Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(39)

He jabbed the button on the screen door handle. Three of the quickest dogs jumped out and tumbled down the stairs, the rest following like geese in formation. They ran away from him and across the yard, their yapping building in volume and enthusiasm as they approached Ed’s house.

Liam smiled and sauntered after them.





Chapter 9

Without pausing even to pee the dogs rushed to the top of the hill, immediately across the property line from Bev’s car. Because of the electronic collars they wore, the dogs stopped in a row along the driveway and focused their energies on barking.

“What’s the matter with you guys?” Liam said loudly, with as much irritation as he could muster. “Bev, are you there?”

Stepping into view, Bev had her keys in her hand and an exhausted, angry look on her face. “I’m here. Why are you?”

“The dogs got out again. My apologies.” He tickled one dog behind an upright ear and walked over the boundary to Bev. “You all right?”

She didn’t answer.

“Bev?”

She exhaled loudly. “The key doesn’t work.”

Knowing it was the wrong thing to do but unable to stop himself, he laughed.

“Oh, go away. Just go away.” Her voice hitched and, waving him away, she turned back to the house.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—” He followed her. “I’m sorry. Let me see.”

She swung around to face him and held up the keys. “It fits inside and turns. But the door won’t budge.”

Gently he took the keys from her and noticed how she jerked away from his touch. “Then it’s probably nothing. Just sticky.” He fitted the key in the hole, twisted, and the deadbolt slid open easily. Pressing the handle latch, he shoved. It opened a fraction of an inch then stopped. A chill prickled the back of his neck. “No problems with this yesterday?”

“None. It was all new. Nothing like this.” Her voice shook.

“How about the side door?”

She buried her face in her hands.

“What?” He didn’t like seeing her upset. “Stay here. I’ll go see for myself.”

Bev sank down to the stairs and sat there, forehead on her knees, while Liam strode around the house to the side door. This time the key wouldn’t even go in the hole, as though something were wedged inside. He crouched down to peer at the lock, but it was too dim.

Strange. Very strange. He hiked down the slope and gazed up at the house from below, then made his way back up the flagstone path.

“I’ll see if I can break in for you,” he said. “I see a window open. It’s not much of a climb.”

“Break in?” She got to her feet. “Climb?” Her voice was quiet, but steady.

“That all right with you?”

“Just don’t hurt yourself and sue me.” She brushed off her pants and followed him back around the house. “This isn’t your doing, then?”

He stopped, swung around, saw the exhaustion in her face. “No. This is not my doing.”

“And I suppose the broken desk chair and deleted software and HR hassles weren’t you, either?”

An unpleasant dread settled over him. “You’ve been having trouble this week?”

She narrowed his eyes. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He didn’t like the idea of people screwing around without his permission. “You should tell me everything that happened. Though it sounds pretty typical—the usual Fite FUBAR.”

“It really wasn’t you? You’ve been pretty direct about your other nastiness.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “The binders—all seventy-three of them—were a nice touch. I especially liked your suggestion to design a spreadsheet outlining the selling history for every jogging short Fite had ever done.”

“I hope you got a lot out of that.”

To his surprise, she smiled sweetly. “I did, actually. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But the other stuff—not you?”

“No.”

She nodded. “Well, that’s some relief. I didn’t want to have to fire you.”

“Well, good news for both of us, then.” If somebody was getting creative he’d have to put an end to it. Broken chairs and failing computers were common enough to be accidental, and he’d be suspicious if HR didn’t have hassles for her; still, he’d have to look into it.

They hiked around the house until the deck was looming over their heads. He pointed up. “See that window on the south side? It’s open, right?”

“Yes, but how can you get up there?”

“If I can jump high enough, no problem.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Really.”

“Really.” Doubt his physical prowess, did she? He studied the deck over his head—about eight feet. He slapped his hands together, glancing at her.

She edged away. “Is this when you ask to use me as a step stool?”

“If I can’t jump high enough, I’ll be the step stool.” He tilted his head back and gazed up. “But that might not be necessary.” Tensing his muscles, Liam bent his knees, paused for a second and, with a massive groan, leapt into the air. The fingers on his right hand went over the edge, the nails scraping wood, but the left was short, and he came hurtling back down to the ground. He felt his ankle twist on the uneven ground.