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“Well, it’s tough, you know, to get parts for old equipment. Stuff comes from all over the world these days, so what’re ya gonna do?” Then he glanced to the side. “Oh. Hello. What’s this?”
“What?” She watched as he took a step to the side of the door, leaned down, and picked up a vase of flowers—roses and baby’s breath—that had been tucked close to the house, just out of her viewpoint from the cracked doorway. Straightening, he said, “I think these are for you?”
Kristi wasn’t surprised. She’d received bouquets and live plants for the better part of two weeks, but she’d thought maybe they’d stopped coming. This was the first delivery in four days.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, and headed back to his van.
She followed him with her eyes as he retrieved equipment and tools, then left the door open for him and carried the flowers inside just as her cell phone jangled. She left the vase on a side table near the front door.
Answering, she kept her gaze on the technician. He seemed okay, but she was still unnerved, trying to be uber-careful these days.
The call was from Bella. “Hey, just letting you know that we’re actually doing it. Tomorrow, at six in the morning, if you can believe that, because Sarah has to be at work at seven forty-five.”
“What?”
“Running! We’re going to start at Crescent Park six a.m., sharp. That’s when it’s supposed to open, and from what I’ve heard it has great jogging and walking paths.” It did. Kristi had run the span of trails and bridges with great city views. Bella continued, “Thought you might want to join in. You’re the expert.”
“Six?” Kristi repeated, watching as the boxes of security components grew and the repairman suddenly looked up at her, obviously waiting to speak with her. “Look, I doubt it. Not tomorrow. Maybe another time? But I have to run now. I’ve got someone here.”
“Wait!” Bella said. “I need to ask you something. From the producer of the morning show at the station.”
“What?” Kristi asked, holding up a finger at Lance to indicate she’d be off the call shortly.
“Renee-Claire, the host, would love it if you would do a show. And soon. It’s almost Halloween and we’re doing all kinds of spooky stuff at the station and onBonjour, New Orleans!And since you’re the resident author who writes about serial killers and I know you, they thought I could convince you to be on the show.”
“Oh—God, I can’t think about that now,” Kristi said.
“Yeah, I know it’s a bad time, but they’re really interested! I meanreally! I think they’ve even talked to your publisher or agent or something.”
“What? Uh . . .”
Lance was still waiting.
Kristi said, “I can’t . . . I mean . . . I’ll call you back,” and she ended the call.
“Sorry,” Lance apologized by rote, then said, “I see you’ve got an older system. As in ancient. Are you sure you just want to upgrade it a little? You could really use a new state-of-the-art system.”
“Yes, yes, I do.” Kristi tried to turn her attention back to the problem at hand. “But I was told that couldn’t happen immediately.”
“We’re backed up.”
“Right. So I need something temporary,” she reminded him. “I just want a system that works now, even if it’s not state of the art. Just a tweak to what I’ve got until I can have a new digitalized system.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “That’s what the scheduler said. I’ll need access to your Wi-Fi, and is your electrical panel in the garage?”
She walked him through the house and told herself this was all normal for the type of system she could afford right now with what was available, something more than the do-it-yourself setups, but not a system capable of securing Fort Knox. At least not yet. However, he had her second-guessing herself and just being around him made her nervous. It wasn’t anything he said directly, though he was a little intense, but she didn’t feel comfortable with him checking out her house, moving from one room to the next, testing cameras, the alarm with its sharp screech, and motion detectors.
It’s all part of his job. It’s what you’re paying him to do,she thought.
She told herself that she was overreacting, that she was being supersensitive because of the recent trauma she’d been through, but by the time he had commented on the nails in her bedroom window with, “Wow. I see you’ve got some old-fashioned security here, but it’s the kind that can kill you if you’re trapped by a fire,” he was beginning to bug her, even though he was joking. He finally finished by remarking that she should change out the backup battery every year and have someone double-check the system regularly, then took the time to explain how it worked, showing her how to turn off the various areas in the house. He reminded her once more that though he’d upgraded her existing system, she really should spring for something more high-tech. “This system has its flaws and is really old.”
“I know. It came with the house when we bought it.”
After he double-checked his work he handed her a thin instruction manual for the new parts that was printed in six or seven different languages and left.
Relieved to see him go, she watched him through the sidelight of the front door as he spent another fifteen minutes with paperwork and on his phone before he backed his van out of the driveway and turned down the now-dark street. Once his taillights disappeared, she changed her security code and tested the app on her phone that linked her to the system.
Everything seemed to work.
