A High-End Finish(56)

Mac considered the yellow tape. “I can be like a rabid dog when it comes to doing research, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not stay in the murder victim’s room.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I walked a few more steps and unlocked the door to the second apartment. “This one’s clean and ready for a new tenant.”

He walked inside and glanced around. “This place is great. Lots of good light. Bigger than I thought it would be.”

“It’s basically one big room, but I tried to section it off so it feels like you’ve got several separate areas.”

“I like it,” he said, running his fingers down the matchstick screen that, together with a willowy ficus tree, created a partition between the bedroom and the living room space. “Hey, there’s a desk.”

I shrugged. “A lot of people travel with their computers.”

As I’d done for Wendell over a week ago, I walked across the suite and pulled the blinds open. The view from this room was slightly better than Wendell’s—at least I thought so. There was more to see of the green hills and redwood trees to the south, and the ocean was still in plain sight above the rooftops, too.

“Really nice view,” he said. Pointing, he asked, “Is that an empty lot behind you?”

“Not for long.” I gave him the quick explanation of how I’d bought the property behind my house two years ago. The house had been what we called a cracker box, a run-down little beach shack that was rented out to tourists year after year. Even though cracker-box houses were small, they often sat on lots as big as my own.

In recent years, a buyer would snag one of those houses, tear it down and build a much grander house, an updated Victorian or a Craftsman to match the style and feeling of the town.

I had razed the old house, salvaging as much of the good wood and chimney bricks as I could, and filled the lot with mustard seed to treat the soil until I was ready to plant next year. I envisioned a row of trees along the edges of the property, grass and flower beds in the center, benches and walkways here and there. I wanted to turn it into a small park. I had already conducted a casual survey of my neighbors, who approved of the plan wholeheartedly.

“That’s cool,” he said.

“I like the idea of having a neighborhood park.”

He nodded, glanced around the room again. “Did you do all the work in here?”

“Me and a couple of my guys.”

He ran his finger along the beveled grooves of the decorative wood panel above the small fireplace mantel. “Who did this woodwork?”

“I did.”

“It’s exceptional.” His gaze held on mine. “So you’re also a carpenter.”

“Yes.”

Mac strolled around the room, checked out the kitchenette sink, mini fridge, two-burner electric stove, and microwave oven. He slid the closet door open and closed, popped into the bathroom, and then glanced out the window one more time. “So, how much to rent the place?”

I was still mystified by his interest, but decided to play along. “By the day or by the week?”

“By the month.”

“Oh.” I mentally calculated the price, took off fifteen percent for the long-term rate, and gave him the bottom line.

“Not bad. I’ll take it.”

? ? ?

Later that afternoon, Jane arrived to spend another night with me. She was bursting with excitement and danced around the kitchen as she told me all about her meeting with the landscaper and their plans for her garden.

“It sounds beautiful,” I said. “I love the idea of having a little bridge across the koi pond. And the ferns planted around the bases of the trees will give the space a real magical quality.”

“I know,” she said, and provided more details as I poured two glasses of wine. When I handed her a glass, she asked, “What did you do today?”

“My day wasn’t quite as exciting as yours, but let’s see.” I tried to think of all the positive things while avoiding the missing-hammer news. “I cleaned out the garage, worked in the garden for a while, and rented one of my apartments to a new tenant.”

“You have a new tenant already?” she said, taken aback. “But you just got rid of Wendell— I mean, oh, dear. You know what I mean.”

I tried not to laugh, since the subject was morbid. And she looked so utterly mortified that I knew it would be cruel to tease her. “I know what you meant. And it’s not like I rented out Wendell’s place. I can’t. It’s still a crime scene.”

Her shoulders hunched up and she rubbed her arms. “Just thinking about it gives me goose bumps.”

“Yeah, me too. Anyway, I rented the other apartment.”

She considered it for a moment. “I would’ve thought you might want some privacy for a while.”

“I thought I did, too, but then this guy came around asking if the place was available and I changed my mind.”

“What guy?”

I bit my lip, unsure why I was so hesitant to tell her. Maybe to keep the toasty little secret to myself for a while? But that didn’t make sense. Jane was my oldest and dearest friend and we had no secrets between us. “Mac Sullivan.”

“Oh.” She drew the word out for several syllables.