“Fine,” I said, looking between the two of them. “But if I need your help, Jean-Claude, BeBe goes in the truck with the AC on. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hmmph. Ma’am. That was twice this week. It made me want to fire him more than his recent misbehavior.
“Kit?” I asked.
“All right.” He handed BeBe off to Jean-Claude, who wrapped the leash around his wrist three times and started off down the street.
Kit looked at me. “Home alone? C’mon, Nina.”
“She’s a dog!”
With a disgusted look, he turned and headed into the backyard.
Stanley Mack, the carpenter I contracted, drove up the street, a load of lumber in the back of his truck. I waved.
I managed to work for four hours straight without any other interruptions. It was almost eleven-thirty when someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Nina Quinn?”
The woman backed up a step when I turned. I wondered if it had anything to do with me being covered in dirt. “Yes?”
“I’m Kate Hathaway. President of the Fallow Falls Homeowners Association.”
She was awfully pretty, with big blue eyes and reddish-blonde hair. “Ah. Meredith sent you.”
“Meredith is a bit high-strung.” She smiled, showing no teeth, yet it still seemed genuine. “But she means well.”
I wasn’t so sure. Not about the high-strung part—she definitely was—but about the meaning well part. I thought she rather enjoyed being bossy and demanding.
When I didn’t say anything, she went on. “I just need to make sure you have all the proper permits.”
I’d dealt with HOAs before, so I knew the drill. “They’re over here,” I said, walking her to my truck. The little ankle
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bracelet she wore tinkled as we walked, reminding me of TBS’s chimes, which reminded me of Tam, which reminded me I hadn’t called her in the last thirty minutes to see if she was okay.
It would have to wait until I was done with Madame President.
I grabbed my clipboard and the folder where I kept important files. I was rooting through it when she said, “Does Greta know about this?”
“Greta?” I asked. The Lockharts’ dog?
“She’s rather particular.”
My hand stilled. “The dog?”
“What dog?”
“Greta?”
Her big blue eyes got even bigger. “Greta’s not—”
“Nina!” Jean-Claude yelled. “Help!”
In a blink I took it all in. The big black dog chasing the small white cat. The dog-sitter spread-eagle on the sidewalk, holding his wrist.
I dropped my papers and took off running after BeBe, who’d already disappeared into the backyard.
“BeBe,” I yelled. “Here, BeBe!”
“BeBe!” Jean-Claude had picked himself up and was running alongside me. He turned worried eyes to me. “Is Kit going to kill me?”
“Yes.”
He slowed down. “Maybe I should go.”
I grabbed his arm, tugged him along. “Not until you catch her!”
“BeBe!” he yelled.
She wouldn’t even look at us. Her focus was completely on the little cat who seemed to be enjoying running BeBe ragged.
The skid loader’s engine fell silent. “Oh no,” Jean-Claude murmured.
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Heather Webber
“BeBe! Come to Nina!” I urged. No luck. She galloped through the backyard, this way and that.
“Jean-Claude!” Kit bellowed.
Jean-Claude went pale.
