A High-End Finish(69)

“Hey, Shan.” He waved. “Come on up.”

I laughed. “I would love to, but I’ve got to take off for a little while. The Gallaghers’ ceiling is leaking.”

“Oh, great.” I could see his eyes rolling from here.

“I might need to pull a couple of guys to help me patch it up, but I’ll let you know.”

“Whatever the princess wants. See you later.”

I jogged to my truck, stashed my tools in the toolbox, and took off for Whitney’s house a few miles away. It was still hard to believe that she and Tommy had stayed together all these years. The man had to have the patience of a saint, or maybe he just ignored her most of the time.

I realized that I would much rather deal with Joyce Boyer’s angry snark than Whitney’s cold bitchiness any day of the week.

I pulled to a stop in front of Whitney’s place and shoved my pink work gloves into my purse.

Before I could ring the doorbell, she whipped open the door. She wore a sheer black lace top with black skinny jeans and black high heels. Just a casual little something to wear around the house.

She scanned me, as well, from my worn denim shirt down to my scuffed work boots. “Took you long enough to get here.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, and walked inside.

She laughed. It was a genuine shock to hear the sound of her laughter. I hated to admit it out loud, but once in a blue moon we actually managed to get along. Even crazier, we occasionally had the same taste in home styles and interior decor. I knew this because she had managed to get herself a wholesale license a few years ago and had convinced people around town that she was an interior designer. Consequently, I was forced to work with her every so often. Because we both wanted the work and wanted to do a good job, we feigned cooperation when the clients were around. Invariably, they were happy with our results. That’s what mattered most.

As soon as the clients would leave the vicinity or one of Whitney’s friends, especially Jennifer, would come around, Whitney would turn back into the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Where’s the leak?” I asked.

“In here.” Her stiletto heels click-clacked on the smooth oak floor as she led the way to the great room off the kitchen. As I walked through the house, I took a moment to admire my father’s work. The kitchen and large family room featured high ceilings with contemporary industrial lights that hung down over the bar. The kitchen was ultramodern, with stainless-steel appliances, mission-style cabinetry, and French doors leading to a small kitchen garden. There was a larger backyard off the family room, as well.

Whitney stood by the bar and pointed up. I stared at the ceiling until I finally found the minuscule water spot she was referring to. “I don’t see any water actually dripping. Are you sure it’s leaking?”

“It was earlier and it left that stain. I don’t want it to start up again.”

“Did you leave the bathtub running?”

“Of course not.”

“I’m going upstairs to see what’s causing it.” An hour later, I had tracked down the leak to the kids’ playroom on the third floor. The youngest little darling had spent all day pouring small buckets of water down the laundry chute. Some of it had leaked into the space between the first and second floors and had pooled, which had caused the tiny water spot to appear on the ceiling downstairs.

I called two of my guys to bring over our heavy-duty wet vac to suck up any remaining moisture, along with a few strong fans to help dry out the laundry chute. The guys would work here for the rest of the afternoon, until everything was dry.

I found Whitney in the kitchen and told her what the problem was and how we planned to fix it. “Todd and Johnny will be here for another couple of hours. Then Todd will come by first thing in the morning and touch up the spot on the ceiling. Will you be home?”

“I have to take the kids to school, but I’ll be home by nine.”

“Okay. He’ll meet you here at nine.”

“You swear the spot will be gone by the time my guests arrive?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed in thought. “What about the paint fumes?”

“That’s why I want him to get an early start. You’ll have to leave some doors open, but the smell should be gone within an hour or two.”

“It had better be,” she warned.

“You’re welcome,” I said dryly. I packed up my tools and headed for the front door. Whitney followed me to the door, just as her friend Jennifer was about to press the doorbell.

“Well, well,” Jennifer said, casting an accusing look at me and Whitney. “Isn’t this cozy?”

“Cozy? As in warm and friendly?” I snorted. “Hardly.”

I passed her on the front step and heard her mutter, “Nice hair.”

“Get over yourself,” I said wearily, and kept going. How many more years would I have to put up with her giving me grief about my wavy red hair? There were plenty of people around who liked my hair. And she needed to get a life.

Meanwhile, I wanted to shove a pry bar up her nose.

“God, Whitney,” Jennifer said loudly. “How could you let her walk into your house in those hideous dirty boots?”

I glanced back and saw Whitney shake her head. “It wasn’t easy. But you know how these townies are.”