by C. T. Adams
Going through the store I remembered I was out of freezer bags, so I moved over a few aisles and grabbed a couple of boxes and tossed them into the heavily loaded basket. There was no way this was all going to fit into the backpack. Screw it. I’d walk home and carry a couple of bags. If any of the Herd tried to stop me, I’d beat them senseless with a frozen chicken.
I shouldn’t have gone down the frozen food aisle. I normally don’t. There’s nothing behind those glass doors that isn’t pure carbs, but I convinced myself it was the quickest way to the check-out. My eyes cheated. They were supposed to stare straight ahead, moving only to avoid shoppers, but they flicked sideways at one of the frozen offerings. I couldn’t believe it! My hand reached for the silver handle before I could slap it back, and one more item was added to my pile. Well, there went my walk home. I’d have to run to keep it from melting all over my backpack.
Fortunately, the check-out line was short. Mornings are the best time to shop, if a person can manage it. I waited as the groceries were scanned and wrote out a check for the balance. The clerk glanced at it and looked at me for the first time since I’d emptied the basket.
“You wrote the wrong date on here, Ma’am. Today’s the 17th, not the 16th.”
I furrowed my brow and looked at the check-out display, but didn’t believe what I saw. “No, today’s the 16th. I just flew in at the airport this morning.”
The customer behind me in line interrupted. “No, it’s the 17th all right.” He pulled from his basket a newspaper and handed it to me. Oh, man! It was the 17th! No wonder Joe’s been calling over and over. He was afraid of exactly what happened! I’d slept for over twenty-four hours! Eek!
I owed my brother a major apology.
4
I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the building.
It wouldn’t have been so bad had I not taken the last two blocks at a dead run. But the shriek of the burglar alarm, combined with the sight of flashing police lights at the entrance to my building gave me an incentive to hurry.
It had to be my apartment. None of the others have an alarm. I looked up and saw a cop standing on the fire escape outside my apartment. A second one joined him on the fire escape landing, and spoke into his radio before heading down the iron steps.
I hurried to where Connie stood just inside the front door, talking animatedly to a third uniformed officer.
“Kate—you’re back! I thought your brother said you’d be out of town until tomorrow. But I should have known when I saw your truck in the garage.”
I blinked in surprise. Joe hadn’t said anything about actually visiting with one of the tenants.
“What’s going on?” I dropped my backpack and grocery sacks onto the floor and turned my attention to the cop. He was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, with short blond hair and wide blue eyes. He had a fresh-scrubbed look and the kind of soft skin that made me think he’d have a hard time growing a beard.
“We got a call from the alarm company about a possible break in. When we arrived, Ms. Beltaine here met us at the front door and said the owner of the building was out of the country. . . .”
“My name’s Kate Reilly, I’m the owner of the building.”
He nodded and wrote that fact in his notebook. “Ms. Beltaine here says she saw a teenage female running away from the scene right after the alarm went off, but by the time we got here she was long gone. The ladder to the fire escape was pulled down, so my partner and Officer Phillips went up to investigate further while I took Ms. Beltaine’s statement.”
He nodded in the direction of the two uniformed officers who had come down to join us. Both were large men of middle age with close-cropped hair. The redhead on the left had a small brass name plate that said Scott. By process of elimination, the brunet carrying a crow bar must be Phillips.
His face looked familiar, but it took a long moment before I recognized where I’d seen him before. Joe had introduced us—after Phillips’ neck brace had saved my life. A weird coincidence after the dream I’d had earlier. I promised myself I’d check with him and make sure Joe really had built him a second brace, and see whether he’d found anyone willing to manufacture and sell them—as soon as we finished dealing with this mess.
“Ms. Reilly.” He shifted the handkerchief and pry bar to his left hand long enough to extend his latex covered right for me to shake. “Good to see you again. Sorry about the circumstances.”
“Me too.”
Officer Scott had a soft tenor voice that seemed odd coming from such a bulky body. “We took a look around. It looks like she got scared off before she got inside, but you’ll need to come up and take a look around and let us know for sure.”
I gathered up my grocery sacks and started over to the elevator, the cops and Connie at my heels. I wasn’t sure why she chose to come along, but it seemed a little ungracious to ask her not to—particularly since she was the only witness.
We rode the elevator in silence. The hallway we exited into wasn’t large. Since I had taken all of the third and fourth floors for my apartment, I’d claimed virtually all of the usable space, only leaving enough for visitors and pizza delivery types to make their way either to my front door at one end of the short hall, or the door to the stairs at the other.
The wailing of the alarm was making all of us wince. I hurried the few steps to my front door.
Connie looked around as if she was confused. “Wow, the hall’s much bigger on my floor. And the ceiling’s lower.” She was almost shouting to be heard over the siren.
I suddenly realized she hadn’t ever been up to my apartment. It was kind of a surprise, although maybe it shouldn’t have been. She’s always called me on the phone instead of stopping by to discuss repair issues. Fortunately, Connie’s never needed much. I’d worked hard to make sure the building was in good shape before I rented the space—and I work hard to keep it that way. That reminded me of my conversation with Joe. He’d mentioned she had a plumbing question. As soon as the cops were finished I’d need to talk to her about that. I hoped it wasn’t serious. But whether it was or wasn’t, I’d have to deal with it. In my experience, ignoring a plumbing problem almost always leads to serious water damage.
I juggled my bags to retrieve the keys from my back pocket and opened the door to let us all in. The front door of my apartment is original from the factory days. It’s heavy fire-resistant steel. Adding the locks had been a royal pain. Still, nobody’s going to be breaking in through it. Not in this lifetime. Any burglar with an ounce of sense would do exactly what this morning’s teenager had—go for the fire escape and windows. I immediately went for the burglar alarm keypad and entered my code. The infernal wailing finally shut off, and the next words echoed in the silence.
“Some door.” Scott commented a little too loudly. “No one’s coming through this without dynamite.”
I grinned in acknowledgment of the compliment and stepped aside to let everyone in while I gathered up my groceries. Connie’s eyes widened as she stepped over the threshold, and her mouth formed a little “o” of appreciation.
“Wow! This is . . . beautiful. And the elevator opens right into it like a penthouse. That is so cool.” She’d stopped right in the way—staring at the elaborate painted tin ceiling with the pattern of flowers and geometries. The cops and I had to edge around her. It wasn’t easy with my hands full of the backpack and groceries, but I managed.
“Thanks.” I set the bags onto the kitchen island. The cops were here on business, so I didn’t want to dawdle, but I did take a second to stuff the frozen item into the freezer, bag and all, before beginning an inspection of the place with Officer Scott.
Nothing was missing. Other than the window next to the fire escape being jimmied, nothing much seemed to have been disturbed.
“The alarm must’ve scared her off.”
It was possible. It was even probable. But the thought of someone having invaded my home made me angrier than I’d been in a long tim
e. Home was my haven, damn it! I was grateful for the police response, glad that the burglar alarm had worked, but pissed that it had been necessary. I was even more furious when I saw the damage to the window. I’d be spending a chunk of my afternoon replacing the lock and the trim, and sometime soon I’d have to repaint the whole works to cover the gouges in the paint. Damn it! I ground my teeth in frustration and fury. One more thing to do. One more expense. Just what I need.
The cops didn’t stay long once I reassured them nothing was missing. They filled out their reports, assured me they’d check the crowbar for fingerprints and left. I didn’t get to talk to Phillips about the neck guard as I’d hoped, because Connie pounced on me about her plumbing problem before I could even escort them out the door.
“I had a plumber come in to do some work yesterday.”
I sighed. Another bill to pay, or at least she would deduct it from her rent. “What’s wrong with the pipes?”
“Well—” she began, and fidgeted nervously. “It wasn’t the pipes at first.”
My eyes narrowed a bit and I growled, “At first?”
As usual with her, she spilled everything in a rush. “It was just the faucet. It was dripping a little. I left you a message on your machine, but you didn’t call back—”
“I was ou—”
She didn’t even give me a chance to finish the word. “So, anyway, this guy I’m seeing, Clyde, he’s really nice, and he said that he could fix the faucet with a little kit from the hardware store, so he went out and bought one, it’s this cute little set of rubber pieces with an itty-bitty screw—”
Okay, at this point I was just amazed at her ability to make all that one sentence without drawing a breath. I continued to stare, open-mouthed.
“And he turned off the water, or at least I thought he turned off the water—”
I winced and closed my eyes, waiting for the next admission.
“So off comes the faucet and there’s this geyser of water coming from the sink.”
“Did you get the water turned off?” I asked. Well, at least she had a ground floor apartment. None of the ceilings would cave in. And no, I wasn’t paying the bill now that I knew the story.
“He couldn’t get the valve to turn. He said it was stuck. So he got a wrench and started hammering on it. I didn’t watch it because he kept the door closed, but I could hear him in there, swearing a blue streak and banging away.”
Oh, man! My poor plumbing! “Connie, it shouldn’t take a wrench to turn those valves. They’re brand new!”
“Yeah, if he had turned the right one it would have been easy!”
“Wha—” I started, and then understanding settled in. Connie was the first person to sign a lease, so she got some control over what her place looked like. She had gushed over the old claw foot tub in the bath, which was a pretty unusual item to have in a factory, I had to admit. Maybe it was for the owner. Anyway, I had told her she could keep it. I’d had to run a separate water line and drain to hook it into the new plumbing. But she’d liked the look of the old water intakes that came down from the ceiling, so we’d left them in, as decoration. A chuckle escaped me. “No doubt those old lines were a little hard to crank!”
“No shit! The idiot! I didn’t even know until he finally unlocked the door and the place was flooded. It took hours to mop up all that water before it ruined the hardwood!”
“But you got it turned off?”
“Oh, sure! I walked in and turned it right off. But he had bent one of the pipes going into the tub, so I had to bring in a plumber. Don’t worry, though. I’ll pay for it. You’re welcome to come in and look at it to make sure that we don’t have to bring in someone to redo the floor.”
I opened my mouth to reply but she interrupted, “I told Clyde I’d take it from his hide!”
If she didn’t, I might.
“This really is an incredible place.” Connie shook her head in awe. “I don’t suppose—” She looked longingly at the loft. I could tell she wanted a tour. But I wasn’t giving her one. There’s not much to see in the place that can’t be viewed from the front door. The loft is my bedroom and not really up to a tour right now. It was a pit.
“I’ve really got to give my brother a call before he goes on shift. Since I was out of town, he probably got the call from the alarm company.” It was a logical lie and I tried to sound apologetic. “I really appreciate you chasing off the intruder. That was really brave!”
She blushed to the roots of her dyed hair. “Aw heck, it was nothing, Kate. She was a skinny little thing—probably just looking for loose change for a fix. I deal with a lot worse types than her every day. Yep, you should give Joe a call, ‘cause he’s probably a wreck. He seems to really care what happens to you. I’ll let myself out.”
I realized she was right. Connie is a bail bondswoman and a good one. She’s been in the business long enough that she’s probably seen everything. A teenaged junkie was just a minnow in the sea of bad guys she knows. And she was right about Joe, too. I realized how much restraint it must be taking for him not to be here right now checking up on me.
I waited until she left and slid the deadbolt home. I took a deep breath and dialed Joe’s cell number. He always has it with him unless he’s in the ER—no electronics allowed because of the equipment. After the fourth ring, his voice mail answered. I left a short message that I was fine, was sorry that I didn’t call him, and had picked up the prescription that Dr. MacDougal had given me.
It was time to get back to life. Cooking would take awhile, and would be messy, so I decided to throw on my paint-splattered coveralls in lieu of an apron. They’re comfy to slop around in and virtually indestructible in case anything spilled. But first, I figured I should get the mail. I was getting increasingly nervous that if I had forgotten to pay the classified advertising bill, what else was past due? I left the apartment, making sure to lock the deadbolt behind me and went down the grate metal stairs two at a time. The building inspector had assured me that they would last until my great-grandchilden died of old age, and it would please the insurance company if I didn’t replace them, because they don’t burn.
The postal boxes are ugly—brushed steel and aluminum that are an embarrassment to the rest of the room. They don’t match the Art Deco lobby at all and I just hate it. But the post office has standards. If there had been existing boxes in place, I could’ve used them. There weren’t. So I had to put up boxes that are really too small to hold much of anything and clash with the decor.
The biggest reason they clash is that I had succumbed to reality. I’m gone often enough on trips that my mail backs up. Before I put in the large drawer, I’d have to go visit the post office to claim things every other day.
The key turned smoothly in the lock, but the drawer wouldn’t open. A peek inside told me why—it was overflowing, and several of the envelopes had annoying yellow and red stripes on them that indicated past due notices. Ick!
No, I just couldn’t deal with it now. I pushed and squished the contents until the drawer reluctantly shut and turned to go back to my cooking. But my eyes lighted on a package on the floor next to the elevator. They’d delivered the moldings while I was gone! I opened the long reinforced cardboard boxes and eased out one of the thin strips of custom cut hardwood. I placed it next to the one I’d just finished stripping and nearly jumped up and down with joy. It matched, down to the smallest leaf!
My original goal for this room was to replace about a dozen missing hammered tin ceiling tiles, fix the broken light fixture, put in new linoleum and take down the damaged moldings. But once I actually got up to the ceiling, I realized how delicate and detailed they were under the dozen layers of (probably lead-based) paint. I decided to see if I could salvage them and used the last of my savings to get three more strips made so that they would all match.
Well, no time like the present to get started! Maybe actual physical work would help shake off the vague dread.
I hauled out the big ladder f
rom under the table and balanced the long strip in my hand as I climbed. It bounced and flopped over the ladder’s top while I fumbled for my hammer, but then remembered that I’d forgotten to set up my helpers and had to climb back down.
I’d figured out a way to install the ten foot lengths of trim by myself early on, while I was pulling down the others to strip them of paint. Two lengths of two-by-fours on a crossed stand rose up like a Christmas tree. Each held a wide notched piece of scrap plywood. Once standing, it nearly touched the ceiling, so that all I had to do was position one in each corner, lift the trim onto them and start hammering.
I was completely engrossed in making sure that the brads countersunk into the trim without leaving big ugly hammer marks on the wood, so I didn’t notice someone appear outside the front door glass.
What happened next could take the prize on Funniest Home Videos. A visitor opened the door, which knocked over one helper. It hit the floor with a bang. The suddenly loose trim strip smacked the man on the side of the head and the whipping motion ripped out the three brads I’d been able to hammer in. The other end smacked me in the head before clattering to the floor. I nearly lost my balance, and did drop the hammer, which knocked over the almost empty can of paint on the table and splattered paint onto the ladder, my arm and the side of my face.
I stood there on the ladder, stunned, rubbing the sore spot on my head.
“Wow!” said the visitor, likewise rubbing his scalp. “I can’t think of any way that I could have made a worse first impression. I think I’ll just quietly slip out now. I was looking for the owner. Really sorry to bother you.”
He turned to leave so quickly that I had to shout. “Hey, wait a minute!”
I climbed down off the ladder. He stopped and turned his head, so that I finally got to see his face. He was my height exactly, with dark curls the shade of brown that is almost, but not quite black. Intelligent, chocolate brown eyes looked out from behind long curled lashes. The standard business uniform of grey suit, white shirt and patterned red tie couldn’t hide the amazing build. This was obviously an athlete. He was without a doubt the most handsome man I’d ever seen, and I suddenly couldn’t speak. All I could think of was that I probably looked the worst I had in my life. I was dusty and sweaty, wearing paint covered overalls and, of course, had a wide swatch of cream-colored paint next to my ear.
