Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(24)

After removing her necklace and snugging her ponytail, she decided she should use this forced quietude to formulate a revised list of all the things that needed tending. Yes, then she could rank them according to urgency and whether they were weather dependent. But typing might disturb the baby. She’d better do it longhand.

A half an hour later, and six months worth of tasks enumerated on a legal sized yellow pad, Liz jumped at the sound of the doorbell. She rushed through the house before whomever it was struck again. She swung the door wide.

The moderately friendly greeting she was about to deliver died on her tongue. “What are you doing here?”

Valerie Stinson brushed a lock of platinum blonde hair off her forehead and pursed her bow-shaped lips. Her perfectly manicured nails glinted in the sun. “Nobody mentioned I was stopping by today?”

“Um, no. My parents are in Florida. In fact, my dad just had surgery...”

“I know. How did it go?”

Liz blinked through the screen door. Valerie Stinson knew about her dad’s surgery? Too? “Good. Well. I mean... I think so. My mother didn’t say otherwise…”

At least she hadn’t mentioned that he’d died or anything the half dozen times they’d spoken since Friday despite Liz’s pointed inquiries about her father’s health. Liz assumed if he had actually expired on the operating table, her mom would have thought to tell her. On the plus side, she was fully up-to-speed on the happy news about Mrs. Wells’ cat being back from the vet and no longer suffering from diarrhea.

“He’s resting,” she finally said, assuming that were true.

Valerie opened her mouth to speak when a strange noise interrupted from inside the house.

Liz’s heart lurched in her chest. “Oh, no. She’s awake! You’ll have to excuse me—”

She shut the door again and rushed back to the kitchen just in time to see baby Clara’s face scrunch up and emit another long, plaintive wail. “Oh, honey! It’s okay! It’s okay. Auntie Liz is here. Hold on.” Liz swore under her breath, then pleaded forgiveness for corrupting the tender ears of a minor as she fumbled with what seemed an inordinately complex buckle system. My God, astronauts were probably buckled less securely.

Clara thrashed her little baby fists in Liz’s face, her outrage clearly evident. Finally, the latch freed itself. Liz pulled the buckle and straps over her niece’s reddened cheeks, lay a burpie cloth on her shoulder as she’d watched her sister do, then picked up the wailing infant.

She attempted a nonchalant, confident posture as she tucked her niece down into the crook of her arm. Babies cried, right? It was no big deal. She’d get rid of Valerie and see to her niece like the competent Auntie she was.

Clara continued to scream and began to thrash her head as Liz tried to give her her binkie while opening the front door again. “I’m sorry. I’m babysitting, as you can see, and I need to calm her down. I think she’s teething. Perhaps there’s a better time for you to—”

“Oh, for crying out loud. She’s not teething! She’s shaking her fist, not chewing on it. You’re just holding her wrong.” Before Liz knew what was happening, Valerie had swung open the screen door, plopped her purse on the floor and plucked Clara from her arms.

“You have to hold her upright so she can see what’s going on. Babies this age hate to stare at the ceiling. It’s boring.” Valerie sat Clara on her hip and bounced lightly, oblivious to the smears of baby tears and saliva that Clara deposited on her blouse.

Liz watched, the binkie sticky in her palm, as Clara quieted in Valerie’s arms then marveled traitorously over Valerie’s shiny fingernails and thick turquoise pendant necklace. The baby hiccupped loudly, one tiny, angry tear glistening on her cheek, and gripped Valerie’s index finger like it was the lone port in a storm.

“There, there now. You’re all right,” Valerie crooned. “Just settle down. We’ll work this out.”

Liz’s forehead felt clammy. “How—?”

“I had five younger siblings. I was babysitting kids her age when I was nine.”

“That’s so young!”

“You do what you have to do. So, this is it, huh?” Valerie began walking around the living room, Clara shockingly content, as Liz trailed behind. “I like the crown molding. That’s a nice detail. Is it throughout the house?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The crown molding? Oh, never mind. I’ll see for myself.” Valerie pushed open the door to the dining room. “Hmm. A little cut off from the living room, but this wall could always be opened up. Nice view of the side yard. I assume the kitchen’s through here?”

“Yes, but... I’m sorry. Why are you here?”

“I’m your parent’s listing agent. Nobody told you I was doing the walk-through today?”

Liz swallowed the lump in her throat. Valerie was her parents’ listing agent? Could it get any worse? “No. No, they didn’t.”

Valerie turned away, but not before Liz caught her rolling her eyes. Great. A real estate agent with attitude.

“What can you tell me about the well and septic?” Valerie asked as she pushed through the door to the kitchen.

“You might want to—”

“Holy shit!—pardon my French—what happened in here?”