Years ago, I’d watched one of my dad’s crew slip and fall off a steep roof, an image I never got out of my head. He was unbelievably lucky, though, breaking only his arm and a couple of ribs. But I still got chills whenever I thought about it.
From where I stood, I could see that the entire front part of the roof had been stripped of all the old wooden shingles. While wooden shingles were more authentically Victorian, we preferred to use an asphalt composite that came in layered sheets that had the look of real shingles. The material was fire-resistant and guaranteed to last forty years. And it looked pretty, which counted for a lot in my book.
I had a tendency to gush about the products I believed in, like those shingles. With all the PR work I did on their behalf, my guys thought the company should send me residuals. My friends, on the other hand, just thought I needed to get out more.
I spotted two of my guys, Sean and Billy, ascending the scaffolding pipe like two monkeys climbing up a tree. I’d gone to high school with both of them and had known them most of my life. I loved having them on my crew because they worked like maniacs and showed little regard for my status as their boss.
“Sean,” I shouted.
He turned around, saw me, and waved. “I’m not contagious and I’m feeling a lot better, so don’t lecture me.”
“I won’t lecture you, but if you have a relapse, I’ll kill you.”
“It’s a deal,” he said, laughing.
I shook my head. The guy had been home in bed with the flu for most of the week. “Just stay away from me. And . . . be careful.”
“You got it, boss” he said, and kept climbing.
Johnny, another hard worker, was already on the roof, hammering down the last sheathing layer of oriented-strand board, or OSB. These boards looked similar to a piece of plywood but actually consisted of a combination of thin wafers of wood, resins, and wax. The product was amazingly strong and was meant to resist heavy weight, strong winds, and the contractions and expansions that occurred in humid areas like ours along the coast.
Today we’d be covering the sheathing layer with roofing felt, a water-resistant underlayment that kept the deck boards dry. It was similar to tar paper, but heavier and better at deterring moisture. It came in a roll and was attached to the sheathing by means of a staple gun, and that was why I was there. I needed to get rid of some excess irritation, and there was nothing better than a staple gun for that. Painting walls or measuring drywall wouldn’t do it for me and pounding wood with a nail gun was too intense. My staple gun provided me with a great way to work out my frustrations without having to punch someone’s lights out. That was a big joke, of course. I wouldn’t dream of actually hitting anyone. But sometimes things drove me a little crazy, and believe it or not, pounding out a few thousand staples in rapid succession often helped calm my nerves and put things in perspective. Besides, it was fun and good exercise if you did it right.
The mystery surrounding Jesse’s house had been raising more questions than I had answers for. I was frustrated and unsure what to do next. We had a priceless necklace to deal with, an intruder who was possibly a murderer, and a handsome police chief who said he trusted me but still didn’t always expect me to do the right thing.
I couldn’t wait to wrap my hands around that staple gun and go to my happy place for a few hours.
*
“Hey, Shannon,” Billy called. “You’ve got company.”
It took me a few seconds to realize Billy was talking to me. I really had zoned out, and it felt good. I scanned the roof and noticed for the first time that I’d finished almost half of the front side of the house. Not bad.
I stretched my back and turned to take in the view from the roof. In the distance, maybe a quarter mile up the coast, the pure white tower of the lighthouse stood tall and solitary. I loved that image of the stalwart spear shooting up from the rocky breakwater to light the way on a stormy night.
“Yo, Shannon,” It was Sean shouting this time. I turned to see him pointing down toward the front yard. “Wake up, boss. Look who’s here.”
I blinked and shook my head a few times. I really had been in a zone. Staring down, I saw Eric Jensen standing on the front walk, looking up at me. No wonder Sean and Billy were trying to get me to move my butt.
I waved at the police chief. “I’ll be right down.”
Looked as though my good times were over.
When I was back on solid ground, I unbuckled my harness, grabbed my thermos, and chugged down a big gulp of iced tea. I had worked up quite a thirst on the roof because while the air was still cool, the late January sun was bright enough to make me sweat a little. And Eric’s presence didn’t help.
He found me at the side of the house where our worktable was set up and covered with open tool chests and roofing materials. He scrutinized the harness and then gazed up at the roof. “That’s a long way up. Ever get dizzy up there?”
“No, not dizzy. I’m not afraid of heights, but I am afraid of falling. I would wear the harness even if it wasn’t required.”