Free Address to Die For by Mary Feliz Page B

the clock. You must be swamped. Are you working?”
    I looked at the clock. It was five past ten. I still had plenty of time. I glanced out the window, watching the dogs tugging on opposite ends of a knotted rope, growling, but with their tails wagging. I sighed. A contented sigh. I was having fun watching them and getting to know both of Tess’s personalities.
    â€œLet me help you with the moving, Maggie. No one sells houses just after school starts, and I’ve got plenty of time right now. Is your electricity on? Do you need the laundry done? Do you need any help unpacking? Is your Internet up?”
    I laughed. “I don’t even know what I need yet. I mean ... I’ve got a list....” I pulled my notebook out of my purse, a small battered backpack that had once been blue and white, but was now more gray and faded denim. “I’m a professional organizer. Lists are my thing. Being prepared for anything and easing people through transitions is what I do.” I shook my head and laughed as I smoothed out the page. “I’m starting to think I need to hire my own organizer.”
    My phone rang.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said to Tess, as I rummaged in my backpack. “It might be the movers.
    â€œHello? This is Maggie.”
    â€œMrs. McDonald, this is Roberto, from Stockton Movers? I’ve got bad news.”
    My heart sank. This reprieve in Tess’s kitchen had lifted my spirits and made me forget that nothing about this move had gone as expected.
    â€œWe got the team together this morning and they were on schedule until they got to the windmills.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, waiting for the bad news. I knew where he meant. Thousands of space-age windmills dotted the hills that separated the San Joaquin Valley from the San Francisco Bay Area. The windmills harvested power as gusts roared through the narrowed pass, but wind speeds at the top of the hill had been known to flip heavy big rigs. I imagined the worst—all our worldly belongings being run over by speeding motorists.
    â€œThe brakes locked up as they headed down the grade,” Roberto said. “The team pulled the truck over. The crew and your furniture are fine, but we’re going to have to send a new cab out to pull the trailer. We just can’t risk it with the bad brakes.”
    â€œNo, you’re right,” I said. “I’m glad no one was hurt. But . . . um . . . Roberto? When will you deliver our furniture?”
    â€œNot for another forty-eight hours, I’m afraid, ma’am. We sent all the other cabs out with teams this morning. We have to wait until one comes back with an empty trailer so we can swap it out for your load.”
    I could have argued with him. Pleaded. I could have reminded him that everything we owned was on that trailer, that it was taking longer to get it from Stockton to Orchard View than it would have taken to move it across the country. But I knew he was doing his best. Arguing would waste time and make us both more miserable than we already were.
    I sighed. “Roberto? Thanks for letting me know. Thursday will be fine. Should I expect you at noon? . . . That’s right. Twenty-one eleven Briones Hill Road, off Monte Viejo.”
    I hung up the phone, made a face, shrugged, and snatched a cookie from the plate.
    â€œTess?” I asked my new best friend. “Did you mean it when you offered to help with my laundry?”
    Before Tess could answer, my phone rang a second time. I glanced at the number, but didn’t recognize it.
    â€œMom? Can you come back to school?” Brian sniffed. “I’m in trouble and the principal wants to talk to you.” Brian’s voice and his fear were broadcast loudly through the phone, shattering whatever peace remained in Tess’s kitchen.
    â€œI’ll be right there, Brian. Hang tough. We’ll sort it out.”
    Tess grabbed her keys. “Leave Belle here with Mozart. I’ll