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“So can’t you just—”
She cut me off with a sharp look. “It doesn’t work that way.”
A strange anger welled up within me, like nothing I’d ever felt before. The absurdity of everything was too much to comprehend.
“This is like living in a clown world,” I declared numbly. “You might as well fit me with the giant shoes.”
“Let us know your size then,” the woman shot back. “When we come to do the inspections we’ll bring them, along with the rubber nose.”
I snatched the list from her hand, then scowled down at it. Scheduling all these inspections could take weeks, possibly months. All I could see was red.
“Soil stability tests?” I spat. “Septic system analysis?”
The woman stood there impassively, looking around at the various half-finished projects. She scribbled something into her notes.
“Water tablepercentagesurvey?” I cried. “What the seven hells is—”
“You’re close to maxed out on the square footage of your driveway. To pass that inspection, you might have to break up some asphalt.”
“Break up my driveway…” I breathed.
“Or your walkway,” she offered helpfully. “The inspector, of course, will tell you exactly how much—”
“GET OUT.”
The woman’s mouth curled into a half smile, as if she’d expected this outcome all along. It obviously wasn’t the first time she’d been tossed from a home.
“I’m posting a second copy of this on your front door,” she pointed at the order. “You’re to stop all work, effective immediately.”
“We’ll at least wrap up what we’re doing,” I agreed begrudgingly. “That way—”
“Oh no,” she cut in. “You won’t do a solitary thing. You can’t start or finish any projects, tack up a loose board, or even hammer a single nail. Any of that will violate the stop work order, and then you’re in for additional fines and some serious delays.”
“Can we at least pick up our tools, your majesty?” the foreman spoke up. His sneer of contempt was priceless. I knew I liked this guy.
“Go for it,” the inspector barked back.
With that she headed for the exit, her job done. I couldn’t imagine being this person, having to bring news like this to people on a daily basis. But here we were.
“Oh, one more thing,” I called out.
She reached the door, her bun still fixed tightly in place with every step. Finally she turned.
“How come none of this stuff showed up when the original building permit was applied for?” I asked. “Yet somehow, for some reason, it’s all showing up now?”
“Mr. Venturi, I’m not the one who—”
“Got paid off?” I interjected smoothly.
The woman stared back at me silently, but uncomfortably. Her air of confidence was still there, but for a second or two, I saw it waver.
“Yeah,” I told her, dismissing her for good. “Thought so.”
I sat for a good five or ten minutes, letting myself cool down. Then I jumped up, stormed out of the house, and took the ride over to the restaurant.
Tyler was inside, making headway on one of the more finicky beverage machines. Or at least he should’ve been. Instead, he was staring out the front window, watching my approach. Just as I pulled up another car sped off.
“A friend of yours?” I jerked my thumb.
