Thick as Thieves(15)
She had anticipated a comment, not a question, and it took her off guard. “No. Well, a little. I was taking lessons when—”
At her abrupt stop, he turned his head and looked at her expectantly.
Amending what she’d been about to say, she said, “I gave up music lessons when my sister and I moved away.”
“Hmm. Too bad you didn’t pick back up after you got resettled.”
“I regret now that I didn’t continue, but other things had to be given priority.”
He went over to the staircase and stepped up on the first tread with only one foot. It squeaked. So did the second step. As he backed down, he ran his palm over the bannister. “This is nice wood. Worth salvaging, I think. It could be sanded and revarnished. Maybe a lighter stain?”
She gave a noncommittal “Umm.”
Returning to the center of the room, he turned in a tight circle as he surveyed the ceiling. “The crown molding has possibilities, but I won’t know if it’s worth keeping until I get a closer look at it, and I didn’t bring a ladder today.”
“I’m not particularly attached to it.”
“What about that chandelier?” He pointed to the fixture in the dining area. “Does it have any sentimental value?”
“None.”
“Good. I’d pitch it. It’s too large for the space.”
He gave the fireplace mantel the same rubdown he’d given the bannister. Stepping back and assessing the fireplace as a whole, he said, “The brick is boring. Another material would add some character.”
He went over to the row of front windows and inspected the sills. Sliding a pocketknife from his back jeans pocket, he picked at the splintered wood with the tip of the blade. “All these window frames need to be replaced. If you go with wood again, it’s more labor intensive and therefore more expensive. Or you could go with prefab, but that still requires some carpentry. I’ll figure it both ways. How many windows in the house?”
“I’ve never had cause to count them.”
“I’ll need that number before I can give you an estimate.” He closed the knife and pushed it back into his pocket. He flipped all the light switches on the wall plate, matching them to the fixtures they controlled. “What took priority?”
“Pardon me?”
“You said you quit music lessons because other things had to be given priority. Like what?”
“Like food and shelter.”
Her curt reply brought him around to look at her. “When your dad skipped out, nobody stepped up and took you in? A relative? Foster parents?”
“No.”
“Weren’t you too young to fare for yourself?”
“I was ten, but my sister was already in her second year of college. She’d been commuting to and from Commerce, but had to drop out when she became my legal guardian.”
“Tall order for a college coed.”
“Yes.”
“She must be one tough cookie.”
Arden laughed lightly. “To say the least.”
“Always an overachiever, I guess.”
That comment took her by surprise. “You knew Lisa?”
“She was several classes ahead of me, and I was far beneath her notice, but I knew who she was. Everybody did. Hard not to know the homecoming queen.”
Arden smiled. “That was her senior year. I think everybody in town went to the parade.”
“Not me.”
“Oh?”
“No, I wasn’t into all that.”
“What about the football game when she was crowned?”
“Missed that, too.” He opened the door to the storage area beneath the stairs and poked his head inside.
“You weren’t into football, either?”
He backed out of the closet. When he went to shut the door, he tested the squealing hinges. “Love football. Playing and watching.”
“They why did you skip the homecoming game?” She shot him a teasing grin. “Couldn’t get a date?”
“Couldn’t get out of juvenile detention.”
He stopped fanning the door and turned to face her. She gaped at him and waited for a punch line that never came. “You were in jail?”
Appearing rather blasé, he raised a shoulder.
“What did you do?”
“Got caught smoking weed. Back then, it was a big no-no.”
She nodded absently. “Was that your only offense?”
Not so blasé, he said, “At the time.”
She was digging herself in deeper, but she couldn’t help but ask, “How long were you in for?”
“Long enough.” He stayed still, looking directly into her eyes, then abruptly turned away. “I notice you don’t have a security system.”
“No.”
He went over to the front door and fiddled with the lock. “This dead bolt is ancient. It wouldn’t keep out anybody who wanted in. You learn about these things in juvie.”
It disturbed her that he could refer to his criminal past so nonchalantly. Could she trust his reference? For all she knew, the man she had spoken with was a former cellmate.
As had happened yesterday when she realized that he knew who she was and where she lived, her thoughts went to the car that drove past each night. Including last night. And here this stranger, who looked like he could split a board in half without a saw, was testing the strength of her lock.