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“Good. Really good. Thanks.”
I hang up, check the time again, then cast my gaze around the room, looking for forgotten items. My phone charger cord snakes out of an outlet. I grab it, wrap it into a ball, and stuff it in my purse.
When I start my hike up the basement stairs with my suitcase thumping along behind me, it’s with two things on my mind.
First: If Hana Chen’s rate is three hundred bucks an hour, I might not be able to afford her help.
Second: Just how much of an outlaw is Outlaw?
My next stop is Pansy’s house, so I’m about to find out.
Chapter 5
Nick
There are lights on next door at Pansy’s house. I hike up the steps to my porch, running my hand along the smooth-sanded railing on one side of the steps.
This evening I planned on working on the other railing. Whiling away a couple hours with the piece of sandpaper in my hand. Letting myself forget about work, focus on the feel of the wood as it softens, and watching the rays of the setting sun filter through the leaves of the maple tree on the front lawn.
But…
Maybe I’ll visit my new neighbor, instead.
I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob and peer to the right again.
The warm light inside Pansy’s shifts as a figure crosses the living room.
Maddison doesn’t see me. She’s talking—to someone? Nope, the dog. She’s talking to the dog.
I watch as Outlaw’s white-and-brown form leaps up onto the couch and wiggles playfully. He bows his head down. When helifts his chin again he has a mustache of white pillow stuffing over his nose.
Maddison shakes a finger at him, and I see her lips moving.
I knew that dog would give her the runaround. Maddison’s probably been chasing after him all day. She’ll probably be glad for a distraction.
I smile to myself and cross the threshold into my Victorian.
The wooden staircase still has a drop cloth over it. Smells like paint and freshly cut wood in here, thanks to the coat I applied a few days back, plus the pile of sawed-off dowels that still need to be fitted into the staircase railing.
I stash my bag and then grab a tray of brownies off the counter.
I baked them last night. Not from scratch or anything—it was just a box mix that I whipped together, in anticipation of Maddison moving into Pansy’s.
A housewarming gift, I guess.
When I knock on the front door of the colossal lavender Victorian with white trim, I hear Outlaw let loose a volley of excited barks. Instead of waiting for Maddison to come to the door I poke my head in. “Neighbor?”
“Nick? Is that you? I saw you drive up and I was about to—Outlaw, no-no!”
I make my way down the hall and spot Maddison and Outlaw playing tug of war with one of her sweatshirts.
She’s in faded jeans again, plus a black T-shirt and nearly threadbare zip-up sweatshirt, pushed up to her elbows. A wraparound headband pushes her hair out of her face. She squats down to get eye-level with the dog. “No-no, Outlaw, no-no. Drop it.”
Outlaw wags his tail.
“Drop it,” Maddison insists again. Then, with one gentle motion she pries his jaw from the garment.
He wags his tail some more and looks pleased, like he’s just performed a trick.
