Attic.
Oh no.
All he could see was attic and pink insulation. There was no second leaky layer to explore.
Hm. That’s not good.
He glanced down at the group. They blinked back at him.
“Think I found it,” he said. He cringed, hating he felt the need to lie.
“That’s good,” said Bob.
“Any minute,” said Frank.
Declan frowned.
Did Frank say ‘any minute?’ What did that mean?
A gust of wind caught Declan off-guard and he threw out his hands to catch his balance. His grip loosened on the hunk of plywood, and it snapped back into place, dislodging a chunk of roof tiles, which slid down the roof, teetered in the gutter for a second, and then tumbled to the ground not far from the men gathered below.
“Sorry,” called Declan as he dropped to his butt, head low enough the men couldn’t make eye contact with him anymore.
Something about the skyline caught his attention.
Is it getting darker?
He’d come out at first light, assuming it would get easier to see as time ticked by. But now, it felt as though—
For the first time, he saw the deep, gray storm clouds headed his way. Another gust of wind ruffled his hair and he heard the low rumble of thunder.
A storm was coming fast.
Declan heard a scraping noise and stood to stare down at the men. They folded up their chairs. Frank and Bob disappeared beneath the carport to return their seats to their places. The neighbor Declan didn’t know was already half way across the street, a beach chair tucked under each arm. George pointed toward home.
Bob reappeared and looked up at him, grinning.
“Did you know there was a storm coming?” asked Declan.
Frank walked by and waved without looking at him.
“Yep,” said Bob.
“You all did?”
“Yep.”
The wind whipped up again and Declan had to lower his hands to the roof, his butt in the air, like the backend of a horse costume, sans costume.
“None of you thought it might be nice to tell me?” he called over the grumble of thunder.
The world grew even darker.
“What?” asked Bob.
“I said none of you told me there was a storm coming!” The first of the rain pelted his skin.
Bob, nearly across the street and a few steps from his own safe, dry home, turned and grinned, waving. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“What fun would that be?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Thank you for getting me out of jail.”
Charlotte offered Angelina a sheepish smile from her rocking chair overlooking the Intracoastal waterway behind the hotel. To their right, a large swath of preserved land served as home to the pair of osprey circling above them, both searching for an afternoon snack swimming through the water below. It was four o’clock, and the sun still shone enough to keep the biting mosquitos and no-see-ums at bay.
Angelina sat in her own rocking chair with Harley curled on her lap. The hotel concierge-slash-woman-of-mystery seemed pensive, which, for the short time Charlotte had known her, didn’t seem to be one of her more common emotions.
Charlotte chalked it up to Siofra’s potential return. Or maybe Angelina always sat on the back porch at the end of the day and watched the sun dip below the palm trees. She hoped the woman wasn’t mad at her. Had she overstepped a boundary asking for help with the police? Should she get her a thanks-for-keeping-me-out-of-prison gift? What was the perfect present for the woman who sweet-talked you out of jail time?
Do they have a Hallmark card for this?
Angelina’s head snapped up as if Charlotte had just finished speaking, though it had been a minute or two. “No problem. I don’t usually have to bail out people until the third or fourth date, but my pleasure.”
Charlotte snickered. Angelina’s mind had clearly been elsewhere; she didn’t seem angry at her. The woman’s joke repeated in her head and, second time around, one of the words struck Charlotte as odd.
“Wait, you didn’t actually have to bail me out, did you?” she asked.
Angelina shook her head. “No. You weren’t officially arrested.”
Charlotte put her hand on her chest. “Whew. I didn’t think so.”
“Anyway, it isn’t me you have to apologize to, it’s Harley.” Angelina tussled the wild crop of hair sprouting from Harley’s head. “That ordeal was beneath her dignity.”
Charlotte leaned down to get eye level with the dog. “That’s true. I apologize, Harley.” At the sound of her name, the Yorkie opened the glistening black pools she used for eyes to peer at Charlotte and then shut them again.
Charlotte leaned back in her rocking chair. “What a mess. They never should have taken me to the station. They didn’t like I knew the baby was blind, but—” She raised a hand to her mouth. “Whoops. I probably wasn’t supposed to say that.”
Angelina turned. “What baby is blind?”
“The one returned to the couple.”
“The kidnappers replaced their baby with a blind one?”
Charlotte nodded. “Puts a whole new spin on the kidnapping, doesn’t it?”
Angelina clucked her tongue. “I don’t know what’s going on in the world today. Everyone is crazy.”
Charlotte glanced at her watch. “I’m going to go give my boyfriend a call. He’s probably wondering if I’ve run off to Australia by now.”
“A country originally colonized by English prisoners. Your kind of folk.”
Charlotte laughed. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
Angelina grinned. “Nope.” She stood and Harley grunted her displeasure at being tucked into the crook of her mama’s arm when she’d had a perfectly good lap on which to sleep.
Charlotte
