The guy who’d sold me the house had promised to leave the key underneath a rock near the tire. I found it easily, and taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door.
The smell hit me first, before I even got all the way inside. It was a nauseating mix of sulfur, mildew and sweaty man. I gagged a little, reeling backwards. This was not promising.
I sucked in a deep breath of clean outside air and forced myself to go inside. What I saw was not good. It was not good at all.
There were no walls. That was my first impression. The whole interior was one small, claustrophobic space. The floor was linoleum, but I couldn’t make out the design; the dirt had obliterated most of that.
Alongside the far wall—far being a relative term in here—there was a tiny sink, a two-burner stove and a minuscule oven. The door to what was probably supposed to be a fridge was propped open. Beyond that, I spotted a toilet and some kind of stall with a shower-head on top.
In the back space, which was supposed to be a bedroom, I assumed, a mattress teetered on a frame of rusted iron. And that mattress did not look new. Not at all, if the stains on it were any indication.
“No. Oh, no, no, no.” I stumbled back outside before I had to take another breath. “This isn’t going to work. I can’t live in this thing.” I leaned against the hood of my car, trying to rein in my thoughts. They were pinging around my brain like the steel orb in a pinball machine.
I had to call the man who’d sold this to me. There had to have been some sort of mix-up. I’d call him, and I’d make this right. Opening the car door, I fumbled in my purse until I found my cell.
My hand was shaking a little as I held the phone to my ear. Bobby Lucas answered on the second ring.
“ ’lo there, Bobby Lucas here.”
“Mr. Lucas, this is Emma—Carson.” I steeled my voice, making sure that it didn’t tremble one bit. “We spoke numerous times. You might remember I called from—”
“Philadelphia, yeah, of course I remember. What can I do you for?”
I swallowed. “I’m down in Florida now. I got here very early this morning. This afternoon, I drove to my property, expecting to see the modular home I’d arranged to buy from you in the space where I’d instructed it be placed.”
“Yeah, we delivered it day before yesterday, just like you asked. I went out there personally with the boys, because I knew you were particular about where you wanted her set up. There’s no problem, is there?”
“Problem?” I nearly shrieked, my voice climbing several octaves. “Mr. Lucas—”
“Call me Bobby. Everyone does.”
“Bobby.” I gritted my teeth. “This—this thing that’s here on my land—it’s not what we agreed on at all. I told you I needed a one-bedroom, one-bathroom modular home with a small living area and a kitchen.” I wheeled around and flung one hand in the direction of the monstrosity before me, as if Bobby could see me. “What is here is not that at all. It’s basically a box on wheels.”
“Hey, no, no, no,” Bobby protested. “It’s exactly what you told me you needed, and it’s what you signed off on. I sent you the paperwork.”
“It is not at all what you described.” I let my head drop back and closed my eyes. “It’s—it’s not a home. Hell, I wouldn’t even go camping in something like this. It’s primitive.”
“This home has rustic charm,” Bobby corrected me. “And it meets all your requirements. It’s got a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen and a sitting area.”
“The bedroom is just the back of the trailer. There’s not a closet or even enough space for a real bed. The kitchen is a mini-fridge, a two-burner gas stove and a sink that won’t fit one regular size plate. And the bathroom—don’t even get me started on that. It’s just a toilet and some sort of shower thing—and it doesn’t have a door.” I was full out wailing now. “A bathroom has a door by definition, Bobby. A door is one of the minimum requirements.”
“Well, now, calm down,” he soothed. “First off, why are you so all-fired worried about a door? Didn’t you tell me it’s just you living there? What do you need a door for? You’re out in the middle of nowhere. Not a soul to see you do your business.”
“That’s not the point. The point is that this thing you delivered is not what I wanted, and it’s not what I’m going to keep. So you get out here and pick this up, and when you do, bring me a real modular home. Something with a real bedroom, a real bathroom—with adoor—and a kitchen.”
“Hmmmm.” Bobby cleared his throat. “You do recall that you bought this trailer, don’t you? You signed a contract. A bill of sale. And you paid for it. This isn’t like buying a pair of shoes, lady. You don’t just trade it in for a different color. If you want something different, you’re going to have to buy it from me. Start from scratch.”
Dread rose in my throat. “But—why? You can just trade it out. Take this one, and give me the one I want.”
“Doesn’t work that way. That’s what I’m telling you. If you want to come out here and look at what I have in stock, you’re welcome to do it, but you’ll have to either keep what you have now or sell it.”
“Sell it to who? I wouldn’t use this place for my dog, if I had one.” I shook my head. “I can sell it back to you, right? And then you can credit the sale for the home I told you I wanted in the first place.”
“Ahhh . . .” Bobby stretched out the syllable. “Might be I could buy it back from you. Of course, it wouldn’t be at the same price, you understand. It’s now a resale, so there’s depreciation—”
“How can there be depreciation? It’s been off your lot for less than twenty-four hours.”
“That’s just how it works. Plus, remember that I’ll have to charge you again for coming to get it.”
