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He waited, hoping she’d provide a few details, and Viper decided to cooperate. “He’s a lot different from the way he was before he went to prison.”
Her troublemaking didn’t go over nearly as well as she’d hoped. “Everybody deserves a second chance,” Big Mike said solemnly. And then, “Holy cripes, but you look familiar.”
While she speculated on what kind of man would say “holy cripes,” Big Mike gazed at her more closely. “You been on the island before?”
“No. My first trip.”
His gold bracelet gleamed as he stuck his hand in his pocket. “It’ll come to me. I never forget a face.”
She hoped that wasn’t true. He looked like he wanted to linger for a chat, so she nodded toward the steps. “I have some things to do in the house. I’ll walk with you.”
He followed her, and when they reached the top, he pumped her hand again. “Anything you need, you let me know. Big Mike’s services don’t stop with the sale. Ask anybody on the island, and they’ll tell you that.”
“I’ll remember.”
He finally left. She began to walk toward the house only to stop as she heard a rustle in the trees that didn’t sound as though it came from a squirrel. A branch snapped, and she glimpsed a bright red T-shirt.
“I see you, Toby!” she called out. “Stop spying on me!”
She didn’t expect an answer, and she didn’t receive one.
She made a sandwich, but tossed it out after only a few bites. She sent Meg a text that revealed nothing important, then did the same with her parents. She wanted to send Ted a text but couldn’t imagine what she’d say. With hours still to kill, she wandered into the sunroom.
Three walls of dirty, square-paned windows extended in a large square bay from the wainscoting to the ceiling. Lumpy couches, wing chairs upholstered in fabrics popular in the early nineties, and scarred tables sat haphazardly around the big room. This must have been the family’s primary indoor gathering place. Built-in bookshelves displayed the detritus that ended up in summer homes: yellowed paperbacks, videotapes of old movies, board games in broken boxes held together by dehydrated rubber bands. There was something about this house she’d loved from the beg
inning, and her inner Martha Stewart wanted to toss out all the junk and clean those windows until they sparkled.
She picked up a ratty dish towel she’d used to wipe up a Coke spill and rubbed one corner of the glass. Most of the dirt was on the outside, but not nearly all of it. She blew on the pane and rubbed again. Better.
Cooking wasn’t the only homemaking task she’d observed during her White House years, and fifteen minutes later she was equipped with a squeegee she’d seen in the upstairs bathroom, a bucket of clean water with a few drops of dishwashing soap, and a stepladder from the pantry. Before long, she’d finished one section of the sunroom windows. She reached for a spot she’d missed, and when she was satisfied, climbed down only to trip on the bottom rung.
Panda stood just inside the door, a can of Coke in his hand, combat in his eyes. “I’ll bet you were real popular with the Secret Service.”
Chapter Eight
SHE SHOULD NEVER HAVE COME back to the house, and she certainly shouldn’t have let him catch her washing his filthy windows. She grabbed the ladder for support and tested Viper’s sneer again. “Did I hurt your pride?”
“Destroyed it,” he said dryly.
“Excellent. It’s not every day I get to outwit a trained professional.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘outwit.’”
“I would.” His clothes had dried, but he kicked his shoes off, and she could have sworn his dark stubble had grown since she’d given him the slip. “The ferry’s not due in until six.” She patted her tutu skirt back in place. “Obviously you had better luck chartering a boat than I did.”
“The gun helped.”
She had no idea whether he was serious or not. She knew nothing about him. He ran his thumb around the curve of the Coke can and propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Now I see why your father was so insistent about me not identifying myself. You’ve had practice pulling your disappearing act.”
“I’ve only slipped away a few times.”
He jabbed his Coke in the general direction of her face. “If I’d really been on duty, you wouldn’t have slipped away at all.”
True. He wouldn’t have let her out of his sight. Which meant her family really hadn’t rehired him. “Who tipped you off that I’ve been staying here?”
“Let’s just say I’ve kept tabs on you.”
Her parents. “I’m touched.”
