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The door shut, and Steph told Cal, “I’ve got to go, but I really do have questions for you. If that’s okay, I mean? Do you have a consultation fee?”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said in a businesslike tone. “When are you finished for the day?”
“Around six.”
“Okay, call me then. I’ll make myself available.”
She could hardly believe her luck—Cal Conner was a private investigator? She knew she couldn’t officially hire one, but maybe just asking a few questions would help her and Brandy ease their minds? “Thanks, Cal.”
“Sure thing.”
Once they hung up, and Steph had started on her next client—Mrs. Vanderhaven, who only wanted a wash and set—she wondered if there were too many coincidences going on. As in, were things too good to be true? Cal rode in on a white horse just after her breakup with Nate, apologizing. He was in the very profession that could help her out of her dilemma with Brandy and her mom … It was as if things were finally lining up and going her way.
She shook those thoughts away. Closure with Cal was nice, but that was all it had been. And it would be good to get a professional’s advice.
The rest of the afternoon both crawled and sped by. She headed out of work with only the minimal goodbyes to the rest of the stylists, then walked home.
There’d been a message from the mechanic that her car needed a new starter and would be in the shop for a few days while they waited for the ordered part. The walk home wasn’t far, and she’d worn her lower-heeled sandals. The only problem was Pops had a doctor’s appointment in a few days, and she needed a car to drive him.
She could borrow one of her friends’, she knew, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
As she approached the house she’d been living in for several years—caretaking for Pops after her parents retired and moved to Florida—she noticed the patchy brown lawn. Well, she always noticed it, but now, she remembered Cal’s words. She needed to research lawn diseases and find out if there was any hope.
Should she wait until next spring, though?
She bypassed the lawn and walked into the house.
“’Bout time you got home, it’s freezing in here,” Pops said from where he sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by newspapers.
“Love you, too, Pops, how was your day?” She kissed the top of his speckled, balding head.
“Cold.”
Steph set her hands on her hips. “You’re wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Have you tried to dress like it’s September?”
“Shouldn’t have to,” he retorted. “I’m inside my own house.”
Steph let the words roll off—Pops alternated between grumpy and sarcastic.
“Well, how about I make you a hot dinner to warm you up?”
He folded his arms and watched her move about the kitchen. Steph opened the fridge and saw that the sandwich she’d made him was missing—so that was good, at least.
“Does chili sound good?”
“Sure,” he grumbled.
His mood would lift after he ate—he was that predictable. At least he wasn’t complaining about chili two nights in a row. There was plenty left over from the batch she’d made yesterday. As she heated it on the stove, she popped some bread in the toaster, then put together a quick salad.
“Working on a crossword?” she asked.
“Finished them all,” he said, his tone easing.
She knew it probably wasn’t ideal for him to be alone all day, but his teacher’s pension didn’t cover all the bills, and she worked to supplement. There’d been a handful of times over the past year that her parents had brought up assisted living for Pops, but he’d been vehemently against it. And while Steph was still single, it made sense for her to watch out for him …
She moved to his side and peered at the crossword in front of him. “What about one of those crossword books? Then you wouldn’t have to wait for the newspapers every day.”
Pops released a noncommittal grunt, which was better than an outright no. Steph made a mental note to grab one at the convenience store next time she was out.
