Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [83]
Charlie had heard that there wasn’t that much snow on the roof; the snowblowers had made quick work of it. So what was taking so long? Surely they couldn’t be working up there on anything else. Maybe he had missed them somehow. If only he could think of a way to get one of the crew down here, or manufacture a reason for him to go up.
Charlie’s body was bathed in sweat beneath the heavy red velvet suit, and the Santa beard was almost more than he could bear. He pressed the tiny button on his digital watch and noted the time. Conceivably he could take a break, but where and what would he do?
“Charlie, is that you?” Harry Skyer answered his own question, peering into Charlie’s startled eyes. “Thought so. Doing walk-arounds now, huh? Have you seen Ramon?” he asked, tapping him on the shoulder. “It’s time to change the sale banner on the billboard by the roof, and he isn’t here. Do you think that on your way downstairs you could tell him to come up? I’ve called up there, but they’re not answering.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Skyer,” Charlie said hoarsely.
“That’s some cold you have there, Charlie. I didn’t think Santa ever got sick,” the store owner joked.
“Sounds worse than it is,” Charlie said agreeably. “I’ll get Ramon for you.”
How could he be so lucky? Quickly the big man walked to the escalator and rounded the corner. His breathing was ragged as he bolted through the exit door leading to the roof. He could pretend that he didn’t know where Ramon was, and that would explain why he was up on the roof.
Halfway up the long flight of stairs, he had to stop and rest. Instead of feeling better from all the medicine he was taking, he was feeling worse. His chest felt as though it were on fire, and he could barely swallow.
He opened the door leading to the roof, stuck his head out, and decided to go all the way. He was already sick—what did the cold matter? He spotted his coworker.
“Miguel, is Ramon up here?”
“Yeah, he’s over there on the snowblower.”
“Mr. Skyer wants him to change the banner on the sign.”
“Why don’t you do it, Charlie? I need Ramon up here. And it’s almost quitting time. Never mind. Forget it,” Miguel said, eyeing Charlie. “You look awful. You’d never make it up the ladder.”
Miguel waved to the short, slender man riding the chugging snowblower. Ramon shut off the machine and walked gingerly over the rooftop to his boss.
“Old man Skyer wants the banner changed.”
“All right, I do it now. I work the day shift tomorrow, remember?”
“Sí. Hey, Charlie,” Miguel called, “did you steal one of my propane tanks?”
Charlie shook his head, his stomach churning.
“Man, don’t look so scared. I’m only kidding. Some son of a bitch stole my tank. I report and nothing happens. Nobody do anything. Who pay for the tank when the time comes to take it back? Not me.”
“They can’t blame you, Miguel,” Charlie croaked. “It’s probably just some mix-up. Nobody in this place knows what anyone else is doing. It doesn’t pay to complain. When you complain you lose your job.” That should give him something to think about.
“Yeah. You right, Charlie. Let the bosses do what they want. I come, I do my work, and I go home. No more I tell them anything. They pay for the propane tank.”
“Forget it,” Charlie muttered. “Nobody will even remember. See you later.”
“Sí, Charlie. Later. You take whiskey for that cold.”
“Sure, sure,” Charlie agreed, going down the stairs. Good enough. He’d done his recon. Just checking. The plan was going forward.
Maria Andretti sat propped up in her bed, fluffy pillows behind her thin, wasted body. She still couldn’t see across the highway. She didn’t feel so feverish anymore, but she still didn’t feel good. It was such an effort to move.
“Mommy, look across at the roof. Do you see anything?”
“There are some men working, that’s all. Why?”
“Are you sure there isn’t someone else?”
“No, honey, just some men.”
“They’re getting the roof ready,” Maria said weakly.
“Getting it ready for what?”
“For Santa. It’s my miracle.”
“Maria, what are you talking about?” Carol Andretti asked nervously.