1 A High-End Finish (20 page)

The reason I always responded was not because I was the nicest contractor in town—which I was—but because I knew that if I didn’t repair the damage immediately, she would bad-mouth my father’s beautiful work to all her snooty friends.

She was just that kind of a bitch.

I looked around for Wade and found him clinging to the side of the house like a determined spider as he worked to replace several rows of cedar shingles underneath the second-floor gable. I checked to make sure he was securely belted to the scaffolding before yelling his name.

“Hey, Shan.” He waved. “Come on up.”

I laughed. “I would love to, but I’ve got to take off for a little while. The Gallaghers’ ceiling is leaking.”

“Oh, great.” I could see his eyes rolling from here.

“I might need to pull a couple of guys to help me patch it up, but I’ll let you know.”

“Whatever the princess wants. See you later.”

I jogged to my truck, stashed my tools in the toolbox, and took off for Whitney’s house a few miles away. It was still hard to believe that she and Tommy had stayed together all these years. The man had to have the patience of a saint, or maybe he just ignored her most of the time.

I realized that I would much rather deal with Joyce Boyer’s angry snark than Whitney’s cold bitchiness any day of the week.

I pulled to a stop in front of Whitney’s place and shoved my pink work gloves into my purse.

Before I could ring the doorbell, she whipped open the door. She wore a sheer black lace top with black skinny jeans and black high heels. Just a casual little something to wear around the house.

She scanned me, as well, from my worn denim shirt down to my scuffed work boots. “Took you long enough to get here.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, and walked inside.

She laughed. It was a genuine shock to hear the sound of her laughter. I hated to admit it out loud, but once in a blue moon we actually managed to get along. Even crazier, we occasionally had the same taste in home styles and interior decor. I knew this because she had managed to get herself a wholesale license a few years ago and had convinced people around town that she was an interior designer. Consequently, I was forced to work with her every so often. Because we both wanted the work and wanted to do a good job, we feigned cooperation when the clients were around. Invariably, they were happy with our results. That’s what mattered most.

As soon as the clients would leave the vicinity or one of Whitney’s friends, especially Jennifer, would come around, Whitney would turn back into the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Where’s the leak?” I asked.

“In here.” Her stiletto heels
click-clack
ed on the smooth oak floor as she led the way to the great room off the kitchen. As I walked through the house, I took a moment to admire my father’s work. The kitchen and large family room featured high ceilings with contemporary industrial lights that hung down over the bar. The kitchen was ultramodern, with stainless-steel appliances, mission-style cabinetry, and French doors leading to a small kitchen garden. There was a larger backyard off the family room, as well.

Whitney stood by the bar and pointed up. I stared at the ceiling until I finally found the minuscule water spot she was referring to. “I don’t see any water actually dripping. Are you sure it’s leaking?”

“It was earlier and it left that stain. I don’t want it to start up again.”

“Did you leave the bathtub running?”

“Of course not.”

“I’m going upstairs to see what’s causing it.” An hour later, I had tracked down the leak to the kids’ playroom on the third floor. The youngest little darling had spent all day pouring small buckets of water down the laundry chute. Some of it had leaked into the space between the first and second floors and had pooled, which had caused the tiny water spot to appear on the ceiling downstairs.

I called two of my guys to bring over our heavy-duty wet vac to suck up any remaining moisture, along with a few strong fans to help dry out the laundry chute. The guys would work here for the rest of the afternoon, until everything was dry.

I found Whitney in the kitchen and told her what the problem was and how we planned to fix it. “Todd and Johnny will be here for another couple of hours. Then Todd will come by first thing in the morning and touch up the spot on the ceiling. Will you be home?”

“I have to take the kids to school, but I’ll be home by nine.”

“Okay. He’ll meet you here at nine.”

“You swear the spot will be gone by the time my guests arrive?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed in thought. “What about the paint fumes?”

“That’s why I want him to get an early start. You’ll have to leave some doors open, but the smell should be gone within an hour or two.”

“It had better be,” she warned.

“You’re welcome,” I said dryly. I packed up my tools and headed for the front door. Whitney followed me to the door, just as her friend Jennifer was about to press the doorbell.

“Well, well,” Jennifer said, casting an accusing look at me and Whitney. “Isn’t this cozy?”

“
Cozy
? As in
warm and friendly
?” I snorted. “Hardly.”

I passed her on the front step and heard her mutter, “Nice hair.”

“Get over yourself,” I said wearily, and kept going. How many more years would I have to put up with her giving me grief about my wavy red hair? There were plenty of people around who liked my hair. And she needed to get a life.

Meanwhile, I wanted to shove a pry bar up her nose.

“God, Whitney,” Jennifer said loudly. “How could you let her walk into your house in those hideous dirty boots?”

I glanced back and saw Whitney shake her head. “It wasn’t easy. But you know how these townies are.”

“I’ll bet Penny likes those boots, though,” Jennifer continued snidely. “The two of them were pretty tight at the gym the other night. I even saw them hugging.” She gave Whitney a knowing look. “I think Shannon might like girls better than boys.”

I should’ve kept walking, but she was so infuriating, I had to stop and turn around. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but isn’t it time you learned to shut your mouth?”

“Ooh, defensive,” Jennifer said.

“You think she likes girls?” Whitney asked, egging her on.

“It makes sense,” Jennifer reasoned. “The only man she’s dated since Tommy dumped her back in high school is Jerry Saxton, and we all know what happened to him.”

I cocked my head to study her. “Will you ever grow up?”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer taunted. “Will you ever go to jail for killing Jerry?”

My eyes went wide. Where had that come from? I didn’t know how to respond, it was so offensive.

Whitney snorted with laughter.

I found my tongue and said in an innocent voice, “But gosh, Jennifer. I saw you hugging Penny, too. Maybe what I’m hearing from you is a little bit of . . . jealousy?”

Whitney roared with laughter and elbowed her friend. “Snap! She got you there.”

Jennifer’s eyes were narrow slits of fury as she jabbed her finger at me. “Everyone knows you killed Jerry because you were jealous of him sleeping with Penny.”

I was taken aback. “Jerry was sleeping with Penny?” I thought about the conversations I’d had with Penny. “I don’t believe it.”

“Shows you what you know.” Jennifer’s laughter sounded forced, but she didn’t back down. “It’s all true.”

“No, it’s not.” I met Whitney’s gaze and caught her aiming a look of pure contempt at her so-called friend. Wow. Things weren’t exactly perfect between Whitney and Jennifer.

Finished here, I turned and walked to my truck, leaving them to face off with each other.

But as I drove away, I was more confused than ever. Was Jennifer telling the truth? Had Penny slept with that jerk Jerry Saxton? It was impossible. Penny despised him as much as I did. Jennifer was lying just to annoy me. Or was she? Who knew what was going on in her spiteful little mind?

At this point I was certain of only one thing: I really couldn’t stand Jennifer Bailey.

•   •   •

Ten minutes later, I was driving home. But as I approached the turnoff for the Boyers’ house, I decided on a whim to go back to the job site instead. It was a little after four o’clock and I figured I could squeeze in another hour of work before going home.

After dealing with Jennifer and Whitney, I needed a distraction. I was still fuming over our bizarre confrontation and figured it would be better for me to work on something tangible and practical at the job site than to have to face my own four walls in this rotten mood.

I parked the truck in the Boyer’s treelined driveway, grabbed my bag and toolbox, and walked up to the house. The guys had all gone home for the day. I decided to continue Todd’s work of lining up the newly painted balusters for the porch railing. He had dropped everything when I called him to come to Whitney’s house, so the least I could do was pick up where he’d left off. It was easy but time-consuming, a matter of fitting the new decorative baluster into the groove in the bottom railing that the guys had built last week.

The best part of the job was that it was mindless. I had already finished a third of one side of the porch when my cell phone rang.

This time I answered it eagerly. “Dad! Where are you?”

“I’m heading home. Wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“I’m so glad.”

I told him I was still at the Boyers’ house and asked how his fishing trip had gone. We made plans to walk down to the pub for dinner later. After I ended the call, my mood was completely lifted. I would finish this portion of the railing and then pack up and go home.

The sun was just starting to slide below the horizon when I trudged back to my truck to pack up my tools. Despite feeling good about my father’s return, I realized that the earlier confrontation with Jennifer had exhausted me. There was nothing I could do about the woman, so I would have to learn to let go of the frustration and negativity I walked away with every time I had to deal with her.

I turned and gazed out at the horizon and took a moment to appreciate the deep blue ocean and the vivid colors of the crisp fall sky. I could smell leaves burning somewhere nearby. I waited until the last bit of sun disappeared into the ocean before I turned and pulled the tailgate down to slide my toolbox into the truck bed. It took a minute to secure it to the side of the truck and then I slammed the tailgate closed.

The soft snap of a tree branch behind me was my only warning. Something brutally heavy slammed into my temple and everything went bright before it all turned to darkness.

•   •   •

I awoke slowly. My vision was splintered; my head throbbed in pain. I couldn’t quite swim out of the blackness. I had to remind myself to keep breathing, but even the act of sucking in air was difficult. Every little movement was like a power drill boring a hole into the side of my head. I had to ignore the pain, try to revive myself in order to track down whoever had done this to me.

I was wasting precious time while that person was getting away, but I couldn’t be too impatient with myself, since I was incapable of sitting up. I blinked again and realized I couldn’t see.
Am I blind now? Oh, my God.
I started to panic.

It was a few long seconds before it occurred to me that it had grown dark while I was unconscious.
Idiot!
I must’ve been hit even harder than I thought. Stretched out on the cold concrete driveway, I moved my head back and forth, looking around, concentrating on my vision, trying to pick out shapes and objects. My truck. A neighbor’s house. The moon rising.

I heard a vehicle approach and tried again to sit up. The bright headlights blinded me and I moaned and rolled over onto my side. I was a mess.

A door slammed and footsteps ran toward me.

“Shannon! You here?”

I’d never been so happy to hear my father’s voice.

“Dad,” I uttered.

“Baby, what are you doing on the ground? What happened?”

I touched the side of my head. “Somebody hit me.”

“Oh, my God. My baby.” He fell onto his knees, pulled me close, and rocked me in his arms. “Who did this? Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “My head.”

“Hell, I’m hurting you.”

“Not you,” I insisted. “Someone hit me. Not you.”

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No.” I couldn’t face answering questions from nurses and doctors and, no doubt, the police. My head pounded, my stomach was iffy, and I was just miserable enough to crave my comfy couch. “Please, Dad, let’s go home.”

He picked me up and carried me in his arms to the Winnebago. By the time I was sitting in the front seat of the huge RV, I was a little more lucid.

“Will you go back and find my purse and car keys, Dad?”

“Sure, honey.” He was gone for less than a minute and came back with my purse. “I locked up your truck. It’ll be fine here overnight.”

“Hey, Dad,” I murmured a minute later. “Do you remember passing any cars on your way here?”

He thought for a moment. “There was one black car driving pretty fast toward the highway. It looked like a little foreign job. Sporty.”

Great. Everyone I knew had a black car. But one of them stood out in my mind more than the others: Jennifer Bailey’s BMW.

I couldn’t think of anyone more likely to want to hurt me than her. And nobody was more capable of murder, in my opinion. But why?

I had to admit, Dad’s little black-car clue was weak at best because didn’t Whitney drive a groovy little black Jaguar?
Her parents must’ve bought her that car,
I thought,
because there is no way Tommy could’ve afforded it on a cop’s salary.
And wasn’t Penny’s little Miata black? Or was it blue? Heck, even Lizzie’s SUV was black. So was Mac’s car. And Emily drove a black Mini Cooper. Did anyone in this town drive a car that wasn’t black?

The pounding in my head was getting worse and I couldn’t think straight. There were plenty of people in town who had hated Jerry enough to kill him. And the same went for Wendell Jarvick. But who hated those two men—and
me
? And which of them drove a black car?