“Are you two investigating the murder?” he asked.
I closed the open eye.
“You are, aren’t you? Leave this to the police,” he ordered. “They’re trained for it. They get paid for it. It’s why we
No kidding.
“Beth.” His courtroom-hard voice was suddenly soft. “Don’t you see? I don’t want you in danger. I care about you. Please leave this to the police.” He cupped my cheek with his palm. “Please.” His lips brushed my hair, and he left.
I opened my eyes in time to see Marina fold her arms. “Well, well, well,” she said. “Isn’t he the handsome one?”
“Don’t start. All I’ve done is go to lunch with him a couple of times. He hasn’t even met the kids yet.”
“Really?” She put ten pounds of doubt into the two syllables. “He’s acting awfully possessive for someone you barely know.”
In some ways I barely knew him; in other ways I’d known him most of my life.
“For
I frowned. “He did, didn’t he?” Matter of fact, he’d treated me like a bubbleheaded female who didn’t have the sense to kick off her shoes if she fell into deep water.
“Um, you’re not going to give up, are you?” Marina sounded unsure, scared, and small, and I longed to have my confident friend back.
Evan had assumed he could tell me what to do. And why? Because he was bigger and stronger and a lawyer? Hah. There was nothing lawyers could do that children’s bookstore owners couldn’t do better.
Give up? I looked at Marina. “Not a chance.”
The doorbell of Agnes’s house chimed. Spot leaped up from the living room floor and burst into a flurry of barking. “Nice job,” I told him. “If Mr. Grip comes back and rings the doorbell, we’ll have plenty of time to hide.”
Standing on the front stoop was a stocky balding man. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Pete Peterson of Cleaner Than Pete. You’re Beth?”
At the hospital, Gus had given me the name of a Madison cleaning company that did forensic work. I’d called Gloria, squirmed as I’d told her most of the truth, and gotten her okay to hire someone to clean up the mess. “Sure, what do I care?” she’d said morosely. “Have them send the bill up here. It’ll get paid when the lawyers get done lawyering.”
“Yes.” I stood aside and waved Pete in. “Thanks for coming out on a Thursday night.”
“No problem,” he said. “Hey there, pup.” He leaned over and ruffled Spot’s ears. “What’s your name, big guy?”
“Spot,” I said.
Pete gave me a startled look, then laughed. “About time someone named a dog Spot. Don’t suppose you have a Rover, too?”
“Just a cat. George.”
“Good cat name.” He gave Spot one last pat and straightened. If he’d stood as tall as he could, he might have been an inch taller than my five foot five. His gaze flicked to my hands, then back to my face. “What do you need help with?”
I gave him a bonus point for not asking any questions and showed him around the house. “It all needs cleaning, and I just don’t have the time.” Or the energy. “How long do you think it will take?”
He ran a critical gaze over the mess. “Three hours, tops. I can do it tonight, if you want.”
“Will that cost extra?” I didn’t want to spend any more of Gloria’s money than I could help.
“Nah.” He smiled easily, and I found myself smiling back. It was the first time I’d smiled all day.
“Sounds great,” I said. “I’ll be in the master bedroom if you have any questions.”
My former splinters were aching as I tied up a garbage bag. “Almost done,” I said to Spot. “One more room and we can pick up the kids.” Despite their pleas to see Agnes’s messy house, I’d left them with Marina and a new bag of gourmet popcorn.
“Ooo ave ids?”
I jumped, turned, and shrieked. In the door of the guest room stood a monster. White from head to toe, the lower half of its face was covered with—
Pete lifted off his hood and pulled down the respirator. “Sorry about that.”
I put my hand to my chest. Heart still working, adrenaline still flowing—I was, in fact, alive.
“I always wear the hazmat—hazardous materials—suit when I’m working.”
“Sure.” I tried not to be offended that he was scared of my germs. “Safety first.”
He flashed me a boyish grin. “Just wanted to tell you I’m all done out there.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the living room and kitchen.
“Great. Thanks.”
He shuffled from one foot to the other. “I was surprised to hear you say something about kids.”
My tired brain made a small leap. “This isn’t my house,” I said. “It’s a friend’s.” Somewhere in the back of my head I heard a dry chuckle.
“Oh.” Pete looked puzzled, and I realized that, though I’d given him one answer, I’d created a whole list of new questions.
“Do you want some help with that?” Pete gestured at the bulging garbage bag.
Reflexively, I started to refuse the offer, but then I thought of Gus’s comment. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
He took the bag. “I’ll dump it in my van. No, not a problem. I rent a big Dumpster, and it’s not even half full.” With no obvious effort he lifted the bag, a weight I would have had to drag.
I took one last look around the bedroom and went into the study. Spot lay down in the doorway with a sigh. I waded through the mess, sat in the desk chair, and started flattening papers. A faint whistling grew louder and louder, turning into an off-key rendition of “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”
Pete poked his head inside. “Whoa. You’ve still got quite a mess in here.” He’d stripped off his white coverall and was back to khaki pants and denim shirt. “Do you . . . Um, I mean . . . would you like some help?”
I looked at him. He must have been sorely in need of business. Though I knew what that felt like, spending more of Gloria’s money didn’t seem right. “Well . . .”
“Off the clock, I mean,” he said hurriedly.
“Oh.” Now I was the puzzled one. Why on earth would he want to spend what was left of his evening helping a stranger tidy a room that wasn’t even hers?
He interpreted the look on my face correctly. “I just like to clean things,” he said, shrugging. “And if it’s helping you or watching the Wild lose another hockey game, well, lead me to an empty garbage bag.”
“We could do both.” I nodded at a small television tucked into the end of a bookshelf. “And who says the Wild will lose? Their new goalie is hot right now.”
Pete’s face lit up. “A fan! Now I’m staying for sure.”
With Pete’s help and garbage-hauling expertise, we straightened up the room before the end of the first intermission. We parted amicably at the curb, with his climbing into his van and my crossing the street and walking up to Marina’s house.
My children, up past their bedtime, were whiny. I gathered up their belongings while Marina pestered me for details. “Are you okay? Are you sure? How tall do you think that guy was last night? Do you remember anything? Did he take anything?”
Guiding a sleepy Oliver out the door, I told her I’d call her the next day. Once the kids were in the car and buckled in, I patted my coat pocket and felt the reassuring crackle of paper. I didn’t know if Mr. Grip had taken anything or not. But I had.
After dropping the kids off at Ezekiel G. the next morning, I rushed back home. Some things are best done in
