FORTY-NINE

Amber and I had just reached the car when my phone vibrated.

“You called me?” a gruff male voice asked. “This is Willard Shuman.”

Huh? It took a sec for my brain to un-fart and his name to register. “Uh, yes, yes I did. I need a bid for hauling away an outbuilding that burned to the ground.”

I didn’t describe the rubble as a one-time cottage since I worried “cottage” implied the job was bigger than it was.

“Am I gonna be dealin’ with an insurance company?”

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry ’bout if you got the dough. I charge less when I don’t have to fight a paper blizzard. Where’s this outbuilding?”

I gave him the address.

“Can ya meet me there now? I’m close, maybe ten minutes. Know it’s a Sunday, but I’m tied up all day tomorrow.”

“Just a sec.” I turned to Amber. “Do you mind stopping by Summer Place for a few minutes? A salvage guy would like to meet now to look at the cottage rubble.”

“Sure,” Amber answered. “If you promise we can eat as soon as you finish. My stomach’s sending rumbling reminders that we missed lunch in all the excitement.”

“Deal. Why don’t you call Ursula and invite her and my parents to join us? Figure we’ve held them at bay as long as we can. Surprised Dad hasn’t sent out a search party. We can rendezvous at Summer Place. There are beers and a bottle of wine in the fridge. Everyone can have a drink and relax while the demolition guy and I kick charred boards around.”

Amber laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I get to do all the explaining while you’re conveniently absent. Yeah, I’ll give Ursula a call.”

Amber had plenty of time to chat on the phone during our ride from downtown Clemson to Summer Place. It was usually a five-minute drive, but a car accident slowed Highway 123 traffic to a crawl.

“Ursula will meet us at Summer Place,” Amber reported. “In spite of your parent’s protests, she found a motel room for the night. With the weekend basketball crowd clearing out, rooms are opening up. Ursula promised to call your folks and share the dinner invite.”

Good. A welcome postponement of the interrogation I expected as soon as Mom or Dad spoke to me.

For the moment all I had to worry about was Mr. Demolition Man. Fingers crossed he’d take pity on me and name a price somewhat south of my debt limit.

Willard beat us. He’d parked on the street and stood curbside, bent over a metal storage box in the bed of his truck. I gave Amber a key to the sunporch’s new lock. “Go on in, and help yourself to beer or wine. This shouldn’t take long.”

The demo specialist mumbled as he fished around in his storage box. I walked up behind him. When he didn’t turn at my approach I cleared my throat. Finally, I tapped his shoulder.

“Hi,” I said when he looked up. “I’m Brie Hooker. Thanks for coming.”

The leathery-faced man grunted. He definitely spent lots of time outdoors. “Hey. Didn’t hear ya.” He pointed at a hearing aid. “Blew up a lot of stuff in the Army. Now a herd of elephants could trample me before I heard ’em. I’m huntin’ spare batteries. My laser tape measure’s gone dead. Ah ha! There they are.”

I pulled my jacket tighter and glanced at the sky as Willard plunked new batteries in his high-tech measuring gizmo. Though the official time of sunset was after six o’clock, leaden clouds, thick and brooding had ushered dusk in ahead of schedule.

Willard wasn’t exactly a speed demon, and he wasn’t a talker either. He took a variety of measurements to calculate the cubic volume of debris. He also picked up what might have been the cottage’s fireplace poker to probe the piles of burnt timbers.

“Not much metal to salvage,” he mused. “Saw a toilet seat. You gonna want those fireplace stones hauled off or piled somewhere? Might could use them to edge a garden. They’re heavy to cart away.”

I shrugged. “If it’s cheaper to pile the chimney stones, I’ll find a use for them.”

Willard spit in the grass. Then he pulled a pencil from behind his ear, jotted down some notes to himself, and gave me a price.

I’m not a spitter, but his number was high enough to make me want to hock one up. I doubted I could do better and Willard promised to start bright and early Tuesday morning.

“Okay. Do you need me to sign something?”

“Nah. I’ve only been nicked once. I drive by here now and again. I see all the work you’ve been putting in. You ain’t the kind to welsh on me.”

I walked him to his truck and we shook hands. Then I headed for Summer Place’s sunporch. I was surprised no more cars had pulled into my drive. Hated to admit it, but I was kind of hoping Amber would start the explanations without me. I’d have to find something besides alcohol to tide Amber over until our dinner companions arrived. Maybe hummus and corn chips.

When I opened the sunporch door, I was surprised Amber wasn’t sitting on the glider. It was the only comfortable place to kick back. I smiled. The poor girl was starving. Maybe she was in the kitchen scavenging for food.

“Amber, where are you? Don’t tell me you’ve fainted from hunger?”

The detective didn’t answer. Huh? Had she got tired of waiting and decided to go for a stroll in the neighborhood?

Just in case she hadn’t heard me or had her mouth so stuffed she couldn’t answer, I decided to check the kitchen.

“Amber?” I called.

My head exploded in pain. What?