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God forbid she or her daughters make up for the lack of manpower themselves. These days, I started my work days at four in the morning.
The doorbell rang again.
The Ballantine household made the collective decision to ignore it.
A sharp, angry knock rattled the door.
“Jesus.” Reggie groaned from upstairs, pausing her music long enough to assure we could all experience the full force of her irritation. “Can’t be Amazon because they have more tact than to keep bugging us.”
She blasted the song back up.
Vera shut off her show. “Why do I have to do everything in this house?”
Heavy, vulgar thumps followed her feet past the kitchen and into the foyer.
I pinched my inner wrist to distract myself from the aches snaking up my thighs. The owner of that knock had better leave soon or come bearing wine.
The last thing I needed was company.
Not that we had much, anyway.
The step-Ballantines loved pretending to be pillars of the local community. In reality, our neighbors didn’t even know their names, and we’d lived here for almost twenty-three years.
Vera flung the door open and gasped.
Then, there was silence.
Lots and lots of silence.
Not even getting man-handled by security for harassing the producer had made her speechless, so I took this as a sign of the apocalypse. Which I was down for.
I could use some time off.
“M-Mr. Sun.”
The spatula fell from my hand with a clank.
I stopped breathing for a moment.
Vera continued fumbling over words. “Why… I… This is unexpected.”
Dammit.
How did he figure it out?
Reggie and Tabby materialized from whatever holes they’d hid themselves in, zipping to the entryway.
I shoved the bucket into the nearest cabinet, dumped a rag over the stain, and dashed into the pantry.
Not the finest hiding spot. But I couldn’t make it past the island without being seen.
Ours was the oldest home on the street. Tiny, dated, and hanging on by a thread.
But moving out wasn’t in the cards.
The memories Dad and I shared here remained engraved in every scratch, dent, and tear. No way in hell would I give that up.
Plus, every lawyer I’d spoken to warned me against moving, should I contest the will. I fully intended to.
