BOB THE PLUMBER
The Past
Unknown caller: This is Detective Smith from the Johnsonville police department.
Me: Oh, hello?
Unknown caller: We have a report that your car was involved in a fatal crash.
Me: Oh my god, that’s awful.
Unknown caller: Yes, we’re going to have to come and ask you some questions.
Me: Oh my gosh. I haven’t seen that car in months. My ex kept it when we broke up. But I’d be happy to help.
Unknown caller: Well the vehicle is still in your name. So you’re legally responsible for anything that occurred.
Me: Oh my goodness.
Unknown caller: (laughter) This is a joke. We wanted to give you a fright, and it clearly worked.
Me: …who is this?
Unknown caller: This is your ex’s mum, silly! (More laughter)
The Present
I take myself to Dock Bar. Although it’s where Timmy and I first met in person, I still consider it a safe space, my space.
The bartender recognizes me, and I trust her enough to tell her what happened. “Oh my god,” she says. “Can I come and give you a hug?”
I nod, and she runs around the bar and squeezes me. “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” she says. “I was in a relationship like that once. And from my experience, guys like that never change.”
I order some food, and I pick at it while nursing a drink. “Oops,” says the bartender. “I accidentally made the wrong drink for someone. So this one’s for you.” She winks at me, handing me the second glass, and I accept it, grateful for the kind gesture and for her understanding.
My phone buzzes. The moment I see the call is from ‘Bob’s Plumbing,’ my stomach churns with dread.
I don’t know any contractors on this island.
Timmy works on renovations. It has to be Timmy, somehow manipulating one of his friends to intimidate me.
My hand shakes as I stare at the phone, the pit in my stomach spreading wide, threatening to swallow me whole. I let it ring out, and something compels me to listen to the voicemail.
“This is Detective Smith from the Sunset Cay Police Department. Please call me back urgently.”
What the actual fuck? He’s somehow sending people to pretend to be police officers, now?
My heart pounds in my chest as I dial the number, my hands trembling so hard I can barely tap the screen. This could be Timmy messing with me… or maybe it’s something worse.
The line clicks.
“Detective Smith,” the voice on the other end says. To be fair, he sounds like a cop. I was married to a detective, and I can usually tell. Still, I’m cautious.
“Uh, hi, I got a message to call this number?” I manage, my voice shaky.
“Is this Margaux Benson?”
“Yes, that’s me.”