Page 22 of Housesitter

He took a deep breath, brushed the splinters off his knees, and limped from behind the tractor.

“I don’t work for the bank,” he said, hands held up so she could see them. Once she’d checked them out, he relaxed his posture and gestured at his grease-stained overalls. “Do I look like someone that sits behind a desk?”

Sandra glared at him.

“In this shit stain of a town?” she shot back. “Who knows.”

She finished loading the shotgun and snapped it shut. The ragged end of it looked ominously black as she lifted it to her hip and aimed.

“One.”

Four seconds. Kel gave in to the itch at the back of his neck and edged toward the fence even as he racked his brain for the right lie. He nearly tripped over an old rut, worn down into the hard-packed dirt. That did not feel great, but it did remind him of something that had set Jodie Tiller off a few weeks ago.

She’d wanted a new Range Rover to take her photography equipment to venues.

Harry had gotten her a second-hand pick-up he’d pulled out of an auction…

“Look, lady,” Kel said. “I was just going to ask what you wanted me to do with your dad’s pick-up.”

“Tw–” Sandra stopped. She lowered the gun slightly, the weight dragging it down, and squinted at Kel. “You’ve got my dad’s truck?”

“Yeah,” Kel said. “It needed a new camshaft.”

They stared at each other.

In case she hadn’t followed, Kel added, “I’m a mechanic.”

“I got that,” Sandra said. She lowered the shotgun more, letting it dangle against her leg. “You got my dad’s truck?”

“Yeah,” Kel lied. He was pretty sure the truth was that Milligan had either sold it or left it crumpled against a tree somewhere. That wasn’t what mattered, though. It wasn’t here, and it should have been. “It’s in my lock-up. Your dad…ah…owed me money.”

Sandra snorted. She put the gun down and pulled a joint from out of her shirt pocket. “Take a ticket,” she said. “And don’t hold your breath. The government and the bank get their cut first. Once they’re done, there’s not going to be much left.”

She sat down hard on the steps and started to pat herself down for a light.

“Let me,” Kel said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of Ruby’s lighters that she’d left in his garage. One step forward, and he hesitated long enough to give the shotgun a wary look. “If that’s OK?”

It was.

The fight had drained out of Sandra, and she’d remembered she was tired. She waved him over, and Kel went. He leaned down and scraped his thumb over the wheel. The smell of gas tickled his nose, and then the flint sparked enough to ignite it. As the flame flickered to life, Sandra leaned in, one hand up to scoop her hair back out of the way, to light the end of the joint.

Her cheeks sucked in as she drew on the slim cylinder, the thin, ashy paper singeing as it caught. She gave a short, hard cough as the heat hit the back of her throat and spluttered smoke out in grey puffs.

“I found Dad’s stash,” she explained as she plucked the joint from her lips and regarded it blankly. “I guess it was for the pain, but the taste would not help with the nausea.”

She offered it to Kel.

He took it from her and lifted it to his mouth. It was practically medicinal, after all. He waited for the familiar soft blur to take the edge of…him. Instead, he just felt hot as the smoke lay spiced and heavy on his tongue. Instead of sliding down into his throat, it filled his head, cedar and spice thick in his nose and threaded through his sinuses.

“Not that bad,” he said.

Sandra took it back off him. “What do you know about good weed?” she asked, no real heat to the jab. “Around here you probably smoke corn cobs for fun.”

She took another hit off the joint and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Sorry I tried to shoot you,” she muttered grudgingly.

“You missed,” Kel allowed.