mother. She organized magnificent parties for the children. She met the Stines, and they became close. Then the Walkers. She started to develop good friendships in places where she wanted to be.
Patsy was put on a pedestal by her friends. Roxy Walker would always say Patsy this and Patsy that, as if there were no higher authority than Patsy’s opinion. Once I had to tell her, “Patsy is just a person.” A person, of course, carrying a heavy load. It was, like, fix up the house, take care of the children, pull all the loose ends together in a city where she didn’t know anybody. But she never complained.
The social rules in Boulder were different from anything Patsy knew in Atlanta. In order to fit into society, you have to find your own niche in Boulder. Patsy just didn’t fit into jeans. She ended up getting tight black pants with rhinestone cowboy boots.
After the house was finished, she opened it up to visitors for Boulder’s annual Christmas Tour of Homes. They let anybody view any room, even the bedrooms and bathrooms. They showed people their closets. My husband, Robert, who was now their family and estate attorney, warned them, “Close off your private rooms. Keep your guests on the first floor.” They didn’t.
Patsy wanted to make a statement. There were extravagantly decorated Christmas trees in almost every room. Everything she does is Texas-size. Patsy is most comfortable in opulence. She wants the best of the best. But that isn’t a Boulder thing. Most people in the community were shocked.
While the house was being remodeled in the summer of ’93, Patsy went back east to judge a pageant in her home state. Roxy Walker called and said that Patsy was in the hospital. Her stomach had blown up like a balloon and it was discovered she had cancer—stage-four ovarian cancer. It doesn’t get more