A High-End Finish(40)
“I hate him more,” Cindy said, scowling at his back.
Rocky watched him leave. “Don’t go away mad,” he taunted loudly.
“That guy is a menace to society,” one of Penny’s friends said.
“You should warn the police about him,” another customer suggested.
I’d never seen Cindy so angry. Her lips trembled and I thought she might start to cry.
“What an ass,” Rocky said, glancing out the door to make sure he was gone for good. “I don’t want to see that guy back here again.”
“You and the whole town, Rocky,” one of the guys said.
Rocky’s voice softened. “You okay, Cin?”
She sniffled but nodded briskly. “I’m fine. Thanks, Rocky. I’ll be around to serve y’all in a minute.”
There was a moment of silence and then everyone in the restaurant burst into applause.
“Good riddance,” someone shouted.
Cindy looked ready to cry again, so she grabbed a mop and began to sop up the dark liquid off the floor. The busboy ran over and nudged her aside. “Let me do that.”
Through clenched teeth, she said, “Thanks, Kenny.” She took a few seconds to breathe before going right back into service mode. She picked up the coffeepot and, pasting a bright smile on her face, walked around the restaurant, refilling coffee cups.
When she got to my table, her gaze narrowed in on me. “Do me a favor, will you, Shannon, honey?”
“Anything you want.”
She glared at the doorway where Wendell had exited, then looked back at me. “Next time you’re looking to emasculate someone, you give that one a swift kick in the you-know-what for me.”
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Later, as I rode my bike home, I couldn’t help but dwell on the irrefutable fact that I wanted to get rid of my hateful tenant. I couldn’t help it. He’d been a complete ass with me, but what he’d done to Cindy and Whitney was a crime. And I didn’t even like Whitney! But nobody had the right to treat another person like that. I thought of him spewing ketchup at Whitney. And then to dump the coffee on the floor of the Cozy Cove and smash the cup? Maybe Wendell hadn’t been potty- trained as a kid, because something was horribly twisted inside his head.
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Monday morning, I was halfway through my usual getting-ready routine before I remembered that I didn’t have my truck. It didn’t really matter, since there were no high-powered business meetings scheduled today. But I’d been planning to swing by some of my job sites to check on things and I supposed I could use the bike for those trips. My guys wouldn’t dare make fun of me.
Who was I kidding? They lived to make fun of me. Out of love and respect, of course.
As I poured my second cup of coffee, the phone rang.
“Morning, Shannon.” I recognized Tommy’s friendly voice.
“Hey, Tommy, what’s up?”
“I’m calling to give you the go-ahead on the Boyers’ house. It’s no longer a crime scene, so you and the guys can go back to work.”
“That’s great, Tommy. I appreciate it.”
I hung up and immediately phoned Wade to tell him the good news. We had planned for this eventuality at our Sunday meeting, so he was prepared to call his crew members to alert them to the change of assignment.
I pulled out my computer tablet and made some minor adjustments to the crew list and the Boyers’ estimated completion date. Then I contacted Carla and gave her the same information.
I let both of my foremen know that I was without a car today, but I would be willing to stop by a few of the nearby places on my bike. The one exception was the Boyers’ house. I could make the trip, but I didn’t want to take the chance of running into the Boyers on my bike. For reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I wanted to present the most professional image I could to them, at least until the murder of Jerry Saxton was solved.
Both Wade and Carla insisted that they had everything under control on all the jobs. I knew it was true, but that didn’t mean I could shirk all the other duties I had to take care of today. Like payroll, for instance. I could always stay home and write checks and clean up some paperwork.
And I would. Maybe this afternoon. But what I really wanted to do this morning was check out the lighthouse mansion. It was less than three miles up the coast, so I could make the trip there and back, along with an hour of wandering around the house itself, in a few hours. The road twisted and turned in a few sections, but the surface was smooth most of the way and the ride was partly downhill on the trip back.
I worried for a minute that I might run into the new owner, but decided it wouldn’t happen. The house wasn’t livable yet, especially for a pampered celebrity author like MacKintyre Sullivan. No, he was most likely staying at Glencannon Green or the Royal Coast Hotel up near Mendocino, both of which were world-class establishments.
Since I would be gone most of the morning, I packed some munchies and a bottle of water in a small backpack and tucked it securely in the bicycle basket.
I wore jeans and a sweater topped by a down vest that I could take off once the cool marine layer dissipated.
I paced myself for the ride north, coasting leisurely along the bike path until it ended and I crossed onto the Old Cove Highway. Traffic was light this early in the morning and I felt safe as long as I kept within the narrow lines of the bike lane painted along the edge of the smooth blacktop surface. Going around some of the curves freaked me out a little, so my brakes got a good workout, especially when the occasional truck rumbled by.