Chapter Twelve

This was a bad idea.

Stopping at the hardware store on his way home had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Now Gary was staring at paint swatches. He gave up looking at the cards and picked up a tin of blue paint. If he chose to put his flat on the market, a fresh coat of paint would up the resale value. He rotated the tin to read the name.

“Made your choice?” A sales clerk asked cheerfully on his way past.

“Not yet.” What the hell was he doing, holding a tin of Stunning Cyan paint? He’d need brushes. A roller. Primer.

“We have a visualizer app online, if you need help finding a color palette.”

“Right.” Spend an hour fiddling about with a virtual room and paint samples? Not likely.

“Let me know if you have any questions.” The sales clerk continued down the aisle, straightening tins as he went. “We’ll be closing soon.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He’d have to remove the old paint. Get the loose flakes off. Tarp the furniture. It would be a good weekend of work, if not more.

Fall into bed exhausted and he might sleep. Gary could still feel Adriana’s blood on his fingers from last night’s dream, coating the skin like a film. He put the tin back on the shelf.

What did it matter if someone had been in the orchard, one step ahead of him? The old woman could have been imagining things, alone in the house. That fast mutter on the stairs, words circling in on each other. The sign of a mind slipping. Or fear.

If someone else had been there, covered the same ground, it would be easy to spot. Gary dug his hands in his pockets. There’d be evidence, even now. He could go back, search the area. For fibers snagged on a branch. Prints with any luck.

It would be a risk. Maybe even a waste of time.

Past the greens and he was heading into the browns and the same beige his walls already were. Pick that shade and he might as well not bother. The yellow caught his eye. Adriana’s voice in his ear. Just imagine, yellow walls on a rainy day.

Gary reached for Stonewashed Blue. He could live with that color.

There was movement at the end of the aisle. Gary looked up. Framed by the shelves, head down and intent on the bag slung over her shoulder, was Kate Rowan. She should look out of place. Five foot nothing, delicate features and power tools on the wall behind her.

Gary propped a shoulder against the shelf beside him and crossed his arms. She hadn’t seen him yet. A square of paper appeared from her purse, and a bite-sized chocolate. Kate popped the candy in her mouth and strode out of sight, unfolding the paper as she went.

Gary left the paint and followed. A second too slow rounding the corner. She’d disappeared. Walking between the aisles, he glanced down each side. Past electrical and plumbing. Seasonal. It was with the hand tools and carpentry supplies that he found her. Stretched up on her toes, reaching for the shelf a good two feet above her head. Fingers just touching the edge and missing by a long shot.

“Need any help?”

Kate jumped and whirled around. Dark hair sparking like copper under the overhead lighting. Startled, she let out a breath when she recognized him. Smiled. Not full-on, but polite. “That’d be great.”

“Which one did you want?”

“The slotted screwdriver. The small one.” Kate pointed at the one she meant, and glanced again at the paper in her hand. A list. Hard to read from his angle.

“There you go.” Gary weighed it in his hand before passing the screwdriver to her. Hardened steel blade. Length sixty millimeters. Tip width two point five millimeters. Good grip. Small all right. “Anything else?” Up the charm a bit. Lean closer. It wasn’t often you were given a second chance. Play things right and the encounter could work in his favor.

Kate hesitated, scanning the selection of tools. “The four-piece awl, pick and hook set.”

He took it down for her. “Got a project lined up?”

“Recreational locksmithing, in fact.” Kate started toward the cash.

Not what he’d expected. “Lock picking? Planning a heist, are you?” He lengthened his stride to keep up with her.

“Would I tell you, if I was?”

“You have just told me you’re going to pick a lock,” he pointed out. “You’ll have to buy my silence and cut me in now. I’m Gary, by the way.” She turned back to look at him. “Partners in crime should be on a first name basis.” He held out his hand.

She took it. “I’m Kate, but I won’t be cracking a safe. Or pulling off a diamond heist.” She stepped back with a rueful smile. “My great-aunt can’t find the key to unlock one of the bedroom doors.”

Not one of the bedrooms in use. They’d call someone if that were the case, get the door open fast. There was no guest room. Wendell’s room? Must be. If they got in, what would they find? Blink, miss one thing, and you could lose everything. “You can order lock pick sets online.”

“This is more fun. I’ll try to jimmy the lock with the pick hook and a bobby pin. If that doesn’t work, I’ll remove the handle with the screwdriver to get at the locking mechanism. It’ll be embarrassing if neither of those attempts gets the door open.” She frowned.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She laid her purchases on the counter.

“Do you always have chocolate in your purse?”

Kate glanced back at him and grinned. “Sometimes it’s crisps.”

“A well balanced diet. If you’d like something more nourishing, we could grab a bite to eat. My treat. Unless you’ve got pizza in there too.”

“Pizza would be far too messy.” Kate took her bag from the cashier. “Weren’t you going to buy something here?”

“Changed my mind.” Gary sped up to get to the door first. He held it open for her. Kate stepped onto the street ahead of him. It was darker now. The setting sun reflected off the glass in the door as he closed it behind them.

He asked again, “So, what do you think? Fish and chips at the pub?” A glass of wine, a sympathetic ear and the story would come pouring out. How she found the body. The doctor’s verdict. What she thought Wendell had been hiding behind the locked door. “I knocked you over and spilled your tea the other day. It’s the least I can do.”

“I do love fish and chips.” She looked down the street, emptier now that the shops were closing.

“But? Sounded like there was one at the end of that sentence.”

“You got me.” Kate laughed. “I’ve been unpacking boxes of books for the last few hours. All I really want is to go home and put my feet up.”

“We can get a table for four. You can prop your feet up on the extra chair. If anyone asks, we’ll tell them we’re waiting for Dana and Gene.”

“Dana and Gene?”

Gary shrugged. “First names that came to mind. Dana Andrews and Gene Tierney.” He paused. “It’s a win-win situation for you. Dinner at no cost to you. A spot to rest your feet. I’m the one at risk here. You appear to have a criminal mind and I’ve told you my name.”

“I don’t know your last name.”

“That would be easy to find out. A woman skilled at recreational locksmithing would know how to do the research.”

“I could just ask.”

“True.” He waited.

“It’s tempting, but I’d rather not go for dinner.”

That was blunt. He didn’t think she’d say no. “Another time?”

“I’m not sure you’d find it worth the effort.”

“Why not?”

“I have high expectations.” Kate added lightly, “and a reputation for demanding perfection.”

“I’m not perfect.” Far from it.

“Not many people are. It’s disappointing.” Kate began walking, turning around to face him. “Thanks again for the help.” She held up the bag from the hardware store.

“Is your car parked far away?”

“In front of the bookshop.” She pointed at the car parked on the other side of the street from them. “I own Fortune’s Cove Books.”

“I’ll watch, make sure you get there safe.”

“The traffic is treacherous.” There wasn’t another car in sight.

Gary laughed. He watched her cross the road and wave when she got to the car.

He’d always liked a challenge.