Ripped Apart (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 5) Page 2
“That’s not good,” Rip replied simply.
“Hardly.” I was surprised at how calmly Rip had reacted to Gracie’s message that someone on Regina and Milo’s street had gone missing. “Oh dear! Rip, you don’t think maybe it was Milo who was swept away, do you?”
“I wouldn’t think so. But who knows? Regina did sound very upset. Guess we’ll just have to wait until she can contact us again. Try not to stress out about it, honey.”
“All right.” Fat chance of that!
Sleep that night eluded me. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. An uneasy feeling churned in my stomach, letting me know unforeseen changes lay just over the horizon.
Two
It was three days before Regina contacted us again. Three long days of waiting for our phone to ring. We stayed glued to the television, hoping for any bit of optimistic news or encouraging information. Most of what we saw were photos of total devastation and piles of debris everywhere. According to Jim Cantore, the storm had moved on up the coast and was now dumping a record-setting fifty-one inches of rain on the Houston area.
When the phone rang, it lay face-down on the kitchen table. Rip and I nearly knocked each other over racing to the tiny kitchen in our thirty-foot travel trailer to answer it. I reached the phone first, but I’d been more fleet of foot than Rip even before his recent bypass surgery and hip-replacement operation less than two years prior.
“Regina? Is that you?” I asked. I sounded breathless, as if I’d sprinted to answer the phone from two blocks away. I decided to let her dictate the conversation. If she had bad news, I’d let her tell it in her own time.
“Yes, it’s me. How are you and Daddy? Is he following the doctor’s orders and recovering all right from his bypass surgery?”
“We’re fine, sweetheart,” I replied. “And, yes, your father is getting stronger with each passing day. He balks at having to go to his cardio rehab sessions, but I have ways of making him compliant with his physical therapy, medications, and healthier diet.”
“I’m sure you do.” Regina laughed.
“Okay, enough about us.” Patience was not a virtue of mine, and I could no longer wait to find out how Milo had fared. “How are you and Milo? That’s the most important thing right now. I assume he’s alive?”
“Of course, he’s alive. Why would you even ask such a thing?” Luckily, I didn’t have to respond because she kept on talking. “We’re doing okay, all things considered. It’s been a rough week, for sure.”
“No doubt. And your dog?”
“What dog?” Regina sounded confused at first and then concerned. “Are you all right, Mom? You haven’t been cooking with sherry again, have you?”
“No, of course not. Been there, tried that, and didn’t like where it led me.”
“To the emergency room, you mean?” Regina laughed―at my expense―before continuing. “You know we don’t have a dog. I’d tell you if we got a new pet. You probably misunderstood me when I told you that the next-door neighbor’s dog got swept away in the hurricane.”
“Well, that’s good.” I then realized how awful that sounded. I’d been speaking before thinking a lot in the last few days. I quickly corrected my gaffe. “I don’t mean it was good that the poor dog got swept away. I feel for the pooch and its owners. I’m just glad it wasn’t your pet that died.”
“Oh, the Reynolds’s dog didn’t die. Scrappy survived somehow and, with the help of social media, was returned safe and sound to his home yesterday. Unfortunately, Reilly didn’t. She and Scrappy disappeared at the same time. We haven’t heard any updates yet today, though. As of yesterday, Reilly hadn’t been located or her body recovered. It’s presumed she drowned after being swept away by the ferocious wind when she chased after Scrappy. The little guy got spooked during the storm and ran down toward their fishing pier in absolute terror.”
“That’s awful, honey. I’m glad the dog survived his brush with death, but I’m so sorry to hear about your neighbor. Maybe she’ll show up yet. Keep the faith.”
“I’m trying, Mom. The aftermath of this storm is so sad. I’m trying to stay strong, like the town’s new motto―Rockport Strong―however, I still keep breaking down into tears at the thought of how many folks lost their homes, their businesses, their jobs, and even their schools. We suffered some loss too, but I swear, Mom, some people lost just about everything but their lives.”
“Sounds like your neighbor might have lost even that!” I exclaimed. I could tell Regina was getting worked up about her neighbor. I didn’t want her to collapse into a fit of sobbing again, so I changed tack on our conversation. “And speaking of being swept away by the wind, Milo wasn’t hurt too badly when he was blown off the roof, was he?”
I watched Rip roll his eyes as I waited for a response from our daughter. I had half a mind to switch the phone off “speaker” so I wouldn’t feel like I was being judged on my comments to our daughter, ridiculous as they might be.
“Where’d you get the idea Milo was blown off the roof? Is that why you asked me if he was alive?” Regina asked. If nothing else, her melancholy mood had morphed from sadness to astonishment at the flick of a switch. “Are you (bleeping) nuts, Mom? We weren’t even convinced we should ride out the storm inside our house. No way Milo would get up on the roof with wind speeds approaching one-hundred-and-forty miles-per-hour.”
“I thought you said…” I realized how foolish it sounded as I began to put it into words. An exaggerated guffaw from my husband made me feel even sillier. Dang it! I thought. I knew I should have taken the phone off “speaker” when the thought occurred to me that having Rip listening to both sides of the conversation would not bode well for me. I watched now as he mouthed the words I told you so. “Oh, forget it. Just a misunderstanding, I guess. So you are both okay?”
“Yes, we’re fine. Wish I could say the same about the house.”
“Did it suffer quite a bit of damage?” I asked.
“Yes, but I think every structure in town sustained some measure of damage, and many were totally destroyed. All-in-all, we were pretty lucky. Our standing-seam metal roof held up pretty well, compared to the composition-shingled roofs on a lot of the houses here. And the tiled roofs took it the hardest. The tiles peeled off like dominoes in many cases. We had broken windows from flying debris, and the garage door buckled, along with some other damage. Fortunately, our house was built to hurricane code when it was constructed in 2005.”
“That sounds like good news.”
“Yes, for the most part. There’s still a lot of water damage from all the rain that poured in through the shattered windows. We’ll be adding hurricane shutters when we get everything repaired. The problem will be finding available contractors to do the work. The remodeling companies, electricians, plumbers, roofers, and framers will be in short supply, as will windows, doors, drywall, and all other building materials.”
“But Milo owns MC Hammerheads Construction. Remodeling and flipping houses is his line of work. Shouldn’t he be able to get your house back in tip-top shape in short order?”
“That’s just it. This is a great opportunity for him to pick up some very lucrative jobs, and make some serious money. If he’s concentrating on our house, he won’t be able to capitalize on the situation. I don’t mean to sound callous or insensitive to other people’s plight. It’s just that we’re going to have to depend on Milo’s business to get by for who knows how (bleeping) long. My income has just been dealt a real blow.”
“I understand, honey.” And I truly did see where she was coming from. As a realtor, Regina’s livelihood had undoubtedly suffered a serious setback. There might not be more than a handful of homes in all of Rockport worth buying any time soon, and probably very few folks anxious to buy a place in the hurricane-ravaged area at the present time. The real estate market had undoubtedly just bottomed out in the area being called “ground zero” following the destructive storm. A lot of real estate agents would be looking for another line of work
to make ends meet. Regina and Milo were luckier than most couples, in that Milo was a home remodeler whose skills and services would be in high demand. A realtor’s job might not be since most houses aren’t even standing let alone in any condition to be sold. “I agree you kids need to make hay while the sun shines, so to speak. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your offer.” It was Regina’s next remark that threw me for a loop. “In fact, we were hoping Daddy could come down and work on our house while Milo makes money hand over fist on other people’s homes. Daddy’s so handy, you know. Just like Milo.”
“Well…” I began, stalling to come up with a good response. Three things troubled me. For one, Regina’s remark about Milo making money hand over fist did sound extremely callous and insensitive, no matter how hard you tried to spin it. Secondly, I saw our plans to spend the fall and winter at a waterfront campground in Gulf Shores, Alabama, fade away like cheap paint. Last, but not least, I wasn’t sure if I was even included in Regina’s invitation.
Apparently, Reggie suddenly realized her comment might have sounded offensive to me. As an afterthought, she added. “And we’d love to have you down here too, of course. I’m sure you’ll be a big help to us as well.”
It was nice to hear Rip wouldn’t have to find a place to board me while he and Dolly, our spoiled cat, traveled down to south Texas. This was one concern eliminated. Also on my list of concerns, and possibly the most critical, was that my dear husband was anything but handy. I’d watched him install a light fixture over our bathroom sink once. He didn’t even recognize the fact that the light was too close to the ceiling until he was ready to light it up and admire his work. It was then he realized the glass globes could not be raised up in order to screw in the light bulbs. When he comprehended he was going to have to knock another hole in the wall to lower the light fixture, he said, “Looks like I might have to call our handyman, Bob, to patch the hole. I’m not as good with drywall as I am with electrical projects.”
You can’t imagine how tough it was for me to keep my pie hole shut at that point. I nearly bit a notch out of my lip as I tried to restrain from telling him I wasn’t overly impressed with his electrical prowess either. Finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I said, “Despite your vast knowledge of all things electrical, why don’t we just have Bob lower the light fixture while he’s here to patch the hole? I’m sure your time could be better spent on tackling another problem.”
My sarcasm flew over Rip’s head like a misfired bullet. He had merely nodded, and replied, “You’re probably right, dear. I’ve been wanting to clean the carburetor on the lawnmower and overhaul the motor.”
“Swell. Good to know.” It truly was good to know because, while I was finding money in our tight budget for Bob to take care of the light fixture and drywall patch, I could search for some more to replace the lawnmower. After Rip screwed around with the motor and carburetor, he’d deem the lawnmower a piece of crap and declare it unfixable. And, thanks to Rip, by that time it would be.
Despite the irony, I did think it was cute Regina considered her father to be “handy”. She’d always viewed her father through rose-colored glasses. And, to give credit where credit is due, Rip was handy to have around if you needed to have a beer bottle shot off a fence post from one hundred feet away and you only had three bullets to get the job done. He hadn’t gotten the nickname of “dead eye Dick” during his career as a lawman for no reason. In this case, the “Dick” was slang for detective, a position he’d held for years, not for being a jerk. Rip was highly respected and well-liked by about everyone who knew him. He later retired as the sheriff of Aransas County, where Rockport was located and had been recognized for keeping the crime rate low during his tenure.
He was also handy if you needed someone to polish off an entire sack of pork rinds in thirty minutes or less while lounging in a recliner, washing those salty snacks down with beer, and reciting all the names of the players on the entire Dallas Cowboys football team.
Rip was even adept at naming and explaining the use of every one of his twenty-seven wrenches, four screwdrivers, and six pairs of pliers. However, if you expected him to be able to fix, build, or replace anything with those screwdrivers, pliers, and wrenches, you’d be pretty much shit out of luck. Rip loved collecting tools. Using them was a different matter altogether. As with the light fixture and lawnmower, after a commendable effort he usually ended up calling in an expert to do the work, or he just pitched the item he was trying to repair and bought a brand new one. To be fair, I collected patchwork patterns, and had yet to produce a single quilt.
“So, what do you think, Mom?” Regina asked. “Can you two come down?”
“We’d be happy to help out as much as we’re able,” I assured our daughter. “I’m certain your father will do what he can to help with repairs around the place. Just keep in mind, he’s not certified to complete any major repairs: plumbing, roofing, drywall, electrical―especially electrical―or tasks of that nature.”
“I know, Mom. To be honest, we mostly need him here to be a gopher for Milo.”
“Did you say gopher?”
“Yeah. Gopher. You know, go for this, and go for that,” Regina explained with a laugh. “But don’t tell Daddy I said that. We need you both here for moral support more than anything.”
“Well, we can definitely supply that.”
“The problem is that nearly everyone in town is in the same shape as we are, or worse,” Regina said. “There just aren’t enough tradesmen and contractors to go around. It’ll take months for people to settle their insurance claims, get SBA loans, or even get funds from FEMA to rebuild."
“Gosh! It sounds even grimmer than I imagined. Do you want us to head on down tomorrow?”
“No. Not yet. I’ll let you know. We’ll have to wait until some of our utility services are restored, which will no doubt take weeks. Right now we’re staying at a motel, but we’ll be purchasing a motorhome in the next few days. There’s currently a curfew throughout Rockport, anyway. No one can be in town between seven p.m. and seven a.m. until further notice.”
“Why on earth would―”
“Think about it,” Regina cut in. “They are trying to limit the amount of looting going on. The police department is spread really thin as it is. Plus, there’s no electricity, water, sewer, phone service, or internet services. There are few, if any, businesses open right now―no restaurants, grocery stores, gas stations, schools, or public offices, like city hall―and no one knows how long it will take until the situation improves.”
“Oh, my! Have they given any estimates on how long restoring the electrical power to town will take?”
“They said it could be months, and longer for other services, most likely. However, the way these electrical linemen are going at it, I can see us getting power back much earlier than originally anticipated.”
“That’s good news. Where are you and Milo staying?” I asked.
“We were able to find a motel room in Marble Falls this morning, which is why I was able to get a signal to call you,” Regina said. “It’ll be a long commute back and forth to Rockport, but it’s the closest place we could find with a vacancy.”
“Good grief! Why that’s something like five hours from Rockport.” It was hard to imagine every hotel room between Rockport and the Texas hill country was booked. But considering how many residents had to evacuate before the storm and were unable to return to their homes, and how many reporters, contractors, and electrical linemen were congregating in the affected areas, it was definitely conceivable. “I'm so sorry. How are you holding up?”
“I’m all right. I’ve been helping out friends and neighbors as much as I can, which has kept me busy. I’ve had some crying spells, of course, but I haven’t really had time to fall apart or grieve over all that’s lost.”
“That’s probably a blessing.” I tried to put a positive spin on the extremely negative situation.
“If you (bleeping) say so.” As Regina had been conversing with me, I noticed she’d been using a lot of profanity, which I didn’t normally let slide without commenting on. But I figured under the current circumstances, I could hardly blame her for being so upset. I kept mum about her four-letter words and listened as she continued. “While Milo’s been busy dealing with the house and moving all of our belongings into storage, I’ve been taking photos of the damage and trying to put together the paperwork for our insurance claim with the Texas Windstorm Insurance Association, which promises to be a damned nightmare. I’m sure you’re familiar with TWIA.”
“Yes. We had coverage with TWIA on our old house.” We’d had a couple of other policies, too, as we were also required to carry flood, fire, and personal property coverage. Insurance was not cheap when you lived on the coast. “Has there been any looting going on?”
“Oh, sure. There are always assholes who put the mighty dollar above all else and will take advantage of other people’s misfortune.”
“Oh, my! Looters are the lowest of the low. They rank somewhere below spoilt milk,” I said. “I feel so bad for everyone there. I’m curious to hear how all our friends made out, and the ladies in my bunko club. At least three of them have homes on Key Allegro. Gracie Parker just lives one street down from you.”
“Yeah, I drove by her house yesterday. It was heavily damaged, so I stopped in to check on her. I’m going back over this afternoon to help her box up photos, sentimental mementos, and important papers. I told her we’d keep them in our storage unit until she figured out what she was going to do. She may opt to raze the house, sell the lot, and move back to Illinois, where two of her children live.”
“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart. Thank you for helping Gracie.”