Lie, Lie Again(38)
The woman returned with a big blue bag and receipt that Sylvia promptly signed.
“Enjoy.”
“Thanks. I’m sure my dear friends will be thrilled.”
Five minutes later, she was back in her car. She took the coastal route the entire way home, enjoying the brief glimpses of the gray ocean as she headed south. The sea churned, restless and angry, like it was trying to escape the very earth that contained it. How much we have in common, Sylvia thought. The sun battled the clouds, making a valiant effort to dry out the wet morning.
By the time she turned onto the long driveway, feeble sunshine was flickering on the wet asphalt. Squinting, she slowed her car but had to stop midway. A ridiculous truck fit for a hay-hauling cowboy was blocking the drive. Blergh. Did this monstrosity belong to a friend of the Taylors? As much as she wanted to pound her fist to the horn and hold it there until the guilty party appeared, she put her car into park and shut off the engine. No need to be rude to the neighbors’ friends.
To her surprise, a young man stepped out just as she did. Tucking a strand of his longish sandy-blond hair behind his ear, he greeted her with a lopsided grin. “Hey there. I’m blocking your spot, aren’t I?”
She studied him unabashedly. She knew from experience the effect that her piercing blue eyes had on men. Anyone, really. “Indeed. Who are you?”
He flipped his keys in his hand. “Dave. I’m here to fix some stairs and a garbage disposal. Do you know anything about that?” he asked, the smile still hanging on his face. Sylvia knew he believed his charm would allow him to leave his giant vehicle exactly where he’d parked it.
“As a matter of fact, I do. The stair is right up there.” She pointed toward her apartment. “It’s the seventh. And the garbage disposal is Embry’s in the bottom unit across the way. She was having trouble with it on Friday.”
“Coolio, Julio.”
This guy looked more like a surfer than a handyman. She raised a brow. “You spoke with Jonathan, I presume?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He dropped his keys into his pocket. “He knows my dad.” Nodding as though this explained everything, he added, “My dad’s a real estate agent, and he’s helping him with selling the place.”
Sylvia forced her expression to remain neutral. Jonathan is selling the place? This is absurd. A lesser woman would’ve flinched at the news, but Sylvia knew better. The smaller the reaction, the more Dave would spill. “Oh.”
“So yeah, I’m helping out with a few things before it goes on the market. Making a little extra moola.” He rubbed his palms together. “I’m a screenwriter. Starving until I get my big break.”
“Right. I understand.” She softened her gaze, allowing her eyes to work their magic. “So is your dad one of the big real estate agents in town? Would I recognize his name?”
“Probably not. His name is Patrick Sharp. He does listings in Santa Monica and Venice, but he’s not like the über-successful dudes on the reality shows. Bummer.”
“I’m sure he does just fine. So are you Dave Sharp?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be sure to keep my eye out for your name on the big screen.”
“Right on. Thanks!” He wiped a hand across his smile. Oh, how easy it was to flatter people. “So, uh, do you need me to move my truck, or is it cool to leave it there?”
She waved a hand. Suddenly, the parking situation didn’t matter. “It’s fine.”
“Cool.” He shifted his gaze to her car. “She’s a beauty,” he said in an awed tone.
His reaction was no surprise. People loved classic Ford Mustang convertibles. Hers was a snappy candy-apple red. It evoked a feeling of fun, fun, fun! In reality, she should drive a heavy semitruck loaded with something toxic. Something she could mow Jonathan down with. Who the hell did he think he was to sell Nadine’s place?
“Sixty-eight?” he asked, clearly impressed. He was cute. Not that she was looking. It was merely a fact. Besides, he was in his early twenties—practically a child in man years.
“Precisely. Good eye. The doors are unlocked. Feel free to take a look inside if you like.”
“Awesome!” He opened the passenger door and passed her the Tiffany bag before sliding in. “How long have you had her?”
“Three years.”
Sinking into the soft leather seat, he smiled. “You’re so lucky.” Popping up, he added, “I could sit here all day, but I’ve got shit to get to. Thanks for being cool about my truck.” He flaunted a smile again. As he stepped out of the car, something tumbled to the damp ground. He grabbed for it and passed it to her. “Sorry. I didn’t see it there.”
She slipped the Tiffany bag to her good wrist and took the small black camera case from him.
His brow furrowed. “Is it okay?”
“I’m sure it is. The case is padded.”
“Phew! I’m here to fix stuff, not break it. I’ll just grab my tools and get to work.”
“Thanks.” Once he turned toward his truck, she looked at the camera in her hand. Dave had proven to be a virtual treasure trove. Her insides quivered with excitement. The camera had to be Hugh’s. He’d brought it when they’d gone to the horse races the week before last. Had it fallen from his pocket? Did he even know it was missing?