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There would be a whole lot less problems in the world if everyone just spoke the truth.
“What? No,” Chester sputtered.
“You’ve asked me five times, in five different ways, if this is what I want. The first was within two and a half minutes of meeting me. Is it because you don’t think I’m smart enough? I might not have ever owned a bookstore, or a tattoo parlor, though I guess I don’t own that, just the building, so no, I’ve never owned a building where I ran a business and rented space for another or was a landlord, but I can do it. And if for some reason I decide I can’t or I don’t want to, I’ll let you know. Okay, maybe not you because I’m honestly not sure I like you, but someone. I’ll let someone know.”
He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. Wilma Allen chose this guy? If she were alive, I’d have had a word with her about her judgment—in the kindest way possible, of course.
“My apologies, Mr. Copeland.”
“Milo,” I replied.
Things went more smoothly after that. There was a lot of talking, a lot of reading, because I didn’t believe in signing papers I hadn’t read, and then a lot of giving my signature as well. My phone kept ringing, Mom on the screen each time. I muted it. How did she expect me to concentrate with the incessant buzzing?
“Wilma Allen didn’t have a house?” I asked when we finished. He hadn’t mentioned one. There was the apartment above the store, but Tattoo Guy lived there. He and Wilma Allen must have been very close.
“She sold it years ago to buy the building. She lived in the apartment for a long time before she moved in with her gentleman friend.”
“She had a lover?” Gentleman friend was a dumb thing to call someone.
Chester sputtered again. People were so odd about sex. On the one hand, lots of fluids were going back and forth, so if you thought about that part of it, I could see where the gross factor came in, but that wasn’t the issue. It was something no one wanted to talk about; they were more comfortable discussing or witnessing violence than sex. I’d read a lot about it.
“I don’t know the nature of their relationship,” Chester replied.
“Oh, I’ll ask him. Can you write down his name and address?” I’d stayed later than I’d planned, and I still needed to get out to Little Beach Island, which totally needed a new name. I’d also have to find a hotel to stay in, and I hated hotels.
“I’ll give you his name and phone number,” Chester replied.
“That will do.”
I packed up all the papers he gave me in the bag I’d brought up with me. I now had the address for the building, leasing information for Tattoo Guy, and anything else I would need. He handed me keys next, each one labeled for what it went to. I didn’t know if it was Chester or Wilma Allen who had done that, but I chose to believe it was Wilma Allen. Labels were awesome, and maybe it meant I had something in common with her.
“Thank you very much.” I held out my hand for him, and we shook. Hopefully I’d never have to see him again, and if I did, I prayed he shaved the mustache before that happened.
Since elevators weren’t my favorite thing, when the opportunity arose, I chose the stairs. I took those down and went to the parking spot where the car service I’d hired was waiting. My belongings were in the trunk, along with a couple of small bags in the back seat. I could have bought new things, but I liked my old stuff. There was often an adjustment period for me, and I’d already have to deal with that when it came to a bed. Once I was settled, I’d pay to have my old one shipped.
“Mr. Copeland,” the driver said, opening the door.
“Milo,” I replied. I was so over being called Mr. Copeland.
I climbed in, and he closed the door behind me. I should probably start using an app to find a ride, but would there even be many options on Little Beach Island? In San Diego I used Mom’s driver, and the current one was a service I’d found for airport transportation. I wouldn’t be using them consistently, and while I was good with money and had some saved, I didn’t want to waste it. I also didn’t want to accept any from my mom because I wanted to prove to her that I could handle this on my own.
I enjoyed the scenery as we drove. It wasn’t what I was used to growing up in Southern California. There were tons of cliffs and rocky, rugged beaches with lighthouses in the distance; more greenery too.
