exploded. All I knew about cigars, I learned from observing my colleague Dora Sarkes-Robinson. And even I knew that a good cigar didn’t smell or look like that.
“Yeah, I’m real sorry. Who are you?” I asked, my head throbbing without my coffee.
“Artimus Apostolides. Call me Artie. You know, you’re out of cream.”
“I don’t keep cream in the house. What are you doing, here, Artie?”
“Donald Keyser told me to come. So here I am. You really don’t have any cream? Your coffee is kind of strong.”
Ah, it was beginning to make sense. Keyser was who we thought would be doing our electrical work; he’d promised that either he or one of his people would be out to do the several jobs we needed—upgrading the electrical for the attached outbuildings so I could have my new washer and dryer out there instead of in the basement, adding the new box for the main house, some other items—as soon as possible. When we were discussing the projects with him, he’d promised us the moon. Now that we were trying to get him to do the work, he acted like we were lucky to know him. “No cream. And we were expecting you to come more than three weeks ago.”
“I’m here now. It would have been a lot easier if you could have had us here last week. Saved me some trouble.”
I bit back a retort, and watched him searching the counters. “Here we go, here we go.” He found the sugar bowl, dumped in two heaping tablespoons of sugar and stirred, then carefully replaced the wet spoon back into the sugar bowl. I felt my teeth grinding.
“Look, Artie, are we going to do a little electrical work today? Sometime soon?”
“Sure we are. Or I am—you’re not one of those kind of ladies who hover around and watch my every move, are you?”
I sighed. “Only when I’m writing the checks, Artie.”
Artie nodded, satisfied, took a big slurp of coffee, and then frowned. “Oh.”
“So what’s up first today?” I went over to the coffeepot. It was empty, but still turned on; my headache redoubled at the sight. I flicked off the switch.
“I thought I’d just get an idea of what the job was going to be.” He settled back against the countertop, and slurped some more coffee. “You’ve got to sort these things out carefully, don’t want to have to redo anything.”
I reached into the manila folder on the table. “Here’s a list of what has to be done. Mr. Keyser said the work should only take about five, six days. Tops.”
“I’m not going to be rushed, do a shoddy job. You wouldn’t want that.”
I want my coffee, you oaf, is what I want. “I don’t want a shoddy job. I do want it done quickly. Do you need me to call the alarm company, let them know the power will be out?” I had already charged up cell phones and computers, pared the food down in the fridge to those that wouldn’t spoil in a hurry, and taken all the other precautions. Several times, now.
“I’ll let you know.” He finally set his cup down, rubbed his hands, and looked around. “All right then.”
Nothing. He stood there, slurped thoughtfully.
White stabbing pains behind my eyes made it difficult to be civil. “Yes?”
He sighed. “I really like a cruller or something with my coffee in the morning, don’t you?”
“I really like my coffee in the morning, but I’m not getting that,” I said. “You’ve drunk the last of it.” I knew for a fact that buying coffee beans was on my list of errands today; we’d gone through the crumbs and the emergency coffee—the assorted samples, gifts, etc., that accumulated at the back of the cupboard—at this point.
“Did I? Oh. Your boyfriend there, he told me to help myself. Next time, you’ll have to get downstairs a little quicker, huh?”
“Husband,” I said, through gritted teeth. Couldn’t figure out if “husband” was a clarification or malediction.
“Oh.” He began to pore over the punch list, looking around as he did. “Box is downstairs?” he asked, without looking up.
“Yep, I’ll show you,” I said, eager to do anything that would get him moving.
“No, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll find it. You just go on about your business.”
I bit back another retort, in the hopes that he was underway now.
No such luck. “So, you gonna make me knock all the time?”
“What do you mean?” All the time? Hell—that didn’t sound like five or six days to me.
“I had to knock to get