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Honestly, any sort of beer was okay for me.
“So,” I said, taking a long draw on my cold one, “what’s your plan with the house? You and your boyfriend, I mean. Hey, what’s his name, again?”
Her lips pursed. Christ. Better not ask any more questions about the boyfriend. They must have gotten in a fight or something.
“Lance. His name was Lance. I mean, is Lance.” She gave a little laugh. Sounded forced, if you asked me.
I took another swig of my Stella. “Oh, that’s right. Yeah.”
“How long have you lived next door?” she asked.
“‘Bout ten years. I knew the last owner of this house, Wagner. He was a great old guy.”
She looked around the house. “Maybe, but he sure left this place a mess.”
“No kidding,” I a
greed, looking around. Oh shit, that was rude. “I mean…sorry. Didn’t mean to say your house was a mess.”
She smiled, her freckles practically jumping off her cheeks. “It’s okay. It is kind of a shithole. We had planned—I mean, are planning—to renovate and then sell.” She looked at her beer bottle, playing with the label.
Okay, something was definitely up. And I wanted no part of it. I hoped the boyfriend hadn’t been a dick to her.
I continued talking. What the hell? I didn’t have anywhere to be. “Yeah, I’ve been in my house ten years and have been a contractor about eleven.” I shook my head. It was incredible how fast time had moved.
She tilted her head as she studied me. “How’d you get into your line of work? Had you always enjoyed building things?”
It’s funny how life sometimes just happens to you. Or doesn’t.
“My dad was a contractor, and I used to help him during the summers and the weekends. When he passed away, I took over to finish up what he had in the works and close out the books. One thing led to another, and ten-plus years flew by.”
She stood from her chair. “Hey, I was going to make a little dinner. Would you like to join me?”
“Uh, sure. That sounds nice. Thank you.”
She started taking some things out of the fridge. Green beans, chicken, potatoes. Simple, fresh, real—just how I liked it.
But where was Lance?
When her back was to me, I peeked around the corner of the kitchen, where I could see through the living room into one of the bedrooms. The house was in bad shape, but it was tidy enough.
There were no signs of Lance or any other guy.
Maybe she’d killed him. And stuffed him through the hole in the floor in the living room.
Kidding.
I could help them with their house. Every contractor’s dream was to tear something to the studs and build it anew. But my dad had always said to be careful who you do business with and to try to stay away from friends and neighbors. If, god forbid, anything went wrong, there would always be bad blood.
So I came up with another idea.
“Hey, I know a lot of contractors. I could recommend a couple.”
She turned from whatever was sizzling on the stove. “You’re the contractor. Why aren’t you suggesting yourself?”
Think fast.
“Oh, um, because I’m pretty much booked. I know lots of other good folks, though.” Whew, that was close.
