Most importantly, What had I gotten myself into?
39
When I walked back into the store, MJ looked up from the desk. With a yellow pencil tucked behind her ear, she looked like a cartoon-version of an accountant.
"Let me tell you what I've learned,” she said. “We have three items here on the floor that people requested and still want. I'll look them over and see if they're in good shape. If not, I'll find a furniture expert who can get them fixed up. The list includes a side table, a Florida hallway chair, and a wicker love seat. They're over by the front window, on the left."
"Great," I said. "It's a relief to hear that a few of these things we can actually sell."
"The trick is matching the item to the person. That's how these three pieces came into our possession in the first place. It's not that they have so much intrinsic value. They don't, but they were special requests that Essie managed to fill for long-time customers. When she died, and the store was closed, there wasn't any follow-through."
"Matching people and one-of-a-kind objects sounds to me like a hard way to make a buck."
"It is," said MJ. "What have you decided about changing the interior?"
"I've decided to replace the linoleum on the floors with tile that looks like white-washed wood. The walls should be painted a soft white. These bare bulb light fixtures definitely have to go. They are far too industrial and cold. Changing out these three key components would make a huge difference.”
"I know where to get the tiles and whom to call about the painting, so I'll get right on that. As for the light fixtures, there's a lighting showroom down by PGA Boulevard. I suggest you go visit and see if anything there will work. Tell Darlene I sent you. She's an old friend of mine."
New fixtures would cost a mint, especially if I chose anything classy.
"I'll get to the light fixtures later," I said. "We can make do for now by replacing the old bulbs. We also need a person with muscle. Someone who can help us move the heavier objects. As jumbled up as everything is, we can't tell the trash from the treasures."
"I'll contact Bobby Gander," she said. "He can do about everything. Carpentry. General contracting. Furniture work. He's retired, but he might have time to help. If not, he'll know whom we should call."
"How much of this can we do ourselves?" I wondered.
"A lot." Skye walked in through the back door with two paper bags in her hands. "I figured you two could use the help. It was also time for a dinner break, so I asked Loretta if she wanted to hang around and work my shift. She was thrilled because she needs the money. Let me change out of my work clothes, and we can get cracking."
When you were facing a big job, the appearance of unexpected help always seemed to provide a boost of energy.
While Skye was changing, a flooring salesman named Jimmy McConnell knocked on the back door. Even though it was past six o'clock, he carried a complete set of samples for us to consider. MJ whispered to me, "I used to date him, so I gave him a call. I knew he'd give you a good deal, and he'd run right over."
I chose tiles with a white washed faux wood finish and placed the order. I also asked MJ to locate two sets of mattresses and box springs for the bed frames upstairs. Although you could argue that Skye was responsible for her own bedding, I hated to think of anyone sleeping on those disgusting remnants. In fact, I wanted them off the premises, so I told MJ, “Make sure they’ll remove the old mattresses and box springs when they deliver the new ones. That old stuff is completely disgusting.”
“Will do.”
Bobby Gander arrived right as the tile salesman was leaving. MJ introduced us. Bobby squeezed my hand too hard and gave me a speculative up and down once over. His eyes slid sideways as he winked at MJ. Whatever secret message passed between them, I couldn’t decode. However, MJ responded by crossing her arms over her chest and turning her back on us. She walked over to the desk and immediately began looking up and jotting down phone numbers. I assumed she was making a list of mattress stores.
"I can be here tomorrow if you want," said Bobby, as he twirled a key ring on his finger. The Camaro emblem on the fob blinked by as he spun the ring around. Bobby stunk of cigarettes and too sweet cheap cologne. A sparkplug of a man, he stood with legs akimbo and his hands on his hips, as if to make himself look bigger than he was.
"You personally? MJ told me that you were retired."
"Yes, but she's a special gal, so I don't mind pitching in to help." He gave me a wink as he offered his hand for a shake on the deal. The calloused skin suggested he'd worked in manual labor all his life.
"MJ says you can do about anything."
"I can." He said matter-of-factly. "Everything but finish work. I hate working with trim. I can do it, but I hate it."
"Then I guess we'll see you tomorrow."
"Just so you know, a lot of this stuff will need several passes to make it salable. I'll probably have to hang around for several days."
"Sure.” The cash register in my head went "ca-ching," but what could I do?
“See you around, MJ.” He sauntered toward the door with a jaunty spring in his step.
After the back door slammed behind him, I asked MJ. "Did you date him, too?"
"Bobby? No. He and I were married."
That shut me up. A glance at my cell phone told me it was nearly nine o'clock. Skye wandered over, rubbing her lower back with both fists.
"Whew. I'm bushed. If you and MJ would come with me to my car," she said. "I wouldn't have to make many trips to drag in my stuff. Shouldn't take us long."
“Better yet,” I said, “why don’t you clean while MJ and I grab your things? You won’t have time to do a deep cleaning, but at least you can remove the surface layer of dust. You’re welcome to use the cleaning supplies you bought for the store.”
That was agreeable to everyone. Skye handed over her car keys. MJ and I headed down the stairs and out into the night. "It's nice of you to give Skye a chance," she said. "After what happened and all."
"What happened?" I asked.
“Nothing.” MJ clamped her mouth shut and refused to say more.
In ten minutes, we'd moved Skye's belongings from the Mustang into her apartment. I gave my new tenant the good news about MJ scaring up new bedding for us.
"What's back at the other place? Your old apartment?" I asked, thinking I could drive over with her and make short work of the project.
"Nothing. This is it. All my worldly goods. Let’s move the bedframe against that shared wall so I can sit and sleep on it until I get more furniture.”
With the three of us working together, the task went quickly. As I helped my friends center the bedframe, I noticed that the wall was buckling slightly, bulging at the bottom. There weren’t any electrical sockets along it either, which seemed pretty odd for a wall that had been recently built. Oddly enough, there were a lot of screws, rather than nails.
The whole time we pushed and shoved that rusted frame, I wondered what MJ had meant with her offhand remark.
Skye had moved only six black plastic bags and seven boxes. Granted, I didn't own a lot more than she, but I'd downsized on purpose. The meager number of Skye's possessions confirmed that she was barely getting by, and yet she'd helped me without complaining by giving me rides, giving me a place to stay, feeding me breakfast, and bringing me food even though we'd only just met. In that manner, she reminded me of Kiki Lowenstein, who never had two cents to rub together but always found a way to lend a helping hand.
My train of thought was derailed when MJ said she was calling it a night. The evening was inky black, so I walked MJ to her car with a flashlight.
“What did you mean about giving Skye a chance?”
“Nothing.” MJ’s voice was crisp.
“But—”
MJ had already slammed the heavy door on her Cadillac. Instead of getting an answer, I stood there in the dark and watched as her taillights faded into the night.
40
What had MJ meant?
What did she know about Skye Blue that I didn't? I'd been sleeping at Skye's apartment, inviting her to live in my building, and I didn't really know anything about her.
I'd completely forgotten to get the locks changed. So much for safety.
Drat!
I walked back into the store with every intention of talking to Skye, but I stopped short because she wasn't alone. She was standing between the foot of the stairs and the front door. Towering over her was a tired-looking fellow with dark circles under his eyes and an ashen complexion. His comb-over stuck straight up like a rooster's feathers, and his hands moved constantly, patting his down pockets, smoothing his tie, and tucking his shirt inside his pants.
"Cara? This is Irving Feldman, Essie's son." Skye slid her hand sideways in a graceful gesture that invited me to step closer so our guest and I could shake.
"I think we met a long time ago, when your parents used to rent the apartment upstairs,” he said. Irving's hand was sweaty, and I resisted the urge to dry my damp palm on my pants. His eyes roamed the building instead of focusing on me.
Yes, we had met before. Back then, Irving had spoken with a trace of a lisp. The sibilance had not left him. He'd been a geeky kid, the kind who gets teased for his awkwardness. With a speech impediment added to the mix, you had a recipe for disaster.
Life had been rough for Irving, or so I'd heard second-hand from my mother after she learned as much from Essie. I had sympathized with Irving because I, too, had been picked on as a child. Unlike him, I had been targeted because I was too precocious.
"Yes, that was years and years ago," I said, feeling suddenly self-conscious about how dirty I was. "Your mother was wonderful to me."
"She had her moments," he said. "I heard you bought this place. Snatched it out from under Cooper Rivers. Word gets around."
I nodded.
"Don't you work at Pumpernickel's?" Irving said to Skye.
"I do. I'm just helping Cara out." She tilted her head toward the piles of furniture. "Someone really trashed this building."
Irving's voice turned defensive. "I don't know how this happened. The executor of my mother's estate should have been keeping a closer eye on the place. I've been getting calls from the downtown merchants' association complaining about the building being an eyesore. Thought I'd drop by and see for myself. Didn't expect anyone to be here."
"You can forward those calls to me from now on," I said. "You're right. The executor of the estate really should have kept a better eye on the property."
"It probably doesn't matter now that you plan to knock this place down."
"I'm not," I said.
"You're not what?"
"Tearing it down."
"But that's why I dropped back by. To see it one last time. Before the wrecking ball hits it. What happened?"
"There was a change of plans," I said. Evidently the grapevine hadn't supplied the details. Good. The fewer people who knew, the better.
"You are planning to sell this place to Cooper, right? Making a fast profit? Then he'll knock it down?"
"No, I'm not flipping it. My plan is to re-open The Treasure Chest."
"You're kidding." He wiped a hand across his brow.
"No."
He raised his eyebrows at me and puckered his mouth before stuttering, "I-I-I think you should know that Mother was losing money hand over fist. If you plan to re-open, you'll be throwing good money after bad. Believe me, I thought about taking over, but I knew it would be pure foolishness. A losing proposition. You'd be much smarter to sell it. Make a buck and get out."
"I appreciate your concern but I think I can make a go of it. The merchandise will be slightly different, but the name will stay the same. I assume you don't have any objections to me keeping the name?" I chose my words carefully.
It's not unusual to pay for use of a business name if it's deemed to have value, and surely "The Treasure Chest" had some local name recognition.
Obviously Irving hadn't inherited his mother's business acumen. He folded his arms over his chest and looked around. "Do whatever you want. I'm w-w-warning you, re-opening is not a good idea. It'll cost a fortune just to get this place cleaned up. Twice that amount to fill it with merchandise. I really don't see how you can hope to be profitable."
"I think we'll do just fine."
"But he—" Irving stopped himself and started over. "But Cooper Rivers has a franchise. They approved this location."
"Yes, but Mr. Rivers didn't buy this property. I did."
Skye had been standing at a respectful distance listening in. She cocked her head to one side, studying him, and said, "Is there some reason she should tear this place down? Is there a problem with the building?
"N-No," he said, spreading of his hands to emphasize how bleak the situation was. "No. That's not it at all. It's just that I went over this with my accountant, and I think you're making a mistake. Even renting out both of the apartments upstairs, Mom couldn't make enough to cover her expenses."
"I'll economize where I can. Since I'll be living upstairs, I won't have a house payment."
"You could always change your mind. It's not too late."
“I’ll take that under consideration,” I said, which was my way of giving him the polite brush-off. He was starting to get on my nerves.
"How's your wife?" asked Skye. She could sense that I was growing tired of defending my decision.
Thankfully, this seemed to distract Irving. "Evelyn is going through a rough patch." His voice rasped with emotion. "There's an experimental program for MS up in Toronto. I'd love to see her get into it, but there's a lot of expense involved."
"Then it's good news for you that I've decided to purchase the building," I said. "You will also be pleased to know that I won't have any trouble getting financing."
"Yes," he said, as he turned slowly to take in his surroundings. "It's all good news."
41
After seeing Irving to the door, Skye and I trudged our way upstairs. It had been a long day. Skye hesitated in the hall with one hand on the doorknob to her unit.
"I've been meaning to tell you that I really appreciate you letting me move in so quickly. Can I pay you the first and last month in installments?"
This was my chance to ask her what MJ might have meant with her cryptic comment about “giving Skye a chance.” The words leapt to my lips, but I couldn't say them. Not with those honest blue eyes staring at me with such happy anticipation.
Surely if Skye was a criminal, Detective Murray wouldn't have delivered me into her care. My instinct told me that I could trust Skye. Hadn't she already proved herself to be my ally?
"Let's not worry about the security deposits right now. At this rate, I'll be owing you money for your help." The moment the words left my mouth an idea came to me. I did need all the help I could get, and Skye was crafty and creative.
"Skye, what do you think about working at the store? When you aren't at Pumpernickel's? I can't offer you a lot of money or promise you a certain number of hours. Maybe your time at The Treasure Chest could offset your rent."
She brightened. "I could certainly use a second job. Any time I'm not scheduled at Pumpernickel's, you can count on me. I think your new store is going to be fun."
With that we officially wished each other goodnight. Standing in the middle of the empty living room, a sense of being overwhelmed hit me. I needed sleep. I needed to recharge my batteries. I picked up the folding chair and carried it into my bedroom. After I covered the mattress with plastic bags, taped them in place with masking tape, and covered the mess with Tommy’s sleeping bag, I sank down on my new bed. Although the pressure was off my feet, it seemed to shift to my shoulders. Lying there, staring up at the ceiling, I felt the heavy burden of responsibility. Was Irving Feldman right? Was I making a huge mistake? Was it possible that my ego had clouded my judgment? Without money coming in from the restaurant, how would I make ends meet?
Now I had roped other people into my mad scheme! MJ would expec
t a paycheck. Skye had her hopes up. Yes, I'd encouraged her, but was it the right thing to do? What about my obligations to Bobby Gander and Jimmy McConnell, the tile guy?
My dad believed that he owed his employees more than a paycheck, because they gave so much of their time and their talent to our restaurant. As a natural consequence of that philosophy, he was always looking for ways to do a good turn for them. Whenever one of our wait staff needed a loan or a day off, Dad came through. When one of our cooks found out that his mother needed eye surgery, Dad gave him time off and took up a collection that we matched to help cover her medical costs. When a waitress was in a car accident, Dad held her job and sent her flowers. With a few notable exceptions, our employees appreciated us. Many told us that we were the best people they'd ever worked for.
"With," I amended my mental commentary out loud as I spoke to the speckled ceiling above me. "People work with us, not for us. This isn't the old plantation system. We're in this together."
The irony of my situation hit me full force! Here I'd hopped in my car and driven all these many miles to repeat the employment circumstance I'd claimed to be leaving. Once again, I would be responsible for the livelihood of other people. I had this mental image of Dr. Phil sitting across from me and asking, "How's that working for you?"
"Not exactly as I had expected, I guess," I said, to my empty bedroom before speed dialing my son.
"Yo, Mom," he said. "Wassup?"
And here I thought he didn't like foreign languages. I couldn't help but laugh at this teen-speak.
"Got a few minutes to listen?" I told him about buying a business. I pointedly did not tell him about the dead man I'd found.
"Cool beans, Mom. Granddad would be proud of you."
I smiled to myself. Tommy was right. My father would have been happy for me.
"How's Poppy?"
I told Tommy the high points, and he promised to text message his great-grandfather a "get well" sentiment.
"Dad called," my son said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 78
