Work-related headaches dominated the next day, starting with a visit from the building inspector who, according to Ryder, arbitrarily reinterpreted codes, requiring a change in exterior doors already installed.
After spending half the day in Hagerstown straightening it out, Beckett came back to the site only to learn the tile supplier had mis-ordered the flooring in one of the guest room baths, and apparently—oops—forgotten to order the entire supply of another pattern. And now claimed their installer couldn’t begin the job for six weeks.
He’d have booted that nightmare to Owen, but his brother already had his hands full in a meeting with the mechanics about the building’s sprinkler system.
He retreated to his home office, and spent the next hour giving the salesman who’d screwed up a bigger headache than his own.
In that, at least, rode some satisfaction.
When he finished, he grabbed a Coke, swallowed some aspirin, then headed back across the street. He caught Owen in the parking lot.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“I’m going to put in some time in the shop. Look, Ry told me about the tile screwup. I’ll kick some ass in the morning.”
“Already kicked. Emergency meeting. Where’s Ry?”
“Third floor, last I checked. Hey, I’d better tell you about the gallery space next to the bookstore, and Mom’s latest brainstorm.”
“Not yet. Let’s go.”
They found Ryder on the third floor, installing one of the custom panels in the window well. “Fits like a glove,” he said, “and looks fan-fucking-tastic.”
D.A. thumped his tail in agreement, and probably hoped someone had food on them.
“That’s one thing that’s gone right today.”
“Tell me about it.” He glanced over at his brothers. “Did Owen tell you?”
“I’m telling Owen, and you. First, don’t get into a pissing contest with the building inspector even if he’s being a dick.”
“Hey, listen—”
“No. You were right, but you cross cocks with County, it can just bog up the whole project. The exterior doors meet code, were approved and signed off on previously. They stay. But let Owen or me handle the dirty work, if it looks like it’s going dirty. Next—”
Ryder set down his nail gun. “Give me that Coke.” He snagged it out of Beckett’s hand. “If you’re going to lecture me, I deserve a nice little treat.”
At the word
Ryder merely glanced at him. “Mine.”
“Next,” Beckett continued. “I reamed the salesman. Asshole tried to tell me he meant to order that entire run, how it’ll only take a week to get in. Which is bullshit,” Beckett said before both of his brothers could. “Everything we ordered from them’s taking weeks.”
Owen grabbed the Coke from Ryder. “They came recommended, made a damn good pitch, and swore they could handle the job. Lesson learned.”
“I’m not blaming you—much. The vendor screwed up, big-time. They’re expediting the replacement tile and the one he didn’t order—at their expense, and we’re getting a ten percent discount for our inconvenience. I talked to the owner.”
“Nice work,” Owen commented.
“I learned from Dad, too. The salesman’s ass is in a sling where it deserves to be, the company’s on notice, and you’re going to follow up every day to make sure they don’t screw up again.”
“I’m on it.”
“And they’re not doing the install.”
“Wait a minute. Wait—”
“You didn’t just spend two hours on the phone listening to excuses, wheedling, and bullshit, while the owner tried to evade and stall. We don’t deal with that kind of company. We’ll stick with them for the tiles because it’s a worse headache to start over with what we’re missing, but I’m damned if they’re getting any more work out of us.”
“I’m with Beck,” Ryder said.
“Just hold on. We’ve got a lot of specialty tile—glass tile, imported, intricate patterns. We need installers with experience handling that kind of work, and a good-sized crew.”
“I’ve got the owner of another company coming in to look the job over. He’s one of the guys who dropped off a business card. He’s local, he’s hungry, and he gave me three references to check out. He checked out. He’s on his way. You talk to him,” he told Owen. “If you don’t think he can handle it, you find somebody else. But we’re finding somebody else. It’s a matter of principle.”
“You know how he is when he’s got his panties in a twist,” Ryder pointed out. “Besides, he’s right.”
“Great. Fine.” Owen scrubbed the heels of his hands over his face. “Jesus.”
Beckett pulled out the aspirin bottle he’d stuck in his pocket on his way out the door.
“Thanks.”
“Now, what about Mom and brainstorms?”
Owen swallowed aspirin, chased it with Coke. “You might need these again. Now that The Gallery’s moved out of that space, Mom wants a gift shop to tie in with the inn.”
“I know that.”
“You don’t know she wants it now.”
“What do you mean,
Owen gave him a look of pure pity. “You tell her. She’s over there now with a paint fan, a notebook, and a measuring tape.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Beckett rubbed the back of his neck. Just when the headache had eased off. “You guys are coming, too. I’m not dealing with her alone.”
“I like it here,” Ryder claimed. “Doing carpentry. I like the quiet.”
“Then bring your hammer. We might need it.”
They’d owned the commercial space beside the bookstore for a few years. It had, over time, seen many incarnations. The latest, a little art gallery and framing shop, had moved across the river to a bigger location.
Now, as he could clearly see through the display window beside the door, his mother was in the nearly empty space holding a paint fan up to the wall.
Shit.
She looked over as they came in.
“Hello, boys. What do you think of this yellow? It’s pretty, it’s warm, but quiet enough not to distract from the art.”
“Listen, Mom—”
“Oh, and that wall there? That really needs to be taken down to a half wall. It’ll open up the space, lead nicely into the little kitchen area. We can leave that pretty much intact, use that for kitcheny things. Pottery, cutting boards, what have you. Then we’ll leave that doorway open leading down to what’ll be the office. Maybe do a beaded curtain or something for some jazz. Then upstairs—”
“Mom. Mom. Okay, this is all great, but maybe you haven’t noticed we’re up to our necks across the street.”
She gave Beckett a smile, a pat on the cheek. “This isn’t much. Mostly cosmetic.”
“Taking down a wall—”
“That’s just a little wall.” She bent down to rub D.A. when he leaned lovingly on her leg. “It mostly needs paint, and the bathroom there needs a new sink, that sort of thing. Freshen it up. You can spare a couple men while the floors are going in.”
“But—”
“We don’t want to leave this space empty, do we?” She put her hands on her hips as she turned a circle. “We’ll need a counter there, for the cash register, for checkout. Small again, nothing fancy. You can build that, can’t
