“Eli,” Seth says when we all sit down a few minutes later, mouth full of garlic bread. “Tell us about your new job.”Chapter FiveVioletI flip through the pictures one more time. There’s the airy, bright loft space. There’s the small-but-modern kitchen, complete with a farmhouse sink. There’s the open-plan living and dining room; also small, but bright, sunny, welcoming, and all the things that my trailer isn’t.
Last but not least: there’s the view of Deepwood Lake, shot from the cabin’s deck, the day outside perfectly cloudless and beautiful.
I bet it’s always sunny at this cabin, I think wistfully, sitting in my tiny office. I lean my chin on my hand, staring at my computer, phone held to one ear.
I bet the neighbors there never shoot beer cans off the top of a fence post with a BB gun at three in the morning when they’ve been drinking for twelve hours straight.
Also, nothing there leaks when it rains. Ever.
I glance at the price one more time. $97,000.
I’m so, so close. And yet…
“Thank you for holding, Miss Tulane,” a voice on the other end of the phone line says, jerking me out of my cabin-by-the-lake reverie. “And thank you for confirming that you did not purchase the Wet And Wild Pool Party Floating Mechanical Bull With Real Bull Sound Effects And Bonus Accessory Drink Floats.”
“Not a problem,” I lie. It’s actually been at least three days worth of problems, but given that it seems like my stolen credit card woes are coming to an end, I let it go. I’ve already requested replacements of everything else in my wallet and this is, at last, the final piece.
I’m pretty sure I left it on the counter at the Mountain Grind on Friday morning when I got coffee. Someone must have taken it. I’d love to know who so I could give them a piece of my mind, but I’ll settle for having fraudulent charges removed from my credit card.
“Now, just to check, these other purchases on your card are correct, yes?” she asks.
I frown. I froze all my credit cards first thing when I woke up Sunday morning, and at the time, the only suspicious purchase was a floating mechanical bull.
I don’t even understand how a floating mechanical bull works. Doesn’t it capsize and dump its rider directly into the water the moment it starts moving? Doesn’t the bull have to be braced against something more substantial than water?
Though maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s some sort of special fraternity edition, used for wet t-shirt contests on spring break or whatever it is fraternities do. I don’t know. I went to a frat party once for about five minutes before some guy asked me if I had any Alpha Pi in me, then asked if I wanted some. It didn’t even make any sense.
“Miss Tulane?” the woman on the other end of the phone says, pulling me from my mechanical bull contemplations.
“What other purchases?” I ask, wondering what one buys to go with a floating mechanical bull.
“There are just a few,” she says, and I hear clicking in the background. “A fuel purchase in Iron River, Wisconsin for forty-two fifty-four, a charge for one hundred nineteen dollars and three cents at Mickey’s Candy Castle in New Haven, Connecticut, and another charge for three seventy-five and seventy-four cents from We Love Wrapping Paper Dot Com.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. Whoever stole my card has been getting around, and they’ve been buying some weird stuff.
“Was it all wrapping paper?” I ask.
“I’m sorry?”
I glance at the clock. I’m supposed to be at the all-staff meeting in seven minutes, but I also really want to know how much wrapping paper three-seventy-five-seventy-four buys. A lot, right?
“Did someone use my card to buy almost four hundred dollars worth of wrapping paper? From We Love Wrapping Paper Dot Com?”
There’s a pause.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell from this transaction report,” she finally says.
I look around my office, crammed full of wedding ephemera for the upcoming weekend, and wonder exactly how much wrapping paper that is. Maybe whoever stole my credit card really, really likes giving gifts. Maybe they’re going to wrap several cars in wrapping paper as a prank. Maybe they have a fetish and need to be wrapped before they can achieve orgasm.
If it’s that last one, I actually kind of feel bad for them.
“Can I assume that you didn’t make any of these charges?” she prompts.
“Yes,” I say, my mind still half on the possibility of wrapping paper fetishes. “I mean, no, I didn’t make any of them. I thought I froze my cards on Sunday morning, so I’m not sure how those charges got there in the first place.”
“Thank you. Do you mind holding for one more minute?” she asks.
The hold music starts before I can say please don’t make me hold any more. I sigh and go back to flipping through the pictures of my dream cabin: a bathroom with a real bathtub. Hardwood floors. A big oak tree out front. Sure, it’s only about a thousand square feet, but I can deal with that for that kitchen and that view.