Page 87 of Save the Date
“Two and a half years, and nothing like this has ever happened. Ever.”
“What do you know about his background? How’d you come to hire this Bert Rosen?”
Cara bit her lip. “He was referred to me through an organization called the Step-Up Society. They work with men and women who’ve been through alcohol and drug rehab. Bert is a recovering alcoholic.”
“You hired somebody right out of rehab? Kinda risky, don’t you think?”
“His counselor at Step-Up is somebody I know. He vouched for Bert. I met him, we liked each other, so I hired him on a trial basis, and it worked out. It worked out great.”
“Pretty generous of you,” Detective Peebles said. She looked around the shop, taking it all in. “How about you? Have you gone through rehab? Is that why you’re sympathetic to somebody like your assistant?”
“No. I’ve not been through rehab. I’m strictly a social drinker. But I grew up with an alcoholic. I know the struggles they face to keep sober.”
“Your dad?” the detective asked.
“My mom,” Cara said.
***
She was still brooding about her police interview when the shop phone rang. She picked up the receiver, not even checking the caller-ID screen. “Bloom Floral Design,” she said, trying to sound perkier than she felt.
“Hello?”
Cara was so surprised, she nearly dropped the phone. The thready, high-pitched voice on the other end sounded just like her recently deceased landlady.
“Bernice?”
“Who the hell is this?” the voice on the other end demanded. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Uh, no. I’m sorry. This is Cara Kryzik. Is this Sylvia?” Come to think of it, Cara had never actually spoken to Bernice Bradley’s daughter. She’d always dealt with the older of the two women.
“Yes, it’s Sylvia.”
Sylvia Bradley sounded eerily like her mother.
“Um, well, Sylvia, I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am about your loss. Your mother was a remarkable woman.” It was the nicest thing Cara could say on the spur of the moment. “I’m sure she’ll be greatly missed.”
“Thank you,” Sylvia said curtly. “I see you’ve been calling to complain about the air conditioner on Jones Street? Again and again? Don’t you think it’s pretty indecent to be hounding me like this, with my mother not even dead a week?”
“Um, I’m sorry. Truly, very sorry,” Cara heard herself stammering. And then she remembered what Bert had pointed out. The Bradleys were the worst kinds of landlords. She paid a premium price for the town house on Jones Street, and had never been even a day late with her rent. The least she should expect from her landlady was a livable building. And when temperatures were in the nineties, that was definitely not livable. Not for a home, or a business.
Cara was emboldened by that thought.
“The thing is, my air conditioner is broken again. It’s the third time this spring. It’s been broken for ten days, and you know how hot it’s been. It’s bad enough that I have to try to sleep with no air-conditioning. But it’s embarrassing when I have clients, including brides, come into the shop, only to find it’s like an oven. It’s starting to affect my business, Sylvia. So I would really appreciate if you could get somebody over here to fix it. Today.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Sylvia said flatly. “Even if I could get somebody on such short notice, which I can’t. I have a lot of business to tend to, getting Mother’s estate taken care of.”
Cara’s fuse snapped. “No disrespect, Sylvia, but that’s not good enough. I’ve called you repeatedly, with no response, and I even sent a registered letter, so I know you’ve been notified. This week, I couldn’t take the heat another minute. I bought a window unit and installed it downstairs in the shop. And unless you send somebody over here to replace the central unit, I’m going to buy a second unit to allow me to sleep upstairs.”
“You do that,” Sylvia said.
“And I’m going to attach the receipts and deduct them from my rent next month,” Cara added.
There was a prolonged silence at the other end of the phone.Gotcha, Cara thought.
She heard paper rustling in the void. And another long pause.
“Maybe there won’t be a next month,” Sylvia said finally, with a dry, raspy chuckle.
