It was a craftsman style home, something people in the area loved to talk about. I had an interior designer with an Adderall addiction who carried on about the craftsman style for fifteen minutes every time I saw her. Apparently she was famous for renovating and saving houses just like this. The nervous preamble was as predictable as the sunrise and I indulged her because she was one of my devoted, frequent clients. I remembered the last conversation I had with her. We met behind a Peet’s Coffee downtown after I got the usual text. Coffee at the usual spot? See you in ten. Shirley was there waiting in her silver Mercedes. She greeted me pleasantly as I slid in. “I’m working on a beautiful 1970s home in the American Craftsman style. Gorgeous. Still has the original hand scraped wide plank flooring. The exterior is in shambles and the previous owners absolutely destroyed the wood upstairs by covering it with carpet. God, and the bathrooms! Horrific. They need a total overhaul.” “Hmm, sounds like a lot of work,”
