by Morgana Best
A look of disapproval passed across his face. “You can’t rush good work.” He waved his brush at me with a flourish. Globs of eggshell white flew from the thick bristles and fell on my carpet. I buried my face in my hands.
“Whoops,” he said. Behind him his partner was finishing with the scaffolding, as if the ceiling was twenty feet high instead of nine. I could basically touch it if I hopped and reached. “That’ll come out, Bill,” he said to his partner, “but we should have spread some plastic. It’s out in the truck. I’ll go get it.”
I nodded. “Thanks,” I said. I tried not to say it sarcastically, but there was a good chance that sarcasm would be as lost on the painters as it was on my mother.
The other painter was younger. He had a tan face, and was stick thin. He sauntered over to me and looked me up and down. “I’m Bill,” he said. “Your mother didn’t tell me you were such a fox. I’ve never seen you at church.”
“I worship the devil,” I said angrily.
Bill’s eyes widened and he stepped back. “Surely you’re joking!” he said.
“Call me a fox again, and you’ll find out,” I snapped. I hurried into the kitchen before I said something I would regret and forced myself to focus on preparing the food for that morning. I had chosen turnovers and other pastries, as well as the usual coffee and fruit juices. The funeral service and the wake would be one after the other.
Some people had wakes over multiple days, to allow enough time for everyone who wanted to say goodbye to the deceased to do so, and some people, like the man I had dealt with for the funeral, wanted it all done as quickly as possible.
I thought of him as I set out pastries onto platters, and then covered them. It would be a while until the guests arrived, but the pastries had been in the refrigerator, so pulling them out early was a good idea. I took out one platter and set it on the dining room table, and then went to get another platter ready. It only took me about five minutes to set up a platter, but when I pushed through the swinging door and back into the dining room, Jerry was standing at the table, stuffing half a cherry turnover into his mouth.
“What are you doing?” I rushed over and set the platter down.
“Obviously, I’m taking a break,” Jerry said, his eyes wide.
“A break?” I asked, and I went to the doorway and peered into the entrance hall. He hadn’t got much further with his eggshell white than he had been when I had seen it ten minutes ago. “A break from what?”
“It took us a while to get that scaffolding up,” Jerry said defensively. “Are you going to set out some coffee for us?”
“I’m not setting anything out for you.” I shook my head. “This is for the service we have going on this morning. You can’t eat anything else. I didn’t even want you here today.”
“I didn’t know you had a service today,” Jerry said. “You shouldn’t have had us come today in that case. That just doesn’t make any sense. Your mother said you weren’t good at running this business.” He shook his head in a solemn manner.
“I know you shouldn’t have been here today,” I said icily. “Please get out there and try to finish as fast as you can.”
Jerry shook his head. “Thelma hired us for the whole place. It will take a day or two to paint that one room.”
I squeezed my hands tightly, and felt the turnover oozing out between my fingers. “Please just go and paint,” I said between clenched teeth. Mercifully, Jerry must have been able to tell that I meant business, so he did.
I was cleaning up the turnover when I heard someone call my name from the doorway. “What?” I snapped as I stood and turned. Janet was standing there.
“I’m going to go down and finish her up,” she said. “Are you okay?”
I nodded.
“There are men out here painting.”
I nodded again.
“All right,” Janet said, and then she left.
By the time Stuart, the deceased’s widowed husband, arrived, half the entrance hall was painted. He navigated the scaffolding, and I hurried to shake his hand. “I’m so sorry about this,” I said. “It was an emergency.”
“Emergency painting?” he asked.
“I’ll refund you ten percent of your bill,” I said. “I can take it right off today and give you a new one.”
“Oh no, it’s fine,” Stuart said. His eyes were red and raw. I figured he’d been crying all morning. “Can I see her?”
“She hasn’t been brought up quite yet.”
“Oh,” he said.
“Please have coffee while you wait.” I led the mourning man into the dining room. I poured him a cup, and he took it with a gracious nod of his head. A small bell chimed through our speakers, indicating Janet had the casket in place. “You can see her now,” I said.
When we reached the viewing room, I opened the door for Stuart to go in, and I headed back to the front door. Just as I reached it, two elderly women came in.
“Is this the right place?” one of the women asked, nodding to the two men painting. They were both on the scaffolding, and I was worried it wouldn’t take their weight. The scaffolding did not look sturdy at all.
“It is,” I assured the woman. “Let me take you to the viewing room.”
The two women nodded and followed me as we dodged around the scaffolding. Bill was painting right above the doorway, leaning out over the edge of the scaffolding. I was relieved that he at least knew not to set the scaffolding right in front of the doorway. As we passed through the doorway, I looked up to see that his brush was overloaded with paint.
I was about to say something, but it was too late. A large drop fell from the end of his brush, and landed right on top of the elderly lady’s head. I didn’t know whether to say something, but she didn’t seem to notice, so I thought it prudent to remain silent. Today certainly couldn’t get any worse.
When I returned to the entrance hall, my mother was there. She made an exaggerated show of sitting on a nearby chair and acting tired.
“Where have you been?” I asked her.
“On the phone in my office,” she said. “I’ve been talking to people at church and trying to find someone to put in new carpet.”
“Mom, no. Absolutely not.” I was irritated at her use of the word ‘my’ to describe my office.
“This carpet is old.”
I shook my head and did my best to speak in a calm tone. “Dad put in new carpet less than three years ago. We don’t have the money for new carpet.”
My mother shrugged and waved her hand at me as her ringtone, the screeched words, ‘The wages of sin is death,’ sounded. “I can’t talk to you, now, Laurel. It’s Ian on the phone.” She disappeared from the office, telling Ian in a loud whisper that I was an ungrateful brat.
Chapter 23
“Hello?” I said sleepily into my cellphone moments after I was startled awake the following morning.
“Hey there, is this Laurel?” asked a gruff voice I recognized right away. It was Stanley King, the man who ran the local mechanic shop. He’d had my car for almost a week.
I was quite fond of my little car. It was small and good on gas. It had always been dependable, at least until the other week.
“Yes, it’s Laurel,” I groaned. “It’s early, isn’t it?”
“We start at seven,” the cheerful voice said. “Your car is ready to pick up.”
“All right, thanks,” I said.
Stan’s shop wasn’t more than five blocks from the funeral home. When I got to the shop, the large garage door was pulled up, and my little car was there, ready to go. Stan came out, wiping his filthy hands on a rag that had probably once been red, but was so old it had faded to a soft pink. He wore overalls and a black cap pulled low over his brow. He was the only mechanic in town.
“Hey,” Stan said as I stopped in front of him. “I wanted to give you some advice before I hand you these keys.” He pulled the keys from the front pocket of his overalls. He held them out but didn’t drop them into my pa
lm.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” I said.
“You need to get rid of this car. You really should trade it in while you can. I fixed what I could, but it’s all about to go.”
“You’re kidding!” I said with horror.
Stan shook his head. “With a car of this age and mileage, once something starts to go, other things will start to go. You’ll have to start spending a fortune on it soon. It will need new brake pads, and shocks, and a whole lot more.” He waved a print out under my nose and then dropped the keys into my hand. “It’s all listed on here. Drive out to Tamworth. You should get a new car.”
I sighed. “Oh dear.” I thanked Stan and swiped my card, and then I climbed behind the wheel of my car and sat for a moment. I needed to psych myself up to go to Tamworth and buy a car. I was never good in situations like that. I never knew whether or not people were ripping me off, and I never knew the right thing to say. I also didn’t know where the money would come from. I did the only thing I could do in such a situation—I headed straight for the nearest café to load up on caffeine.
I was drowning myself in a half-strength latté, half strength as I intended to have several, when I heard someone clearing his throat behind me.
“Hey,” I said, startled to see Basil there.
“You seem deep in thought,” he said.
I nodded, at a loss as to what to say. I wondered if things were going to be weird between us after our last meeting, but he seemed fine, so I tried to push such thoughts away and do my best to appear nonchalant. Basil was peering at me, no doubt waiting for an answer, so I decided to tell him what had happened. “I’ve just come from the mechanic’s shop. He says I need to go to Tamworth and trade in my car, ‘cause it’s starting to fall apart. I’ve had it regularly serviced, but that hasn’t really helped. The mechanic said that the brake pads are going, then it’s the shocks, the tires, you name it.” Shut up, you idiot, I silently scolded myself. Can’t you say anything between nothing and your life history?
Basil appeared nonplussed by my verbal outpourings. “Are you worried about the money?”
I nodded.
“You can charge the car to the business,” he said.
“Really?” That was a new one on me, but then again, I was new to a running a business.
Basil took the seat across from me. “If you buy the car through the business, the interest on payments will become a tax deduction.”
My face lit up at the words ‘tax deduction’. “Really?” I said again. I shook my head. I had to learn how to speak like a normal person in the presence of such an attractive man.
Basil took a sip from his take-out cup. “When were you intending to do this?”
“Now,” I said. “I was just getting a caffeine hit first, to boost my courage. I really don’t want to go and buy a car. That sort of stuff freaks me out big time.”
Basil smiled, and my heart fluttered. “I can go with you,” he said. “I’m going to Tamworth today to meet with clients. I can meet you there in two hours.” He produced a card from his wallet and slapped it on the table in front of me. “This dealership is good, and it’s right on the highway. I’ll bring your financial records. With me there, the financials for the business loan will all go smoothly.”
“Wow, thanks so much, Basil,” I gushed.
“Not a problem.” He flashed a smile at me and stood.
I watched him go. I couldn’t decide if I was more-or-less nervous now that he would be there.
The dealership in Tamworth was massive, a rolling paved lot with a thousand or so cars on it, or at least that’s how it seemed to me. I parked just inside the lot, and looked around for Basil. There were two men in suits outside the main office door. They were talking to each other and appeared to be salespeople, but neither of them paid me any attention. I walked around the cars and looked in the windows, waiting for one of the men in suits to come my way, but they continued to ignore me.
Eventually, I saw Basil get out of his car on the street. No sooner had he reached me, than one of the men in suits was by our side.
“Hey there,” the man said, offering his hand to Basil, who shook it. The man did not offer me his hand. In fact, he did not even look at me.
“Hi,” Basil said.
“What are you in the market for?” he asked.
“Well, Laurel here is the one actually looking for a car,” Basil said. “I’m just going to help.”
The man nodded, as if Basil had said something interesting. “Great, so what were you thinking?” he asked. I thought he would be asking me, but he was still staring at Basil.
“I don’t know. Laurel is the one who is looking,” Basil said more forcefully.
Finally the man looked at me. He didn’t offer me his hand, but just waited for me to speak.
“That’s my car there,” I said, indicating where my car was parked. “I like it, so something similar, I guess.”
The man nodded, and then he turned to Basil. “Is she planning on trading it in?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Basil said shortly. I was pretty sure he was just about as annoyed with this guy as I was.
“Yes, I am going to trade it in,” I said loudly and clearly.
The man turned and waved his hand to a man walking past.
“Check this car out, will you, Ben? What can we give these guys for it?”
The man turned to Basil once more. “Let’s see what we can find similar.”
We walked around and around, with the man doing a heavy duty sales pitch. He addressed his sales pitch the whole time to Basil. After ten minutes or so, I found a car I really liked. It had only been used for test drives, and had a big sign on it: ‘Huge reduction. Manager’s special’.
We went inside and waited for the man to speak to his colleague. He came back and told me how much they would offer me for my car. It was more than I had been expecting, so I nodded my head and tried not to look too eager.
“As for financing,” the man said, once more turning to Basil, “we can make you a good deal through our credit union partnership.”
“It is Ms. Laurel Bay who is buying the car,” Basil snapped. “I am simply her accountant. I suggest you show Ms. Bay to your financing department right now, or she will look at another dealership.”
The salesperson did not appear to be offended, but kept smiling.
The man who handled the finances was uptight and officious, but all the paperwork went smoothly, thanks to Basil’s help.
I drove home carefully, excited to have a nice new car, but my enthusiasm was somewhat dampened by Basil. I could not help thinking of our last encounter. Today, Basil had been nice and helpful, but he had also been somewhat closed. He had made it clear that our relationship was to stay on a strictly professional level, but I wanted more, as much as I was reluctant to admit that to myself.
As I parked my new car in the driveway, Ernie came floating out through the front wall of the house. He whistled. “What a beaut,” he said.
“Are you teasing me?” I asked. I could never tell with Ernie.
“Yes, that thing is ugly and plain as sin,” he said.
“Don’t let my mother hear that,” I said, knowing full well she could never hear what a ghost said. “She’ll be the first to tell you that sin isn’t plain, although I guess she would agree that sin is ugly.”
“You should have had me go with you if you were buying a new car,” Ernie said. “I know my way around a car.”
“Ernie, I thought you died before cars were invented.”
“Very funny,” the old ghost said with a grumpy frown. “I don’t know why I’m your friend.”
Chapter 24
As I stepped into Hairway to Heaven, the only place in town to get a hair cut, I caught a glimpse of the stylist and thought about turning and running. Her hair was, to put it simply, a bit much. Piled high upon her head, and with blue and pink streaks running through it, it looked like something you would see on a fashion runway in Mila
n, where all the fancy fashion people worked so hard to make their models look as outlandish as possible.
The stylist had dark eye makeup and false eyelashes. There was nothing subtle about her. She was working on an older woman with graying curls, who appeared to be asleep. The stylist glanced over at me and smiled. “You must be Laurel.”
Too late. I had lost my chance to escape. I couldn’t just turn and leave now. “Yes,” I said.
“I’ll be right with you. Have a seat.”
I sat down on an uncomfortable seat and reached for some reading matter on the table in front of me. There were no magazines, only several King James Version Bibles all in black leather, three books, and a pamphlet with the intriguing title, Turn or Burn. I looked over the three books: Fire and Brimstone by Thomas Vincent, Hell’s Terror by Christopher Love, and A Few Sighs from Hell by John Bunyan. I shuddered. Whatever happened to entertainment magazines?
I thought the pamphlet looked the most interesting as I thought it contained stories about firefighters, but it was a long diatribe stating that people who didn’t repent were headed straight for hell. I gave up and stared blankly at the wall until the old woman woke from her slumber, her haircut apparently done. She paid at the small counter near the door, and then the stylist beckoned me over.
She smiled at me and pointed to her chair. There were three chairs, but no other stylists seemed to be working, or if they were, they were through a closed door that I imagined led to a back room, maybe a break room.
“Laurel, your mother told me at church last Sunday that you had to get in here, and I agree. You’re letting that hair get way too long.”
My hair wasn’t any longer than it normally was, and I shrugged my shoulders. “I only want an inch or two off,” I said.
“I’m Katy by the way, and there’s no way an inch will do. I was thinking a lot more. It’s one thing when I’m working on Elspeth—that’s who just left—and I know, this might not be the best thing to say, but old women are simply set in their ways. They won’t let me do anything fun, anything stylish!”
