I’ve been trying to reach my mother for over two hours and I keep getting a busy signal.
I’m sure it’s just that the phone is off the hook, or that damn Melody wreaking havoc again. But god forbid there’s a real problem. Mama’s pretty with it, but lately she’s had some, um, moments. Would you mind going over to the apartment and checking for me?
Barney J Mackenzie stopped singing when the phone rang. He snapped off the transistor radio midway through Moonlight in Vermont, cleared his throat and picked up the receiver.
“Casa Tortuga Security. This is Barney.” His voice reverb-rumbled deep in his gut. Maybe he was getting the hang of this security business after all.
“This is Pauline Berger, Mrs Berger’s daughter?”
Mrs Berger was a tiny old gal, close to ninety years old, who walked the manicured paths of Casa Tortuga daily, spindly and lop-sided, skittering like a cricket with a bum leg. She was one of the few residents Barney had met face to face in his two weeks working security at Casa Tortuga Condominiums. Mrs Berger w…