She nodded. “But not too much. Maybe one-quarter, one-fifth.”
He took it from her and poured it into his tray. They were in danger of running out.
“Do we have enough?” she asked worriedly.
“With any luck, yes,” he said, and he kept working. And he was two boards short of finishing when he motioned for her to get in the kitchen while she could; then he grabbed the can and, using the brush, scraped out as much as possible and finished up the last two boards from the roller and the brush. When he was done, he stepped backward into the kitchen, smiled, and said, “I wouldn’t have wanted to cut that any tighter.”
“But it’s okay?”
“It’s perfect,” he said. “And this stain can goes into the recycling.” He put his hand inside a nearby plastic bag and tucked the plastic bag inside the can. “Leave it to dry like this,” he said. “And then, in a couple days, you’ll take that bag out, which should lift all the stain remaining inside, like peeling it off in the hot sun. Then the can goes into the recycling.”
“Nice trick.” She smiled, then nodded and said, “And the brush?”
“This one you can wash in water,” he said. But he looked at the brush and frowned. “It’s already losing its bristles.”
“Yes, I had a problem with that,” she said. “I kept pulling off bristles on the stained surface.”
“In that case,” he said, “this brush should just go in the trash bin, because, the next time you try to use it, more bristles will loosen.” And, with that, he put everything together in another bag. “Not to worry,” he said. “I can take this away with me. You don’t want the animals to get at it.”
“I didn’t even offer you any coffee,” she said with a laugh.
“Not a problem,” he said. “I’m really happy we got that done.” He looked at his watch and smiled. “It’s my regular time to go home anyway.”
“So when do you think I can walk on the deck?” she asked anxiously.
“Not for twenty-four hours for sure,” he said, “so no going out there until at least this time tomorrow. By then we’ll take the frame off the concrete anyway.” And he lifted a hand in goodbye, and, just like that, he was gone. She stood at the open kitchen doorway, trying to block Mugs, who was desperate to go out. She took several photos; then she closed the screen door and locked it. “You can’t go out there,” she scolded him. “None of us can.”
He woofed at her but unhappily.
Chapter 19
Monday Afternoon …
Doreen sent the photos to Mack and added a text message. Second coat done.
She didn’t get a response, but then, like he kept trying to tell her, he was busy. She understood that, but it was weird not having him answer quickly. As it was, she was a little bit stuck trying to come up with any more information regarding Rosie’s death. But then she had continued her research on kiwis and kiwi contests and kiwi fairs. And, sure enough, this one woman had been winning for years in Kelowna over and over again. Doreen smiled at the thought, then looked up the woman’s name to find she was another gray-haired lady. “You better look out because you could be next,” she muttered.
And then she realized just how terrible that was of her to say.
“Maybe it’s nothing at all,” she said. She went back to her work and heard her stomach growling. She still had leftover pizza. She didn’t really want any more as she was really craving more vegetables. So she made herself a big salad.
When a pounding came at the front door, she groaned. Mugs was already at the door but acting funny. Instead of barking hysterically, he was whining. Probably Mack was on the outside. She opened the door and found him staring at her. “Normally you just walk in,” she said crossly.
“Well, maybe,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you were napping or not.”
“So pounding on the door was a better way to wake me up?”
“Better than coming in and looming over you, finding you in the living room or somewhere,” he said.
She thought about it and said, “Okay. Good point. Did you get my images?”
“Yes,” he said. “How did you get that done?”
So she told him about Harry’s visit and sanding and painting the deck. He smiled. “And did you have fun doing something yourself?” he asked in a teasing voice.
“Absolutely,” she said. “I didn’t feel quite so stupid, and it made the deck mine too because I feel like I did something to help.”
“And that’s a really valid point,” he said. “I should have thought of that.”
“You can’t be expected to think everything,” she said, laughing.
His gaze landed on her laptop. “Kiwis?”
“It’s research into the contest,” she said, “where somebody grows the biggest and juiciest and sweetest kiwis. It’s not very common to grow kiwis here, so it’s under the tropical fruit category. Besides, I can’t let go of the kiwi element in all four of the deaths. I still haven’t gotten to the bottom of it. And all the women had kiwis with them. Remember?”
“Are they hard to grow?”
“They need a lot of sunny days, and they’re one of those few plants that have males and females,” she explained. His eyebrows shot up at that, and she nodded. “Some plants are like
