A High-End Finish(66)

“Really? That sounds like fun.”

“It is,” he said, sounding gleeful. “They’ve just met because her bicycle brakes failed.”

“Oh,” I said, baffled that he would use the story of how the two of us met in one of his books. “Isn’t that sort of a low-tech complication for Jake Slater?”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “But it’s such a refreshing twist on the tired cliché of car brakes failing, I couldn’t resist.”

“Well, I hope he solves the mystery.”

He opened the kitchen door, caught me in a quick embrace, and kissed me again. While my head was still spinning, he said, “I’ll keep you posted.”





Chapter Twelve


Thursday morning I finally felt good enough to get back to work on the Boyers’ job site. My shoulder was still a little iffy, so I didn’t plan to go crazy with a sledgehammer or carry a bag of cement around. But I was perfectly capable of stripping old wallpaper or soaking balusters in paint-remover solution if the situation called for it.

I told myself that even if Joyce Boyer showed up today, I could handle her. I was stronger now, and surely enough time had passed that she had calmed down about Jerry Saxton and all of his women. At least, I hoped so.

“Hey, boss,” Wade said when I walked up the new front stairs to greet him on the porch. “What do you think?”

“Stairs look good and feel solid,” I said. “And I love that siding.”

“Better than the lattice, I think.”

“Much better.” I walked back down the stairs and, from the walkway, studied the new base of the house. “I’m glad it worked. The Boyers will love it, too, don’t you think?”

“Since it was your idea, I completely agree.”

I smiled. Many Victorian porches were built high above ground level and a common way to hide the underbelly was with latticework panels. We had gone a different route using thin vertical siding reminiscent of traditional wainscoting. When it was painted glossy white to match the front porch banister and railings, it would give a look of upscale elegance to the house.

He leaned against the post. “So, what’s up?”

“What needs to be done, Wade?” I asked. “I’m here to work. Nothing too strenuous because my shoulder’s still a little screwed up. But I had to get out of the house and I want to stay busy. I promise I won’t slow you down.”

“I’m not worried about that and, besides, it’s your call, boss. You can work on anything you want.”

I glanced at the front door, already stripped of six old coats of paint. “It’s a miracle we’re close to being on schedule after all that’s happened. I’d like to try to keep it that way.”

“Okay. I’ve got Todd and Billy starting on the foyer today, so let’s stick to that area. How about if you go to work on the newel post?”

“Sounds good.” He pushed the door open and we walked into the foyer. The thick carved post at the bottom of the main staircase was one of the highlights of the entryway.

“Most of the ornamentation is in good shape,” he said, “but a few of the carved pieces closest to the base are damaged. And there are so many coats of old paint, you can barely see the detail.”

“Okay.” I studied the newel post. While much of the damage to the wood was due to the normal wear and tear of aging, I also noticed some tiny termite holes and some shredding near the base, just as Wade had said. We’d already tented the house, so I wasn’t worried about termites anymore. The shredding could’ve been caused by a sharp-clawed family pet or a rambunctious child who liked to kick things. Either way, it would have to be fixed.

“I’ll remove the ornamental medallions first, strip off the paint layers, and get them cleaned up. Then I’ll deal with the post itself.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.”

It was a small but time-consuming job. It would have to be done by someone eventually, so given my current disability, it made sense for me to do it. That way, I wouldn’t be taking one of the guys away from a job requiring heavy lifting.

I went back to my truck to pull some tools out of the small chest I’d brought with me.

“Well, well, she finally shows her face.”

Joyce Boyer. My back straightened at the sound of her voice. She didn’t sound happy, but I knew I’d have to run into her eventually. I turned and said, “Hello, Joyce. Good to see you.” It was a lie, but a necessary one. She was my client, so it was past time I made nice with her. If I kept the conversation centered on the job, we would get along fine. “Things are looking good, don’t you think? And we’re right on schedule.”

“No thanks to you.”

I smiled, despite wanting to smack her. “True enough. I was on the disabled list for a while there, but Wade and the guys did a great job while I was gone. I’m back now and feeling a lot better.”

“Well, la-dee-dah,” she said nonsensically.

My smile was a tight line. I ignored her to rifle through my tool kit for a thin putty knife and a small hammer. So I guess Joyce knew how to hold a grudge. I just wasn’t sure why I was the focus of her rage. If she was so angry about Jerry cheating on her, she should’ve been relieved not to have to deal with him ever again.