Chapter 10 #2
The door behind her opens, and a teenage boy pops his head out. “Mom, I need food. When are we eating?”
“Give me a minute, Joey. I’m helping a client. We’ll figure it out.”
Joey frowns before slamming the door shut.
That doesn’t look like it’s going well, but I’m sure teenagers are a twist to life as it is. The only other teenager I can think of right now is Lila, and I’m sure she does similar things with her mom and Avery.
“Sorry about that. He’s been through a lot in the past week.” She looks like she wants me to ask why, but I’ve got keys in hand, and I’m ready to get things rolling. More specifically, to see what I have to work with.
“Thank you again, Mrs. Matthews. I appreciate your help locating these. You’ve saved me a lot of pain.”
She smiles, but it has a predatory vibe. “Of course. If you need any help with your next purchase, don’t be afraid to ask.” She hands me a card.
“Of course. Have a good day.”
I turn and walk back toward town. I’ve got a handful of keys I need to start trying on the doors of the buildings I own, and at this point, I wonder if it would be easier to just have everything rekeyed. But we’ll start here.
Avery
I love Sunday mornings. They’re slow. Peaceful.
“What are we doing today?” Lila asks, padding into the room and climbing into bed. I realize how much our lives have changed this past year. There’s a peace now, and life is good.
“Let’s just stay in bed all day,” I say, pulling her closer.
She wiggles free. “No, Avery. Let’s do something fun. When will my mom be home?”
I turn in the bed and pick up my phone off the nightstand, opening the text thread I have with my sister. “It looks like they extended her contract. But maybe she’ll make it home this week,” I say, leaning over to brush some hair out of Lila’s face.
“Why is she gone a lot now?” Lila asks, her voice wobbling a bit. The girl has a lot of spice in her, but there are these small moments when she shows that pineapple interior.
I rest my hand on top of hers, giving it a little squeeze. “Well, because she’s trying to make it so you can have everything you need.”
“It was better when she was home all the time.” A small tear slides down her cheek, and I reach over, pulling her to me in a hug.
“We’re all trying to figure out how to do life now,” I say, patting her back a few times. “But we’ll get through it together. You should text her. Or try to do a video call. She might like that.”
Lila leans back with a sniffle. “She won’t answer. Or she’ll talk for two minutes, listening distractedly, before saying she has to go.”
I move my jaw back and forth. That’s a scarily accurate description of how most of our calls have been since Cora started traveling for work.
It’s the stress, I think. When I moved here, she’d just sold the home she and Lila had shared with Barry.
She thought she’d have money for a smaller place, but instead, most of the money went to the mortgage loan Barry had taken out for unknown reasons, along with the medical bills.
She tries to show it’s not crushing her, and I don’t want to add to that.
“How about we make some breakfast?” I ask, smiling. Anything to change the trajectory of this conversation. “Pancakes or waffles before we go out?”
“Waffles! With whipped cream and sprinkles!” Lila is sitting up in bed, bouncing while clapping her hands together.
You would think she was still seven with that excitement.
“We’ll see if we have any cream. Or if it’s gone bad.”
I slip out of bed, fixing the covers, while Lila leaves the room.
I change into casual yoga pants and a T-shirt and brush my teeth before heading to the kitchen.
“Okay, let’s get started on these waffles.” I pull out a bowl from the cabinet and grab a few of the ingredients I need for the batter.
“What is that?” Lila asks, a little nervously.
I hear a drip and groan. “Sounds like our sink is struggling again.” I open the cupboard door and see a small puddle of water. Grabbing a bowl, I set it under the leaking pipe. That will be for later to worry about. I don’t want to break the peace that is this morning so far.
“No, it’s not the water.”
I glance at the items on the counter. They’re all the regular ingredients I use to make breakfast.
“What is what?” I ask, still trying to understand.
“There was a loud bang. It sounded like it came from the ceiling.”
We both freeze, and then I hear a knocking above us, almost like a woodpecker outside my house in Oregon.
Could it be rats?
I shiver. I hope to never share any space with creatures like that.
I’m grateful to the company that rented us this place for a lower fee, especially since the rest of the apartments are still unfinished. But the headache that comes with all the little quirks isn’t my favorite.
The sound comes again, but this time it’s sharper, more like a hammer.
“Maybe someone is finally getting started on the place above us?” I say, glancing at the ceiling. I start mixing the ingredients in the bowl.
“On a Sunday?” Lila asks. She’s way too perceptive for her own good. “And who has a key? You keep us all secure like a bank.”
“Some people work when they can. We might just have to put up with the noise for a bit.” Her comment about the key causes me some unease, and I know we’re going to have to figure out what’s going on up there.
Lila hops down from her stool and heads down the hallway.
“Where are you going?” I call after her.
“To get my shoes, so I can see what they’re doing.”
“We don’t need to bug them, sis. It might take less time if we leave them alone.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “But wouldn’t you like to know if it’s one guy or several? Do you know how many women are taken from their homes without anyway to defend themselves?”
I groan. “I’m scared to know how you learn these kinds of stats.”
“The internet can share a lot,” she says, slipping on one of her shoes.
“Yeah, and we might have to put some filters on what you’re searching for.”
She’s got her other shoe on, and it’s then I realize she’s actually planning on going upstairs despite the statistic she quoted to me.
“Okay, but let me grab my shoes too.”
She’s out the door before I can catch up.
As I stumble up the stairs, I’m surprised by how many cobwebs are up here. I rarely go beyond our floor, but clearly this space still needs a serious cleaning before any renovations happen.
“Hi,” I hear Lila say.
“Hi,” a deep voice replies. “What are you doing this morning?”
“I’m wondering what you’re doing,” Lila says.
I step into the room and find her standing in front of Max. I’m not sure why I didn’t peg him as someone involved in construction, but I’ve been wrong before.
He looks up at me and smiles. “That’s a great question. I’m checking on the progress of these flats.”
It’s interesting that he calls them flats instead of apartments.
“I thought you were coming to me with a paper proving you should be up here?” I frown deeply, wanting him to know I don’t appreciate that lack of honesty.
He walks over, jingling with a large key ring attached to his belt loop, pulling a piece of paper out of his pants pocket. “I have it right here.”
I take the paper he’s holding out to me and unfold it. It’s an email from a logo I don’t recognize. Bauer something.
“Max,
We’ve heard things have stalled at our properties in Penrose Beach. Please check on those and hire the people needed to complete the project. We’ll locate information regarding access and anything else shortly.”
I fold the paper and hand it back to him.
With a raised eyebrow, he says, “Is that enough?”
“Are you an inspector?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
He shrugs. “Of sorts. I’m trying to figure out how much work is left.” He lifts his hand to wave at the space around us.
“Pretty much all of it,” Lila says bluntly.
We both laugh, and his laugh is…nice. Not that it has to mean anything.
Sarah needs to get out of my head.
“You’re not wrong,” he says. “Which is why we need to get someone in here to work on it.” He glances between us. “How did you know I was up here?”
I hesitate. I’m not sure how much I want to share, but Lila has no such concern.
“We live in the apartment downstairs. I’m pretty sure the people who built our apartment didn’t know what insulation was.”
“Do you know when it was finished?” he asks.
“We moved in about eight months ago,” I tell him.
Doubt flickers across his face, but it’s not like I’d lie about something like that.
“Who handled the build?”
Maybe he really is an inspector with all the questions he’s asking.
“Rusty was supposed to. He’s a local contractor. But Burt and Steve are the ones who made it livable.”
His eyes flicker at the names. “Is there something wrong with it?”
I hesitate. Do I tell him?
“Well…we can’t use two faucets at the same time. If someone’s washing dishes, no one else can take a shower or bath.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “It can be. Especially at night.”
“Anything else?”
I don’t want to complain. It’s still our home, and I’m grateful, but…
“The toilet clogs with about four squares of toilet paper.”
He scrunches his nose, clearly not expecting that level of detail.
“And, like Lila said, I’m pretty sure there’s barely any insulation in the walls. We heard you up here like you were in the next room.”
He rubs a hand over his face, and I can’t quite read what that means.
“That’s good to know,” he says. “I’ll report that back to management. What about your shop? Is anything wrong there? And did you have to pay for the renovation to make it how you wanted it?”
“So many questions,” I say, having to replay them in my mind to answer. “Nothing wrong as far as electrical and the other stuff goes. I paid to have people come in and get it done quickly.”
He frowns. “Someone local as well?”
“Burt and Steve did work on it.”
Shaking his head he says, “But the company who owns it, the one I work for, they never reached out to pay for any of it?”
“No. I’ve had no contact with the owners whatsoever.”
“Who do you communicate with about rent and other information?” Max asks.