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I'm a Jill-of-all-trades. If there's something needing repairs in the house, I will fix it. Not much deter me.
Six years ago, my daughter, her husband, and their little one moved in with us until their new house was ready. My little granddaughter has asthma and I had carpet all over my first floor, so before they arrived, I ripped the old carpet off and replaced it with laminate planks. Not only did it look amazing, but it was so easy to clean and keep clean. A few years later, I got rid of the carpet in the basement and installed vinyl planks instead.
Cutting the laminate planks was messy. Very messy! If I'd known how much easier it was to install vinyl planks, I would have installed vinyl planks everywhere.
They say a writer should write about what she knows, so I'll introduce you to Violette, my main character from Mishandled Conviction. She's a middle-aged woman, a Jill-of-all-trade, a mother, and I know she can't wait to become a grandmother. This is her story, and it starts with her installing vinyl planks in an escape room...
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Down on one knee on the mock jail cell floor, Violette Hubert measured another vinyl plank. “Once I’m done, Phantom, inmates all across the country will be jealous of your accommodation.” Her voice echoed in the small escape room, designed to challenge any wannabe jailbirds’ wits and skills. “Though I doubt any of them aspire to die in their cell and become a ghost.”
Taking advantage of an unwelcome sick leave, Joe Kearn, the owner of the Escape Code Six Zero, had decided to add a fourth theme room to his selection of escape rooms. The story behind his new theme room, Haunted Jail Cell, was based on Phantom, a real inmate who haunted a condemned penitentiary in Ottawa after dying in his cell almost thirty years ago.
Even though she lived less than an hour away from Phantom’s alleged haunting ground, Violette had never heard of his ghostly legend until Joe invited her over for coffee a few weeks earlier. The invitation had taken her by surprise. Though unsure of his intentions, she’d crossed the street with a spring in her step and knocked on his front door with a touch of dread in her heart. Within minutes of walking into the kitchen—a kitchen she’d often visited under different circumstances—Joe had uttered the words flooring and extra money, quieting her misgivings.
Not only had he hired her on the spot to redo the flooring in his new theme room, but Joe had also added an extra five percent to the amount she’d quoted him. In normal times, she wouldn’t have taken advantage of his generosity, but with her first grandchild’s imminent birth, Violette needed all the money she could earn to help her daughter, Sophie.
Sophie had reached her third trimester. How her fiancé, Elliot, could suddenly abandon her and their unborn baby boy baffled Violette. The young couple had lived in Violette’s house for the past two years while they saved money to buy their own place. If Elliot’s behavior had raised any red flags, Violette had missed them. Her daughter had never been happier in her life, and Violette could have sworn Elliot felt the same.
A loud thump resounded in the room. Startled, Violette dropped her knife before scoring the vinyl plank she held in place with her knee.
“Joe?” Violette looked around the mock cell. “Is that you?”
When working alone on the premises, she kept the front and back doors locked. At this time of day, no one but Joe could, or should, venture in unannounced.
The uneasy feeling churning in her stomach abated when her gaze settled on the red brick that landed on the newly installed floor, leaving two damaged planks in its wake. “Swell.”
The vinyl floor, designed to withstand years of abuse at the feet of Joe’s customers, wasn’t supposed to be ruined in an instant by a rogue brick that shouldn’t have dislodged itself from the ledge of a fake barred window. “If that’s your idea of a joke, Phantom, I’m not amused.”
“What happened?”
At the sound of his voice, Violette dropped the brick, missing her boot by an inch but adding a dent to a third plank. It’s not going to be a productive morning.
“Sorry, Violette, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Joe entered the mock cell in his police uniform, slowed down by the stab wound he’d sustained to his left thigh while responding to a robbery. “As of noon today, I’m back on full duty. Still can’t run very fast, but it feels good to be useful again.”
A crown of grayish hair and a sharp, navy-blue uniform added a dash of sophistication to his imposing physique. He’d lost his wife last winter, and though he excelled at concealing his feelings, she suspected he hadn’t stopped grieving since the day they laid Adele to rest. Violette wouldn’t mind dating a nice guy like Joe for a change, but such a catch deserved better than to get involved with a woman who possessed a long track record of disastrous relationships.
“I’m happy for you, Joe.” Using his impromptu visit as an excuse to take a break, Violette sat on her toolbox and grabbed a bottle of water. “So you know, I’m blaming your ghost for everything that goes wrong...and the guy who laid the bricks.” In his place, she would have plastered thin decorative bricks under the window, not cemented real ones. “I’m not replacing the damaged planks until he comes back and fixes his sloppy work.”
A frown creased Joe’s forehead. “I’m afraid it won’t happen. The guy is in the wind after breaking the conditions of his probation. Do you know anyone handy with a trowel?”
When the need arose, Violette also leveled surfaces, capped pipes, redid plumbing, removed and adjusted doors, and fixed anything that prevented her from installing flooring. There weren’t many tasks she couldn’t tackle, but there were some she wouldn’t get caught doing even if her life depended on it.
“Well, I’m better with a trowel than your jailbird, not that he set the bar very high.” She hadn’t planned on mixing mortar, but by the same token, to be able to afford a car seat for her vehicle as well as Sophie’s would be awesome. “But it’ll cost you.”
A disconcerting smile curled his well-trimmed mustache. “I trust you not to take too much advantage of my wallet, Violette.”
“No.” With a sweep of his hand, he encompassed the entire room. “It looks great. If you need anything or run into any problems, send me a text. I’ll be at the station, but I can swing by on a dime.”
J. S.
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