Square Dance with a Scandalous Skunk:
A Dance with Danger Mystery

by Sara M. Barton

Published by Sara M. Barton at Smashwords

Copyright Sara M. Barton 2012


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Chapter One –

It’s never a normal day when you find a dead body in the yard. To be honest, it’s a first for me. I carefully inspected the place before we bought it and there was nothing to indicate anything unsavory ever occurred in that sweet little bungalow. All I saw the first time I set eyes on the place was a darling of a doll’s house I thought could be a real winner for a real estate flip.
You might think that the home inspector should have turned up the skeletal remains as he went over the place with a fine-toothed comb, but they were so well hidden, there was no way Sid Lowame could have uncovered them. He did question the water bill, though, and suggested there was a leak somewhere outside the house. That’s what started the ball rolling.
We stumbled on the bones while digging up the yard with a back hoe, trying to find it. The killer’s shovel put a hole in that water pipe while he was depositing his victim into her almost-final resting place.
I admit I might have ignored some of the warning signs because I was so bent on buying the bungalow. Any time you have a missing person, you probably should wonder if something sinister happened on the property. I’ll remember that the next time this crops up, but I hope it doesn’t. This experience will last me a couple of lifetimes.
“It’s worth the investment,” I declared as I led my boss up the old, broken cement sidewalk on that first day. “This is a treasure for the taking. It just needs some TLC.”
“Why, pray tell, would I want to do that?” Ned glanced at me as he began the usual effort to poke holes in my plans. “How does that benefit me?”
“Does everything have to benefit you?” I shot back. “Does the world always have to revolve around you?”
“Of course it does. I’m the boss. I pay the bills.” He glanced at the tiny bungalow under the sycamore tree. “The house has good bones – I’ll give you that. Why do you think this is a worthy choice for the price? It’s small.”
I struggled to figure out a way to convince him that this house would be perfect for a flip, likely to sell quickly with new bathroom fixtures, new kitchen counters, and a few other cosmetic improvements. I’m a Ms. Fix-It, and there is nothing I love better than bringing an old wreck back to life. And I’m really good at it. I only wish I was as good at romance as I am at renovation.
“I think we can get it all done in six weeks, Ned. I also think we can convince the owner to drop the price $20,000. After all, it’s been sitting on the market for almost eight months.”
“The yard’s practically non-existent.”
“Yes, but that’s the beauty of it. It’s a corner lot. I thought we could do a fenced yard with a brick paver patio in the back, landscape it so there’s no grass to cut, but with plenty of plantings beds. It would be very appealing. If we also take out the grass out of the front yard, add a parking area, a curved walkway and more planting beds, the new homeowner has a charming bungalow that’s practically maintenance-free -- the convenience of a condo in a single family home. I thought it would be a good fit for a couple that’s ready to downsize or a single professional.”
“How much are you talking, money-wise, to get this ready for the market?” my older brother asked. Experience had taught me he would offer me a whole lot less money to get the job done, on the expectation I would bust my fanny to cut costs, so we could maximize profits. I was glad I tacked on an extra $10,000 to the discretionary budget, because he was sure to whack at least that much off.
“I was thinking in the range of $40,000. Some of the systems were upgraded within the last four years, including heating and electrical – there’s new wiring throughout the house, including cable and phone. The appliances were replaced three years ago. They’re asking $427,000 for the place. Other homes in the neighborhood are going for almost $550,000, but the lots are a little bigger.” 
“Upgraded is not the same as replaced or brand new. Bargain price? I don’t know. They might be motivated to negotiate. In terms of resale, what are you thinking?” he asked me. 
“Maybe $500,000. With it being the least expensive place in the neighborhood, we’ll get folks who want the chance to get their foot through the gate of Glengarry Court.” The fact that we were talking about a specific budget meant Ned was definitely interested. We were entering the danger zone. This is where I had to tread carefully, because if I underestimated the costs, it was likely to come out of my hide. But I thought I picked well. This subdivision was up and coming, hugging the skirts of Queensbury, the grand dame of Glendale, an exclusive enclave filled with expensive beachfront mansions. The property at 27 Glengarry Court Lane was three blocks to the beach, five blocks to the bay, on a tree-lined street just a six-minute walk from the train station that serviced the shoreline. It was perfect for the city rats who wanted a weekend escape.
“You’d have to get it done in four weeks to make it worth my while. Walk me through, Suzykins.” From his light-hearted use of my nickname, I could see he was interested in buying the property. I led the way, knowing Ned couldn’t see my smile. I always tacked on extra time to the renovation plan because I knew no matter what I told him, my brother always shaved a few weeks off, feeling like he gave me an impossible challenge.
I took him in through the original paneled front door of the portico-covered bungalow, currently painted a deep violet, pointing out that the previous homeowner had replaced the roof, winterized it, and added storm windows eight years ago. We stood in the cozy entry as my brother gazed around, studying the interior. There was a long green hallway straight ahead, with bedrooms and baths to the left. To our right was a double-wide archway, leading to the living room, and I encouraged Ned to follow me as I pointed out the period details, including its original oak floors and a working fireplace, which I hoped to convert to gas. He looked around, at all the dark woodwork and ruby-colored wallpaper.
“Won’t appeal to most buyers,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I know. I thought I would strip the wallpaper and paint all the walls in the house in a warm ivory palette, with a soft green or blue here and there. Much easier on the eyes. I’ll prime and paint the trim white in all of the rooms. It will lighten up the whole place.” I led him into the dining area, which was separated from the living room by a second double-wide archway. The tiny windows had diamond-shaped panes of glass and brought a unique charm to the room. There was shoulder-high wainscoting in the dark oak finish that made the room feel much smaller than it really was. The walls above were painted in a deep indigo, with tiny silver and gold hand-painted stars.
“I’ll also change the wainscoting and wall colors in here,” I announced. “We’ll still have the period details, but it will be much lighter.”
“Nice,” Ned decided. I smiled, ever hopeful. I pointed to the galley kitchen, accessed by a very narrow doorway.
“I’d like to open this wall up and make the kitchen feel less closed off from the rest of the house.”
“If it’s a load-bearing wall, that’s going to be expensive, and you’ll have to add a new header. Why not just leave it as is?”
“I’m not reconfiguring the kitchen. Another three feet would make a big difference. It doesn’t require moving any electrical outlets or plumbing. We’ll just cut a foot and a half on each side and reframe the opening. It’ll be a couple hundred dollars.”
Ned walked into the long, narrow space that was painted fluorescent orange. “It looks like a leprechaun threw up a rainbow all over this house.” 
“Yes,” I agreed. “The paint colors are very vibrant.”
“More than vibrant. Over the top. No wonder they haven’t sold it yet.” He glanced through the tiny window over the sink, noting how close the neighbors were.
“City people are used to that,” I pointed out. “And we can always add some yews along the property line when we landscape, for privacy.
“What work are you actually planning to do for the kitchen?”
”New counters, new flooring over the old, subway tile backsplash,” I explained. “I’m keeping the existing kitchen cabinets because they’re vintage oak. I’ll paint and antique them, and I’ll replace the seventies hardware with something more in keeping with the 1920’s style of the bungalow. I’ll replace the laminate tops with quartz.”
“People like granite,” he countered.
“Yes, but that doesn’t really work with the time period of the house. Marble would be more fitting, but that tends to be high maintenance. If I go with white quartz, it keeps the room feeling airy.”
“Show me the bathrooms.” I knew the minute he wanted to see the bathrooms I had a chance to get this house. I led him down the hall on the other side of the foyer and held my breath. Wait for it, I told myself as Ned leaned past me to look at the miniscule aqua-colored powder room with barely enough room to stand at the sink or toilet.
“Geez!” Ned shook his head. “You have got to be kidding!”
“It’s tiny, I know,” I agreed, all too aware of the grimace on his face, “but it’s a guest bathroom, not the main one.”
“I’d hate to be chubby and get stuck in here. The fire department would have to bust down the door. I suspect that the plumbing has to be replaced. When was this place hooked up to the city sewer?” He was looking at the antique faucets on the doll-sized sink basin and the old porcelain toilet with the original hardware. “This is a gut job and you’ll have to go small. That means a special order sink if we’re going to get something that doesn’t look like a spit sink in a dentist’s office. Ca-ching! Why was the house put on the market?”
“The owner disappeared almost three years ago for parts unknown. The family rented it for a while, hoping she’d return. Now they want to sell it.”
“You make sure the sale is legitimate, Suze. I don’t want someone to claim possession after we start work. I don’t need those kinds of complications.”
“The house is held in a family trust, so they have the right to sell it.”
“I can see why the owner booked. This place needs some serious work. Charm or no charm, it’s too small and definitely outdated -- there’s no room for expansion.”
“But it can be a jewel. It’s in a great neighborhood.”
“Well, Suzykins, if you want this little diamond in the rough, you’re going to have to work for it. I’ll give you $25,000 for the interior. You get what you need to get done with that, and we’ll talk about the exterior.”
“You’re not going to give me a full budget?” Ned was changing the game plan on me. “Why?”
“Because, little sis, I suspect that money won’t go too far. I don’t want you tearing up the yard with landscaping projects if it turns out that the plumbing all needs to be replaced and there are any other major headaches we can’t see coming.”
“$30,000,” I said defiantly.
“No.” One word. And that word said there would be no negotiation.
“Bastard,” I muttered. Could I do it with the money he offered? Maybe. Probably not. I would have to scramble.
“We won’t offer a penny over $375,000. This place needs too much work to pay more than that, especially if we have to replace water and sewer pipes on the outside.” Ned was watching me with careful eyes. I bit my tongue, taking a breath before speaking. If he was going that low on the budget and talking about digging up the old pipes, it meant he was serious about the sale. Ned is a systems guy. When he sells a house, he loves to say things like, “It was a complete renovation, right down to the sewer line. We tore up the yard and replaced everything.” It also usually meant he was willing to do more than just cosmetic work, so there would be a home warranty included in the sale.
“Show me the other bathroom and the bedrooms,” he commanded. I led the way to the back of the house, down the lime green cupboard-lined hallway, with its built-ins. “Is there room for a desk here?”
Ned and I paused by an uninterrupted stretch of shelving. I took out my tape measure and checked.
“Four feet. We could leave the upper shelves here and make a custom desk below, with a file drawer. We’d have to add lighting and an electrical outlet or two, but it would be a good use of space.”
“Just enough clearance for a desk chair that’s not too bulky. The hallway is wide enough.” I could see Ned was starting to get excited. I just hoped he didn’t get too fired up, or I’d lose control of the project when he stuck his big, fat feet in my way. “Let’s see that bathroom.”
“Right down here,” I replied. I opened the door on my left into a room painted golden rod yellow. Nate blinked hard, trying to shield his eyes. The original clawfoot tub sat on one side of the large room. An ancient wall sink, stained with years of endlessly dripping water, its enamel deeply eroded, hung on the opposite side, with what seemed to be a toilet from the forties. The floor was linoleum, like the kitchen. Ned took a deep breath before heaving a deep sigh.
“You’re not planning to keep that old tub, are you?” he asked, with a warning note hanging in the air.
“No,” I shook my head. “It needs more than just refinishing. I actually thought I’d tear everything out of here, go right down to the floor boards, and start fresh. Big walk-in shower stall, small soaking tub, tall sink vanity with storage, new toilet, small linen cabinet.”
“You’re talking at least fifteen grand, Suze!”
“Not really,” I shot back. “Bobby and I can do it ourselves once the asbestos guys get through. I’m talking about very basic stuff, Ned. I’ll tile the walls myself after the cement backer board goes up.”
“I don’t want to go with cheap materials on this, Suzy. Not in this neighborhood.”
“Fine, I won’t use the typical contractor-grade tiles. I’ll go to Henley Distributors. They’re bound to have something new that’s unique and appropriate at a discount in the backroom.”
“You’re missing my point. If you need to remove the asbestos in the bathrooms, in addition to replacing all the fixtures, the budget won’t take you far, even if there is nothing else wrong with the place.”
“Fine, we’ll skip the soaker tub. Or I’ll do the tub instead of the shower stall.”
“Still too risky.”
“Please?”
“Suze, I love you, but this is a money pit. If the plumbing pipes are as bad as the bathroom fixtures they’re hooked up to, we are talking about $50,000 just for the interior. I’ll be losing money on this place.”
“Come on, Ned,” I cajoled him. “Consider the possibilities. Maybe we can start a blog about the project. People love these little bungalow redos and they can follow along as we go. It’s great publicity for Dawkins Builders.”
There it was, my trump card. As owner of one of the area’s best renovations company, Ned was a flipper with a reputation for quality work, and there was nothing he loved more than tooting his own horn.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“It’s a great chance to show everyone what you do.”
“You mean what you do,” he pointed out. “You and Bobby are doing this project.”
“Yes, but you’re the brains behind the operation. You could explain what goes into renovating a place like this, the hidden dangers of taking on a project without knowing the full extent of the issues, the money traps, how to cut costs. You’re the expert, right?”
As the little sister, I had had years of sucking up to my big brother, feeding the enormous ego and convincing him that he would get the grand prize. I learned a long time ago that if I was going to get what I wanted out of life, I had to show the guy holding the wallet that he got a bigger piece of my pie.
“Who’s going to set it up and manage the blog?”
“You leave that to me, bro,” I insisted confidently. “I’ll handle the heavy lifting.”
Who knew that I would nearly lose my life because I picked this little bungalow to renovate? At that moment in time, I was just so thrilled to get my hands on the Glengarry Court bargain, I felt like a winner.

Chapter Two --

“Let’s see the bedrooms,” Ned demanded.
“Does that mean yes?”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
I opened the door to the smaller of the two bedrooms. Just over ten feet square, it was painted deep purple, with carpet to match. Its only saving grace was the fact that it actually had a pair of decent-sized closets. That’s because the previous owner had chopped off square footage in favor of storage space.
“It’ll do,” Ned decided. “What’s the master like?”
We stepped back out into the hall and I opened the next door. Bigger, with a window overlooking the backyard, the royal blue master bedroom also had an old, step-down sun porch attached, currently used as a walk-in closet.
“Well, it’s not horrible, Suze. It’s got some potential. Is this porch winterized or do we have to insulate?”
“Insulate, but at the same time, we could add some shelving along the exterior walls and build it out a bit, to offer more storage, so it’s a true walk-in closet. The windows are new enough. It’s unheated, but I thought we might be able to add a small radiator. Or we could build up from the current floor, which would allow us to some radiant floor heating if we go with tile.”
“I’d rather turn it back into a sun porch. Let’s do a wall-length closet in the bedroom. We lose three feet from the master, but we regain some decent storage space. I’d like to install a set of French doors that lead to the porch. Can it be accessed from the kitchen, too? That would be useful.”
We spent another half hour going through the house. Ned decided that we could do some improvements in the basement, too, since it was dry and offered room for storage and laundry. I could tell he was already imagining himself in that reno blog. My lips curled up as I realized my big brother was about to open up that Fort Knox of a wallet of his.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s buy this place and then we’ll sit down and hammer out what gets done first. I might be willing to put a little more money into the place after we get Sid Lowame to inspect it.”
“Great,” I grinned.
By five in the afternoon, we had sent over an offer for the property and it was just a matter of waiting until we heard back.
“Want to hit the Low Down for a drink?” Ned asked.
“Rain check?” I glanced at my watch. What I really needed was a three-mile run through the park.
“Suit yourself. But I hope you’re not trying to run into Jasper, because that’s really needy.”
“No, smarty pants. I need some exercise.”
“I’m just saying you shouldn’t throw yourself at the guy. He’s already rejected you, so tuck your tail between your legs and move on.”
“Gee, thanks. Whatever would I do without you, Dear Abby?”
“I’ll call you when I hear back from the listing agent,” he shouted after me. I waved in response, already in my little silver streak. Throwing the 2000 Mazda Miata in reverse, I gunned the engine a little more enthusiastically than was good for it. Ned still had the knack of getting under my skin when he gave unsolicited advice on love.
I took a left down Windsong Boulevard, shifting gears and feeling a faint shudder in the gear box. It might be time for a transmission check. I hated the thought of giving up my convertible. There was nothing sweeter than the wind in my hair as I zipped along the open road. Hopefully, I could keep the silver streak going, given its sentimental value. It had been my Declaration of Independence. I bought the car six years ago, right after Jay moved out of the apartment, two weeks shy of our wedding. The memory caused me to sigh. What was it with me and men? I could catch them, but I couldn’t keep them. This was starting to irritate the life and love out of me.
I paused at the traffic light, foot lightly resting on the brake, before I turned right and I drove the mile to West Avenue, turning down the wide lane and traveling another half a mile to number 16. I parked my Miata in front of the house, in the shade of the beech tree. I took the stairs two at a time to the third floor of the Victorian, unlocked my door, and dumped my purse on the sofa on the way to my bedroom. In less than five minutes, I had changed into a pair of red running shorts and a black tank top, thrown my brown shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, and pulled on my Asics over a pair of red ankle socks. Grabbing my phone, I went down the stairs as quickly as I could, my feet flying. Once on the sidewalk, I stepped into a quick walking pace for half a block before breaking into a trot. At the stoplight on the corner, I waited for an old farm truck to make the turn before I trotted across the road and into Plover Park. From there, I picked up speed as I followed the gravel path through the pines and up the hill. Even as I put my feet down and picked them up in the runner’s rhythm, soothed by the beat of my pacing, I cursed Ned. He had to go and spoil it all by mentioning Jasper.
The truth is I’ve had a crush on him since high school. He was the guy that got away. Even Jay, a senior engineer for Frameless Friction, a machine manufacturing company, was never a match for Jasper.
I thought about that day Jay moved out of the apartment we had shared for almost two years. My altered wedding dress was hanging from my closet door, enclosed in its protective case. My rhinestone-encrusted heels were sitting in their shoe box on the closet shelf. I had bought my lace bustier and matching panties. There was even a slip of a white silk nightgown hanging on a satin hanger, ready for the trip to Grand Cayman Island. Everything was ready for the big day, except Jay.
“Suzanne, we have to talk.” Those were ominous words. I remembered putting down my pen and looking up from the seating chart at the bespectacled bridegroom as he stood in the dining corner of the apartment.
“Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”
“There’s no good way to tell you this.”
“What? You lost your job?” I thought I was being funny when I made the comment. The look on his face said otherwise. “What? You met someone else?”
“I’m really, really sorry,” he started to say. I interrupted him, feeling a sense of panic filling my chest.
“You met someone else?”
“Really sorry,” he said again.
“Who?” This time I waited. Jay’s face went red. He slowly pulled out the chair opposite me and sat at the table. He smoothed the tablecloth, clearly searching his mind for the words he needed to express.
“I...I can’t marry you.” There was a long pause as I tapped my foot under the table, wondering why, barely able to contain my anxiety. “I’m going to be a father.”
“A father?” I repeated the words numbly. “But how? I’m not pregnant.”
“Meghan.”
“The girl from your office?” Our eyes locked and I knew in that instant just how badly I had been betrayed. “Isn’t she the one you had to meet at the office every weekend to work on projects?”
Incredulous, I stared at the man who was dumping me and gasped as the full impact hit me. All the late nights and the constant phone calls suddenly made sense.
“You’ve been cheating on me ever since you asked me to marry you! What a bastard!”
“Suzanne, I’m so, so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen. She told me last night.”
“How stinking convenient!”
“I had every intention of marrying you. I really did. But it wouldn’t be right, not if I’m going to be a father.”
“It would have been okay if she wasn’t pregnant?”
“Well, yeah.” Jay was surprised at my reaction.
“You would have continued the relationship with her even after we were married. Unbelievable!”
“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”
“You didn’t mean for me to find out any way!” The tears burned as they splashed down my cheeks. “Get the hell out of my house!”
“I’ve packed my things,” said the apologetic Jay. I gazed from him to the three suitcases by the door. He had already prepared to leave me. It was a done deal. “And again, I’m so sorry.”
“Save it. I don’t want to hear it.” I got up from the table, looked down at his bowed head as he studied his folded hands, and resisted the temptation to say more. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he cut me through the heart. I wasn’t going to let him make me crazy. The idea that this stiff, awkward engineer with the personality of a flounder had been boinking the office girl was a shocker. He was the epitome of Mr. Safe Guy, the man who never strayed off the right path because he was oblivious to the scenery. I never knew he had it in him. All this time, I believed him when he said I brought out the best in him. Apparently Meghan brought out the worst, because he waited until the day before we planned to pick up the marriage license to make his big announcement.
I brought myself back to my run, focusing on the present. I wanted to leave the past behind. There were few people around, despite the fine weather. I had finished the first third of my loop. Still no sign of Jasper. Perhaps I had missed him again. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. Along about now, I sometimes caught a glimpse of him on the hill behind the pavilion. One of these days, my timing would be right, and I would be able to casually pass him on my run. A friendly hello would be a start. I was looking for an opportunity. I needed an opening.
At the moment, a large group of enthusiastic adults was playing badminton on the playing field, hooting and hollering at missed shots. Children were on the swings and in the sand box. No familiar dark-headed runner.
Disappointment wrapped around me like a damp towel in a heat wave, weighing me down as I headed up the hill and along the cemetery wall. I let my mind take its own path, and that brought me back to Jay and the broken engagement. Ned never knew the reason Jay and I broke up. I was damned if I was going to let everyone think the unimaginative jerk dumped me. I let my big brother believe that I had changed my mind. I even fed the myth that I had cold feet, letting Ned go through the motions of trying to get us back together. He snagged Jay for a man-to-man conversation that went nowhere. Jay didn’t dare make a peep, not after I told him I would make sure there wasn’t a citizen of our small town who wouldn’t know that he dumped me at the altar for his pregnant bimbo. Three weeks later, he and Meghan eloped. As soon as they got back from their honeymoon on Grand Cayman, she announced she lost the baby. Tearful, Jay came to me one night, begging me to take him back, claiming it had all been a huge mistake. By then, I had changed the locks, especially the one I installed on my heart the day he left. There was no way Jay was ever setting foot in my home again.
Jasper Wintonberry, on the other hand, was welcome to visit me at any time, day or night. The image of him knocking on my door made me smirk as I thought of the things I wanted to share with him, starting with my hungry lips.
I had run into him at the Low Down about four weeks ago when I was there for a business meeting. It was the first time I had seen him in about a decade. Putting on my most dazzling smile, I boldly walked up to him with a friendly greeting, to welcome him back to Glendale after all these years. As if I were the unofficial ambassador of the town. As if I were irresistible. But he did resist me. In fact, he simply nodded, said my name dismissively, and turned back to the group of guys at his table. With my heart pounding inside my chest, I pretended not to be crestfallen. I simply walked away with that big, phony smile plastered on my face, dazed and confused about the obvious rebuff. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s getting an arctic blast in response to my sunny overtures. It makes me wonder what was wrong about my approach, especially when I had never been anything but friendly to Jasper Wintonberry. That’s when I decided I would figure out a way to melt that frozen attitude. Since then, I had run into him three more times, and each time he seemed to thaw a little more.
I followed the treeless ridge along the hill, sun in my eyes, and crossed the drainage ditch that cut through the trail at the pines. That’s when I felt a sharp sting on my ankle. My running shoes slid across stony surface, still wet from the brief afternoon shower, as I tried to keep my balance.
“Crap!” I felt like a bobble-headed doll on roller skates as I careened down the hill, losing my traction. Pitching forward, I stumbled and skidded, bounced and bumped, finally unable to stay upright. From there, it was just pure physics in action as my feet flew out from underneath me and I went tumbling the rest of the way. Arms outstretched, I sledded for several yards on my stomach before coming to a clumsy stop at the bottom.
It took me a moment to right myself and recover what little dignity I had left. Wiping the dirt and grass stains off my hands, grateful to have the foresight to be wearing black shorts, I considered my next move. If I wanted to stick to the familiar trail, I would have to climb back up the hill and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to do it. The fastest way was through the woods, but the path was uneven and the sunlight was fading fast. As I dithered, looking up at the way I had come and across at the unfamiliar, I felt a throbbing in my left knee. Soon I would be stiff and sore. Suddenly, the quickest route seemed the best choice. With a shrug, I surrendered to my fate and hobbled into the forest. Following the faint glow of the setting sun, I made my way along the leaf-strewn track. By the time I reached the edge of the woods, I had added a slew of mosquito bites to my injuries list. Filthy, frustrated, and frazzled, I considered the long walk home. Surely I looked a complete mess. A long soak in the tub would do me some good. Perhaps this was the night to call Shanghai Palace for some shrimp with cashews, instead of cooking. Reaching the curb, I waited for the crosswalk signal to change. So intent on having as much time as possible to limp across the street, I didn’t notice the Lexus until it was right beside me and the electric window was sliding silently down.
“You okay? You look like you could use a ride.”
“I...I....”
“Climb in, Suzanne,” said the heartthrob behind the wheel. I swallowed hard, grabbed the handle, and eased my aching body into the seat beside the driver. “Where can I take you? Emergency room? Laundromat?”
“Home,” I replied, feeling like I was in a dream.
“Where might that be?” Jasper Wintonberry wanted to know.

Chapter Three --

“West Avenue,” I told him, putting a hand up to my face. I was fairly certain I had dirt all over my cheeks. “The Victorian. Number 16.”
“I’d tell you you look great, but at the moment, you look like hell. Did someone kick the crap out of you?”
“Actually, I fell when I was running at Plover Park.” I took a sideways glance at the man of my dreams, the one who got away. He looked like a million bucks, literally. It was enough to take my breath away. Like a dream who stepped straight out of a Drakkar Noir ad. His face was lightly tanned, his dark hair perfectly coiffed. The eyes were still as green as I remembered. He was wearing a blue Nautica shirt and chinos, with boat shoes on his sockless feet. All that was missing was the yacht, and I suspected that was probably docked down at the Bayside Marina.
“That explains the scrapes and bruises,” he decided. “I haven’t really talked to you since our high school reunion. What have you been up to?”
I explained to him about going to work at Dawkins Builders straight out of college and how my brother had taken over the helm after our parents died in a car accident. In my effort to impress, I told him about the place on Glengarry Court.
“Wow,” he exclaimed. “Sounds interesting. I’d love to see it. I’m looking for a place for my mother. She’s moving back from Boca Raton. When can I take a look?”
“Why don’t you give us a couple of weeks, and you’ll be able to better imagine the final results,” I suggested, giving him my most adorable smile, which was surely tempered by my current appearance, grass stains, scrapes, and all. He gazed over at me casually, hands on the wheel.
“Why can’t I see it before you start? That way, if I want to add or subtract anything, I can.”
“We don’t normally work that way, because it’s a flip,” I responded.
“But if I’m willing to pay you guys to do the work, doesn’t that count for something?”
“Sure,” I agreed. After all, I knew Ned wanted to buy the place. The trouble was that if we made changes Jasper wanted and he changed his mind, cancelling the contract with us, we’d be stuck with the house. Then again, it really was a cute place. Surely someone would want to buy it. Maybe even me.
“Here we are.” Jasper pulled his Lexus up to the curb behind my Miata. “Let me give you my number.”
I waited as he reached into his cup holder and pulled out a gold-edged business card. Fortescue Investments. Jasper was a certified financial planner.
“Call me when you get the place.”
“Sure,” I promised, hand on the door. “Thanks for the ride. I’m not sure I would have made it home on my own.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would have done fine. You’re a strong, healthy girl.” He gave me a short smile and I realized that was my cue. Stepping out, I turned back to shut the car door. That’s when I saw the baby car seat in the back, along with the pile of kiddie books and the busy box. The ideal man had a kid. My body may have been battered in that tumble down the hill, but now my heart was bruised by the knowledge that the guy I thought was my future was a dad.
I didn’t even bother waving as the sleek sedan drove off. I dragged myself into the house and up the stairs. How long had I been chasing the dream? I saw Jasper at the hardware store three and a half weeks ago, having a key made. There, in my paint-stained clothes and looking like some kind of Hetty Homebuilder, I ducked behind the next aisle and scooted out of the store like a fugitive on the run. The last thing I wanted was Jasper to set eyes on me looking like that. When I caught sight of him on my run two days later, I began to plot in earnest for the chance to bump into him. Now it turned out that I had wasted all that time for nothing. The guy was still unavailable, still tucked on that shelf out of reach. My record with men stood. They were, as a group, way ahead of me, and I couldn’t see that I was ever going to get chance to even the score.
Let’s face it. Some women are great at yanking men through the hoops. They know how to work their magic, how to get what they want without giving up much. Not me. When it comes to being a femme fatale, I’m about as subtle as a pneumatic drill.
Ned always insists it’s because I don’t treat relationships as seriously as I do the houses I fix. Is that true? It’s hard to say. You’d think I’d be a lot tougher, given that I work with a lot of men in the construction business. Lord knows I’ve been hit on more times than I can remember. But the truth is I can see structural problems in homes that most people ignore and I know that you can’t half-ass a construction job. I’m always looking to fix what’s broken in buildings. I like things tidy. I like things functional. But when it comes to romance, I have a sentimental side that leaves me misty-eyed and wobbly. My biggest weakness is I sometimes bend too much when people come up short on character. I’m willing to cut people too much slack if I think I can achieve my goals with them. That’s when I get into trouble. They wind up walking all over my heart before they walk out the door. I’ve got the footprints all over me to prove it.
I drew a warm bath, opened the bathroom window, and watched the sun set over the Atlantic Ocean from my wet perch. Ned and I had renovated 16 West Avenue just before Jay and I moved in. I had my choice of the condos, but I loved the view from the top floor. My little turret attached to the living room looked out toward the bay, and I could watch the distant lights on the bridge at night as the cars crossed from Elingham into Glendale. My little balcony had a peak of the sea, and it was a lovely spot to sit in the morning with a cup of coffee or at night with a daiquiri. But the best spot in the house was the tub. I could watch the surfers ride the waves and see the sailboats as they left the bay for the ocean.
So immersed was I in the soothing powers of the water and the glass of wine I held in my hand, I didn’t realize at first that my phone was ringing. Scrambling to put down the chardonnay and pick up my smartphone, I managed to splash water onto the floor. Caller ID displayed an unfamiliar number without a name.
“Hello?” I said tentatively.
“Suzanne, it’s Jasper Wintonberry.”
“Hi,” I responded breathlessly. What kind of idiot gets her hopes up on a guy with a kid? I was mad at myself for doing my Marilyn Monroe impression because I was caught off-guard. “What’s up?”
“I checked out your website and I just wanted to tell you that I’m serious about taking a look at that place. You do nice work.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said in response, trying not to get my emotional panties in a bunch over a guy who wasn’t available.
“I just wanted you to know I’m very interested.”
“Great. I’ll let my brother know.”
“Maybe we could get together for a drink to discuss it.”
“Well, first you should see the place and know what our plans are. It’s not the kind of house that would appeal to most people,” I informed him.
“Who would it appeal to?”
“Someone who wants a place that doesn’t require much maintenance or space. It’s going to be very compact, kind of like living on a boat, with built-ins and not a lot of square footage.”
“That sounds like June. She’s on her own now, feisty and independent. Doesn’t want anyone’s help unless it’s absolutely necessary. We might have to bring her into the design choices. She’s coming up in three days.”
“Certainly something to consider.” I was wondering how long it would take Jasper to finish torturing me with his seductive voice and his charm. My best guess was about ten days. I’d be able to resist the first week of being around him. I’d feel anchored enough to the project to focus on the details of the renovation. But after that, I’d probably be contractor’s putty in his hands. Maybe I would pass Jasper on to Ned, and let him handle things. Certainly my older brother, who had already warned me about having a crush on an unavailable guy, would know how to deal with him.
It was ironic that Jasper was so interested in the property for his mother, because from what I remembered of her from my high school days, she wouldn’t like the Glengarry Court bungalow and, frankly, the thought of me working on a decorating project with Jasper’s mother scared the holy guacamole out of me.
“So, I’ll hear back from you?” Jasper’s words cut into my mental musings and I returned my focus to the conversation at hand.
“Absolutely,” I promised. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Great. By the way, how are you feeling?”
“Banged up and bruised,” I admitted, “soaking in the tub with a glass of chardonnay, watching the sunset.”
“Sounds good. Wish I could join you. Maybe another time,” he laughed. “Call me.”
“Will do,” I replied, suddenly thinking that Jasper really was like all the other rats in the world, flirting while the wife was unaware. This was going to make him a whole lot easier to resist. All I had to do was remember what it felt like to have my heart excoriated by Jay without anesthesia.
A short time later, I was out of the tub and hungry. I called Shanghai Palace and placed my order. Ned called to tell me we were still waiting to hear back from the sellers’ agent. I didn’t bother to share the news about Jasper, figuring it could turn out to be a moot point. When my white cardboard cartons of Chinese food arrived ten minutes later, I hunkered down on the sofa and turned on the TV. All I wanted to do was forget I ever had a crush on Jasper Wintonberry.
That was also the thought I had as I lay down on my queen-sized bed to go to sleep, and it was still with me when I woke up. I made a resolution that I was not going to let myself be conned, sweet-talked, or manipulated into a romance with a guy who was unworthy, no matter how much he tempted me. From now on, my life was going to be hunky-dory. I was going to pursue my dreams, goals, and interests. No distractions along the way, no matter how interesting or enticing.
I filled my travel mug with some steaming hot hazelnut coffee, half and half, and sweetener before I screwed on the lid. I also grabbed a plastic container that I filled with plain Greek yogurt, sliced bananas, some low-fat granola, a splash of vanilla extract, and some honey. I wanted to get to the office before Ned. I was hoping to start pricing out some of the materials I wanted to use for the new flip.
There was little traffic on the way to the office. I made it to my desk by ten of eight, spread out my breakfast, and started searching for online bargains while I ate. After about twenty minutes of taking notes and comparison shopping, I had what I needed at the moment, so I took out the card Jasper had given me. I set it down, intending to share it with Ned when he arrived. Just out of curiosity, I did a search on Jasper Wintonberry, wondering who he married, how many kids he had, and where he was living. I never heard Ned come in.
“Please tell me you’re not stalking the guy,” he said, coming up behind me, reading my computer screen.
“Actually, smart ass, I ran into him last night. He gave me a ride home. And he’s interested in buying the Glengarry Court house. As soon as we buy it, he wants a tour. It’s for his mother.”
“You didn’t give him a purchase price, did you?”
“Of course not. We have no idea what the flip with cost us.”
“How serious do you think he is?” Ned was definitely interested.
“He says his mother is moving back. She’ll be here in a couple of days. He wants us to let her pick her fixtures, have some input on the redo.”
“Nice, Suze. That could be a good thing. More profit than just a normal fix, because we’re customizing it.”
“You think we should pursue it?” I wondered.
“Of course, provided he’s got the money. What did you find out?”
“Fortescue Investments. Certified financial planner. His mother lives in Carmel. I can’t find the information on his wife or kid.”
“Kid?”
“He had a car seat in the back, Ned. There has to be a kid.”
“Right. Well, why don’t you let me have his card and I’ll call him. By the way, they took our offer. The closing on the bungalow is on Friday, provided the inspection goes well.”
“Wow,” I replied, surprised by the time line, “how did you get them to agree to such a quick closing?”
“Actually, it was their idea. I was willing to wait until next week, but they told me that if I wanted it at $375,000, we had to get it inked by Friday.”
“Weird,” I decided. Most folks don’t rush into a legal deal. This was an unusual sale. But then again, this was an unusual situation. The owner was missing and her relatives probably wanted to dump the property before the next mortgage payment was due. That’s the thing about dead bodies. Some killers like to be far, far away before the skeletons pop up out of the ground. Others like to watch from the shadows.

Chapter Four --

“What’s the word, Sid?” The following day, Ned leaned over his desk, punched a button on his phone, and turned on his speaker function, so I could listen to the inspection report. “Good news or bad?”
“Mostly good. Some bad. You definitely need to replace the pipes. I reviewed the water bills for the last six months. There’s been an increase in water use, even though the house has been empty. Something has caused a leak into the water line to the street. It’s actually hooked up through the side yard into the basement. Could be a tree root. Could be the water main just deteriorated so much, the tiny hole just kept getting bigger and now it’s a constant flow.”
“Automatic sprinklers?” I suggested, wondering if the water was going into the nearly foot-high lawn.
“I checked. I couldn’t find any,” Sid told us. “You definitely need to get the asbestos removed professionally. The gas heater has several more years of use. The electrical rewiring done about a decade ago was a professional job, so it should be adequate. The new storm windows should help with the heating and cooling costs. You have to remember this was originally a seasonal cottage. When they updated the house, they blew in dry cellulose, so the wall cavities are filled and it looks like a decent effort with the exception of that sun porch. Overall, you get that water leak fixed, add some insulation or close off the porch, replace the pipes in the house, and this is a good deal.”
“Thanks, Sid,” Ned said, signing off. He turned to me. “Well, then. I guess I’ll go call your boyfriend and give him the good news. I’ll see if he’s interested in going through the house on Monday.”
“Good.” There was a big part of me that was relieved Ned would do the negotiating. The more I could limit my contact with Jasper, the happier I’d be.
Since we knew that Ned would close on the house two days later, I headed out to pick up samples for the renovation. If I did my job well enough, Jasper’s mother might be happy to just let us put it all together for her. Then again, we were talking about June Wintonberry.
I remembered her from my high school days. Chic, athletic, very social, June was the kind of woman admired and envied by the housewives and working women of Glendale. At her best, she was a strong, some would say strong-willed, woman. She was on the board of several non-profits before it was considered cool. She was a well-ranked amateur golfer who competed against men and women. Impeccably dressed, sporting enough gold jewelry to light up any room, June was no pushover. But at her worst, she was a royal pain in the ass. To a high school girl like me, who worked at the Peach Blossom Dress Shop as a clerk and had to schlep her armloads of rejects back to the racks, under the verbal barrage of not offering the queen what she needed, I suffered many an afternoon as I failed to find just the right outfit for her royal highness. I could only imagine what a nightmare it would be to work with her on the bungalow.
On my way home, I decided to stop by the property and take measurements of the Glengarry Court yard, front and back. I spent about an hour there, going over every inch of land, trying to figure out what I absolutely had to do right away and what could be put at the end of the priority list. I took lots of photos and I did some sketches of the possible planting bed configurations, the potential patio area in the back yard, and the double-car parking area out front. Once I was done, I headed back to the office to price out fence options and paver choices.
Ned was in his office with his door closed, a sure sign he was in negotiations. I grabbed myself a can of diet Sprite from the office fridge and got back to my design plan. I could feel my heartbeat quicken at the thought of Jasper sitting in the chair opposite my brother, hashing out the details of the purchase for that sweet little property. Maybe Jasper would decide that he wasn’t interested after all. He’d go on his way and I could stop thinking about him, instead of longing to know what it would be like to have his hands on my skin, his demanding lips pressing mine.
The buzzer rang on my desk phone. Ned was summoning me to his office. Suddenly, I felt my hand go cold and clammy as I reached for it, trembling. Get a grip on yourself, I reminded myself. You’re a grown woman, long out of high school. Act like you’re competent. At least today I was dressed decently, in a pencil skirt, a colorful print top, and a pair of sandals that offered a good peek at my impeccably manicured toenails painted in Lustrous Pearl Pink. My fingernails had none of the usual paint splatters to mar the matching nail polish they sported. My brown hair was free from its usual elastic band, hanging loosely on my shoulders. I was wearing sapphire studs and a gold neck chain, and I had actually applied makeup before I left for work. Very different from my usual renovation attire of painted-covered jeans and tee shirts. I clean up nicely a couple of times a month when I’m in between projects.
“Yes?”
“Suzanne, can you please step into my office?” I noted that Ned was being very formal. That meant this was all about business. Standing up, I smoothed out my skirt and crossed the room as steadily as I could. I steeled myself as I turned the knob, plastered a bright smile across my face, and stepped forward.
“What can I do for you, Ned?” I said in an overly-cheerful voice. I could see the back of an unfamiliar head belonging to a man now sitting in the chair opposite my big brother. Male. Brown hair. Dark suit. Not Jasper.
“Kyle, you remember my sister, Suzanne,” I heard my brother say. The figure rose from the chair and whirled around. Before I could say a word, I felt myself enveloped by the arms of the human octopus, Kyle Hargrove, voted most likely to cop a feel in high school. I could tell from the hands that brushed my buttocks that old Kyle hadn’t changed a bit.
“Suzy Q, still hot,” he laughed, covering my mouth with his lips. His tongue tried to poke through my clenched teeth. I pushed the bastard away and stepped back.
“Kyle, do that again and you’ll be singing soprano!”
“Still feisty!” he chuckled.
“Seriously, put your hands on me again and it’ll be the last thing you do before you hit the floor!” I glared at the conniving bastard who had made my high school years miserable.
“God, you’re still gorgeous!”
“And you’re still an....”
“Kyle is interested in the Glengarry Court property,” Ned said quickly, trying to interrupt the hostilities.
“Why?” I snapped. “How did he even know we had it?”
“Still sharp as a tack,” the creep decided as he sat down again. He waved me into the chair beside his, and I only sat down when I was sure I was out of reach. “I was telling your brother I ran into Jasper last night and he told me about the place.”
I looked at the weasel-like eyes gleaming at me from the puffy face, sporting an extra ten pounds on his 5’8” frame. Kyle hadn’t aged well, with his hair evaporating rapidly as we spoke and skin that looked like he’d spent a few years under a rock. He was dressed in a well-cut, expensive-looking suit and he wore what appeared to be handmade Italian loafers on his feet, but he couldn’t hide his inner vermin self. He was on the hunt and I felt like his prey.
“So you’re trying to chump Jasper?” I demanded. “Same old Kyle. Still a jerk.”
“Suzanne!” Ned was appalled. I didn’t really care.
“Why don’t you go slither back down your rat hole, Kyle. We’re not interested in doing business with a creep like you.”
“Careful what you say to me, Suze,” he hissed back at me. “I am a very important business man and I have a lot of clout.”
“That may be so,” I shot back, “but you just assaulted me and I have no problem making the public aware of the fact that you think you’re entitled to grope respectable women. Does your wife approve? Or is she too dumb to know you’re chasing skirts?”
“I think we’ve gotten off to a bad start here,” Ned decided. “Let’s just rewind a little bit.”
“There’s no such thing as a good start with Kyle,” I warned my brother. “He has no ethics, he has no class, and he can’t be trusted!”
“You’re just pissed because I didn’t marry Jane!” Jane Keffler was my best friend. She dated Kyle three times before he slipped a little date rape drug into her strawberry daiquiri at the Low Down and had his way with her. When she came to the next morning, she was naked and abandoned on Pleasure Beach. Outraged, tearful, she wanted to have him prosecuted. I took her to the police station. A female police officer took her statement before driving her to the emergency room. The next day, a package arrived on Jane’s front door step. Her father opened it. There were twenty photos of his naked daughter in various poses beside a variety of naked male genetalia in all shapes, colors, and sizes. The photos were accompanied by a note stating that if she didn’t drop the assault charge, the naughty pictures would go public. Jane took the next flight to Dallas, for an extended visit to her Great-Aunt Linda’s. She never returned to her old self or her hometown. I lost my best friend to this walking piece of filth.
“Marry Jane?” I looked at this three-headed monster and wanted to smack each cheek. “You raped her because you wanted to marry her?”
“Rape? That was consensual sex!” Kyle got right up to my face, so close I could smell coffee on his breath.
“If you want to be more convincing, don’t try to tongue me next time. I didn’t welcome your embrace this morning, any more than Jane welcomed it ten years ago! You don’t like to take no for an answer, Kyle, but you’d better learn to take it. And if you ever touch me again, I’ll file assault charges on you, and you won’t have any naked photos of me to circulate!”
“Suzanne, why don’t you and I just step out a moment?” Ned’s fingers gripped my elbow tightly as he tried to steer me out of the office. I was still smoking when he closed the door on the smirking Kyle. “What in God’s name got into you? Even if you don’t like the guy, have a little class!”
“You make a deal with that bastard and I’ll quit this company. I will leave this town and I will never come back!” I spat those fighting words out at my brother as he recoiled. The look of alarm on his face was evident, but I didn’t care. I meant every word I said.
“Look, why don’t you go cool off somewhere. I’ll get rid of the guy, but I’ll do it without alienating him. If he’s as big a creep as you say, we don’t want him causing trouble for Dawkins Builders, Suze.”
“Fine, but he had better not ever come near me again!”
“Did he really try to tongue you just now?”
“And he put his hands on my ass!” I snarled.
“Okay,” said my big brother. “I’ll handle it. You take off. Go down to Pulkowski Plumbing and check out their tubs, see if they’ll give us a good deal on a soaker.”
I stomped back to my desk, grabbed my purse, and headed out to the street to retrieve my car. I couldn’t wait to get away from the lingering stench of Kyle Hargrove. It seemed to follow me as I maneuvered through traffic down the main drag. It only seemed to lift as I roared down Route 101, doing sixty in a fifty zone.
I parked my car in front of Pulkowski’s showroom door and grabbed my brush to tame the wild mat of “convertible hair”. As my smartphone buzzed, I threw the brush back into my purse and answered it.
“Suze, it’s Jasper. I was wondering if you were free for lunch.”
“What in God’s name did you tell that creep last night?”
“Excuse me?” said the baffled male voice at the other end of the line.
“Kyle Hargrove! He wants to buy the bungalow!”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” Jasper seemed sincere, so I filled in the details, right down to the groping hands and the pesky tongue.
“And the next time he does that, I’m going to have his sorry ass thrown in jail!”
“Which is where it belongs if he touches you again,” he reassured me. “But I didn’t tell him about the property, Suzanne. I ran into him at the bar last night. That’s true. But I was meeting Bob Perkins and Tom Dydek. I told them about the property. Maybe he was listening to our conversation from the next table.’
“Well, that sounds like the stinker!” I decided. “He’s trying to make a deal with my brother.”
“But I want to look at the property.” Jasper sounded disappointed. “For my mother.”
“I told Ned that I would quit if he even considered selling to that creep!” I was still fired up. The more I thought about it, the madder I got.
“Where are you right now? I know it’s only ten, but maybe we could peek in the windows.”
“Actually, I’m supposed to be looking at tubs. Want to join me?”
At that moment in time, I didn’t really care that Jasper had a wife and kid. I just wanted someone decent to know what a consummate con artist Kyle Hargrove was and what he did to my best friend. I waited for him in the parking lot. Jasper arrived less than ten minutes later. As I leaned up against my Miata, I gave him an earful on that skunk. I got it all out of my system. He waited until I was done ranting, suggested I take a deep breath, and asked me if we could go look at the tubs. One look at those green eyes reminded me that I was there for a reason. I pulled myself together and I gave Jasper a bright little smile, and then I invited him to join me in the plumbing showroom. Fifteen minutes later, I was explaining the differences between fiberglass and cast iron tubs as we wandered through the displays. I showed him a concealed hand rail that would be a good safety feature for his mother and we talked about whether a shower stall with a bench would be better than a tub.
“Wow,” Jasper said when I explained the costs and how we could cut expenses by tweaking things and choosing different options that were similar in style. “If I just picked these things out on my own, it would cost me thousands more.”
“Most builders would probably love you,” I laughed. “But we’re flippers. We’re in this to make a profit and turn the house as quickly as possible. We have to make the places we renovate really appeal to as many people as possible, so we get a quick sale. The longer a property sits, the more we pay. That’s why we stick with the classics, whether we do contemporary or traditional style. Fad designs may look really sleek, but they have limited appeal for buyers. It sounds terrible, but it’s more practical to go generic, whether it’s flooring or wall color. We always choose one thing to make a property pop, and usually it’s something like a gourmet range in a deluxe kitchen, a fireplace that’s a focal point, or a fantastic deck in the backyard.”
“What are you planning for the bungalow?” Jasper wanted to know.
“Why don’t we drive over there, and I’ll walk you around the yard?”
“Sounds good.”
“Want to follow me?”
“I have a better idea,” he told me. “Why don’t you drive me back to my car after lunch?”

Chapter Five --

Be still my heart. If only he didn’t have a wife and kid.
“You mean take my Miata?”
“Why not? It’s a sunny day.” He opened the door for me as we left the showroom.
“Are you sure?” I gave him a mischievous grin. “Your hair might get roughed up.”
“Very telling, Suzanne.” He pursed his lips and pointed a finger at me, nodding slightly, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve defined yourself by your words. So, you think I’m vain.”
“I didn’t say that,” I backpedaled, thinking he was insulted by the comment. “What I meant was....”
“What you meant was you’re so laid back, you think a dress is something you put on once a year. What you meant was you’re more comfortable in blue jeans and a tee shirt than in a suit and silk blouse. And because I have to meet with clients who have expectations that I can handle their finances, you assume I’m a big, boring stiff who doesn’t know how to have a good time unless I have gel in my hair.”
My jaw dropped open as I saw a new side of Jasper, one I wasn’t expecting at all. He saw the look on my face and started laughing.
“Close your mouth, Suzanne. You might swallow a fly if you keep it open like that.”
“Huh,” I muttered, realizing I just got my clock cleaned and I didn’t even know it needed it. His comment about the blue jeans and tee shirt was a whole lot more accurate than I cared to admit.
“Face it. You’re a reverse snob, Dawkins. Anyone who dresses up is a heel. Anyone who dresses down is a hero. The scruffier, the better. You assume a guy like me doesn’t own a shirt without a collar and a little guy on a polo pony. I can’t possibly have a pair of jeans with frayed cuffs. I’m all image and no substance, right?”
“I...I....”
“Speechless? How refreshing. I thought you were going to shove that size twelve sandal in your mouth again.”
“Actually, I was going to apologize,” I replied, regaining my composure. “The sandal is a size eight, by the way. And as far as the frayed jeans are concerned, I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Give me the keys.”
“Excuse me?”
“The keys. Hand them over. I’m going to prove to you that I can handle the wind in my hair.” Jasper leaned against the Miata. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to give me a long look at his profile.
“That’s really not necessary, Jasper. I was a jerk. I’m sorry,” I laughed nervously.
“Nope. No good. The keys. Or I don’t buy the bungalow.” His long fingers wiggled as he extended his expectant hand, waiting for me to put my key ring on his palm.
“Not to worry,” I smirked. “Your competition will.”
“Oh, good. You won’t mind Kyle copping a feel, then?”
“Fine!” He caught the keys I tossed him in mid-air, hopped behind the wheel without opening the door, and honked the horn. “Hurry up, Dawkins. You’re dawdling!”
“Just be careful,” I warned him. “I need some transmission work.”
He turned the key, listening to the hum of the engine, and then gently shifted into reverse. We turned left coming out of the parking lot, crossed Mulberry Street, went down two blocks, and hit the highway, where Jasper took the car up to sixty-five. He took exit five, rolled down the ramp, and turned right.
“It’s your timing belt,” Jasper announced. “Not the transmission.”
“How do you know that?”
He gave me a big grin, fluffed his hair again, and tapped me on the nose.
“I used to be a grease monkey. I can change your oil, radiator fluid -- you name it. That’s how I paid for college and grad school. My Uncle Larry owns a chain of repair shops, and he always had a job for me.”
“Wow,” I grinned. “Maybe you do have a pair of frayed jeans after all.”
Six minutes later, we pulled up in front of the bungalow. Jasper dangled the keys in the air before dropping them into my open hand.
“Lead the way, Suzanne. What goes on here, at the front of the house?”
I took him around the property, explaining where the parking area would be located and how the planting beds would work. We found a wooden crate in the backyard and used it as a makeshift step to peer through the windows along the side of the house. I pointed out the bedrooms and shared the plans for the sun porch.
“June will love this,” Jasper decided. We sat on the back steps, looking out at the area where the brick patio would go. “It’s perfect for her. Did you know she’s an avid gardener? She grows some amazing tomatoes.”
“What kind of grandmother is she?” I asked, wading into the deep end, where there was murky water waiting for me.
“Great. She takes the kids all over the place. She’s very hands on. Matthew’s turning eight. She goes to all his soccer and hockey games. Gracie is six. She’s into gymnastics. Owen will be two in September. He’s into everything.”
“They sound like busy kids.”
“Well, my sister tries hard. It hasn’t been easy since Mark died.”
“Oh, how sad.” I knew he had an older sister, but I had never met her.
“I relocated here for the last six months of Mark’s life. I helped him set up his estate, move the money into trusts for Julie and the kids. We talked about what he wanted me to do with his insurance policy, how he wanted it invested for his family. Luckily, he had one. June came back and forth. Last time, when I took her to the airport to fly home to California, she told me she wants to find a place here. I think that’s a good idea, for her, as well as Julie and the grandkids. I want to make sure June will get something positive out of it.”
“What about your kids?” I wondered. “How did they feel about the move?”
“My kids?”
“I saw the car seat when you gave me a ride the other day,” I told him. He seemed confused momentarily, before he suddenly understood.
“Oh, I picked up Owen from the babysitter’s the other day. Julie had a meeting.”
I felt like a complete idiot. I’d have kicked myself if I could have reached my own behind.
“Does that mean you’re not married?”
“No,” he replied, looking away. “Not married.”
“But in a serious relationship?”
“We’re taking a break, trying to figure out what we’re going to do next. We seem to be headed in two different directions. Helping Julie gave me a reason to take a step back and reevaluate the situation.”
“That’s tough,” I told him.
“No ring on your finger,” he noted. I looked down at my hand and smiled. “Ever come close?”
“Closer than was wise. It turned out that I dodged a bullet. He wasn’t the right guy for me.”
“Too bad. You’d probably make a good mom.”
“Me?”
“Sure. You have a good sense of humor, a great right hook, and you don’t take a lot of crap from people.”
“That’s what makes a good mother?”
“Absolutely.” He was watching me. “Don’t you want kids?”
“Depends. No point in having kids if I’m raising them by myself. I’m not a woman who wants to do it all herself.”
“Interesting.”
“What are you people doing here?” A gruff voice interrupted our conversation. Jasper and I both looked up at the disgruntled man standing in front of us, with a broom in his hand. “You’re trespassing!”
“No, we’re not,” I assured him. “We’ve agreed to buy the place.”
“You can’t. It’s Rainbow’s house.” He looked to be about fifty, with long, stringy grey hair, a scruffy moustache, and wearing dungaree overalls without a shirt. I felt like I was looking at Farmer Brown, the marijuana grower, and he seemed to be one toke over the line.
“How’s that?”
“Rainbow will be coming back,” he insisted. “You should leave.”
“You mean Susan Lefkowitz?” At least that was the name on the deed. Somehow I had pictured a little old lady as owner of the bungalow, since her family had formed a trust for the house. But if Susan hung out with this guy, maybe she was in need of family oversight.
“Her name is Rainbow now.”
“She’s not coming back. Her family is selling the house,” I said as kindly as I could.
“You can’t move in,” the man took a menacing step forward and I heard Jasper take a breath, ready to vault to his feet at the first sign of danger. “She’ll be back. This is her home.”
“Well,” I said as comfortingly as possible, “her family hasn’t been able to find her anywhere. They’re quite concerned, so if you know anything, you should get in touch with them. They’d probably appreciate talking to you. Do you live around here?”
“Next door.” He shrugged in the direction of the single story ranch tucked behind tall shrubs. “I look after the place for her.”
“That’s nice. You’re obviously a good neighbor. We’re going to start working here next week.”
“Can’t” he told us again. “This is Rainbow’s house.”
“Can,” I responded. “We bought it from her family. If you have a problem with that, you should talk to them.”
The glare he gave us seemed rather hostile. I made a point of keeping eye contact because I didn’t want him to think he was succeeding in scaring us off. Was it all just bluster? His voice was strong in conversation, but I got the sense his mind was addled. Maybe it was decades of drug use. Maybe he was always this way. He seemed fixated on the idea of Susan Lefkowitz as Rainbow. Could it be a New Age thing? I made a note to myself to let Ned know we might have a problem. Just as quickly as he came with little warning, he went the same way, turning unexpectedly without another word and striding off.
“That was awkward,” Jasper decided, as soon as Farmer Brown disappeared. “He seems pretty adamant that she’ll be back.”
“I wish I knew what his name was,” I said, more to myself than to Jasper. If Farmer Brown was going to be a troublemaker, we would have to contain the crisis. The last thing we wanted was the flip to flop, so to speak. The new owner shouldn’t have to deal with harassment from an over-zealous, over-protective neighbor with a tenuous grip on reality.
“Let me go talk to the guy.” Jasper was on his feet before I could protest. “We’ll have a little man-to-man.”
Who was I to discourage that, especially if it yielded results? The truth was I was concerned about Susan Lefkowitz. What if she was coming back? Did Farmer Brown know where she went? Why did she leave without telling her family and friends where she was going?
“Ask him what he knows about her disappearance,” I called after him. The more we knew about the situation, the better.
While he was gone, I decided to examine the foundation and overgrown lawn for clues about the water bill. The basement was very dry, which was a great thing, and there were no telltale stains inside, so the leak had to be outside of the house.
I was bent over a spot in the knee-high grass when I felt a hand on my bottom. For a second, shock waves froze me in place. What in God’s name was Jasper thinking? With an indignant sigh, I stood up, counting as I righted myself. When I got to ten, I turned.
“As much as I like you,” I started to say, but I stopped as I saw that smug, obnoxious gargoyle named Kyle.
“Aw, too bad. No witnesses. ‘He said, she said’.” He gave me a toxic grin. “Saw your car out front, Suzykins. Thought I’d stop by and let you give me the tour.”
“Go to hell, Kyle.”
“Not without you, Suzykins. It wouldn’t be much fun on my own.”
“It won’t be much fun with me,” I hollered, hoping Jasper would hear.
“I don’t know. Devil’s playground. Lots of possibilities. Where shall we start?”
“You really are a creep, aren’t you? First, you rape Jane, and then you blackmail her. How many other victims did you have? Is that how you got your wife to marry you?”
“You’re wrong about me and Jane,” Kyle snarled. I could see he was angry because his beady little eyes got tinier and tinier, until they almost disappeared. “You keep thinking she’s such an innocent. She wanted me. She begged me to marry her. That whole rape story was drummed up when I wouldn’t!”

Chapter Six --

“Right. Because you’re such a freaking catch, Kyle!”
“You think you know your best friend? Why do you think she moved? Because she was so damaged? Because she was so miserable over what I did to her? Or because her little game plan got chumped?”
“What kind of creep takes photos of an unconscious, drugged up woman?” I snapped back. “What does it take to have sex with a partner who can’t participate?”
“Is that what that bitch told you? That I drugged her? That I had sex with her while she was asleep?” Kyle was roaring at me now. I could see the vein at his left temple throbbing as his face went crimson. “She was the one who came onto me. She was the one who chased me.”
“Yeah, right. You’re Prince Charming. No woman can resist you!”
“I can prove it to you!” he screamed at me. “I have the evidence!”
I took a step back. Kyle seemed to be in the process of dangerously spiralling out of control, and I didn’t want to be within striking distance when he unraveled.
“Did you forget, Kyle,” I said defiantly, “about the photographs you took of that orgy? Not to mention the photos of the other men who took their turns with her? Kind of hard for a woman to participate in sex when she’s not aware of what’s going on.”
Kyle got a strange look on his face. He studied me for a long, silent moment, his breathing labored as his chest heaved. And then he sat down on the back step, slapping his knees. The tension seemed to leave his body and he shook his head in wonderment.
“She really did it to me. Janie really did it. Good God, she did it.” I wasn’t sure how to take the bitter chuckle that sputtered out of Kyle’s mouth. “That vile, deceitful bitch really did it to me. And it’s only taken me ten years to find out how badly I got screwed.”
“What goes around comes around,” I muttered. I wasn’t sure how to take the change in Kyle. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to me any longer. It was like he was lost in a dark, fog from long ago, wandering about in search of a memory he couldn’t grasp. I took advantage of the moment to make my escape.
Jasper was just leaving Farmer Brown’s yard when I came around the corner. He took one look at me and knew instantly that something was wrong.
“What’s the matter?”
“That bastard Kyle is here.”
“For heaven’s sake, is the man a complete idiot? I’ll go talk to him,” Jasper said. I shook my head. “I can make him understand you’re not available.”
“No, let’s just go. I want to get as far away from that creep as I can. And I want to take a shower and get his stinking fingerprints off my fanny!”
“He touched you again? Son of a bitch!” Jasper didn’t even get into the silver streak. Instead, he disappeared around the back of the house. I don’t know what I was expecting. Yelling. Maybe the sound of fisticuffs. There was nothing. For a horrible second, I wondered if Kyle had killed him. But a moment later, Jasper reappeared and strode determinedly to the passenger side of the Miata, opened the door, and climbed in beside me.
“Kyle and I have come to an understanding. He will not be bothering you again.” Jasper was still steaming. I thought I saw little puffs of moisture coming out of his lips.
“Oh?” I was alarmed at how tense he seemed, like he was all wound up and unable to release the over-tightened spring that drove his mechanism.
“Just drive, Suzanne,” was all he said.
I pulled away from the curb, still not sure what had transpired in the backyard. Jasper wasn’t talking. I took the side streets that ran parallel to Windsong Boulevard, heading towards the center of Glendale. Finally, I had little choice. I had to interrupt his silent reverie.
“Where are we going?” I asked. Jasper seemed to force himself to focus.
“Want to hit the Low Down?” His voice was throaty, almost as if he had been caught in an emotional reaction to something, maybe a past memory. As far as I knew, he and Kyle had never run in the same circles. But something was gnawing at Jasper. That much I could see in his eyes. He was a haunted man.
By the time I pulled into the parking lot at the restaurant, Jasper had put on his game face, but I could see the distance between us.
“Are you okay?” I gave it a shot, not really expecting an answer.
“Yeah, sure. It’s a guy thing.”
“Oh.” We crossed the gravel parking lot and went through the front door, heading to the back deck that overlooked the water. It was crowded, but we found a tiny table by the railing. The waitress came over to take our drink order.
“Iced tea, please,” I requested, “unsweetened, with lemon.”
“Make it two,” he added. He was still avoiding my gaze, and I felt uncomfortable, like I had done something wrong. “Suzanne, I have to ask you something.”
I waited, watching. I needed to see his eyes. I needed to know if he really cared about the answer. Don’t ask me why, but something told me how I responded would change the course of our friendship.
“Those photographs of Jane...did you see them, or were you told about them?” he wanted to know.
“Why are we talking about Jane?”
“Humor me. Did you ever actually see them?”
“God, no. That’s disgusting!”
“Jane told you about them?” He pressed on.
“Her father did. Jane wouldn’t talk to me. She was too embarrassed. After all, I had taken her to the emergency room. I had held her hand when she gave a statement to the police officer. She left right after that and I never saw her again. All my cards and letters got returned. None of my phone calls were answered. Jane just cut me right out of her life, thanks to that prick!”
“Maybe that’s not why Jane cut you out of her life,” he suggested.
“What’s that supposed to mean? That I did something to hurt my best friend?”
“Forget it. Let’s change the subject.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” I replied. “What’s going on?”
“We can’t change the past, Suzanne. Let’s move forward.” Jasper cleared his throat, sounding like he was shifting mental gears. I waited, but he didn’t explain further. It was a long minute of silence before he started his report on Farmer Brown. “The neighbor’s name is John Sullivan. He’s a maintenance man for Duplox Industries. He claims he’s had a relationship with Susan Lefkowitz for the last six years. He met her at a psychic fair down the coast, and when the house next door to hers came on the market three and a half years ago, he bought it. Single, never married. John claims Rainbow disappeared in the middle of the night, after she had a visitor.”
Jasper took a long sip of his drink, watching the liquid move up through his straw. It was as if he was avoiding something unpleasant, something that involved me. Jasper had a secret he wanted to conceal, and now that I knew that, I had no intention of letting my heart get entangled with his.
“Who was the visitor?” I finally asked.
“What?”
“If Sullivan knew Rainbow had a visitor, he must have been watching. Maybe he was jealous, especially if it was a man who came to see Susan. He doesn’t seem all that emotionally stable to me. Maybe he had a Manson moment. Maybe he was all drugged up or drunk, and did something to Rainbow.”
“What? Killed her?” Jasper chuckled. “Too much TV, Suzanne. What did he do with the body?”
“Maybe he took it out in the middle of the ocean. Maybe he buried it in the woods. Who knows? She’s gone. Her family’s tried to find her since she disappeared three years ago. Sullivan moved in a short time before she went missing. Maybe he was stalking her.”
“You went from Point A to Point D without hitting B or C. How can you conclude that he was stalking her? The guy said he was trying to look out for her place while she’s gone.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to admit to himself that he hurt her,” I suggested.
“Maybe he didn’t hurt her,” he fired back.
“We’re not really doing well here, are we?” I looked long and hard at Jasper.
“It’s not you,” he admitted. “I’ve got something on my mind. It’s not anything I can talk about. Can you cut me some slack?”
I was going to make a snide remark. It was just on the tip of my tongue. But there was a look in those green eyes that begged me to go easy on him. Jasper was wrestling with something from his past, something that didn’t involve me. Maybe he got a call from his girlfriend. Maybe she sent him at “Dear John” text.
“Sure.” I turned my attention to the menu, glancing at the day’s lunch specials.
“Suzanne?” There was a small plea in Jasper’s voice. I heard it. It wasn’t my imagination. I looked up at him. “Things aren’t always what they seem. Sometimes things can sound worse than they really are.”
“Oh?”
“I just want you to know I respect you as a woman.”
“Great,” I smiled.
“I do. You’re smart and funny and sweet, underneath the frayed jeans and tee shirt.”
“Even with them,” I corrected him.
“Just remember what I said.” His eyes were on me, fastened tightly, as if he didn’t want me to look away until he was certain about me.
“I will,” I promised.
“Good.” With that, he turned his attention to the daily specials. “I think I’ll have the tuna wrap. How about you?”
The mood lifted after that. We went back to bantering about Glendale, about running, about the Sea Ray Sundancer he kept at the marina. By the time I bid him farewell at two o’clock, he seemed more like his old self. We made plans to get together right after the closing, so he could have a tour of the interior of the house.
In the time that followed, I checked on another property we had going over in Lincoln Valley, just about completed and ready for the market. The bathroom floors, tub surround, and kitchen backsplash were ready for installation, so I got busy laying tile and grouting. One of our painters was out sick with a bad case of poison ivy he got when he was working on the outside of the house, so I did some interior painting. The crew was ready to add the finishing touches on the house we knew would be a real hit with buyers. It was a good-looking property, and before the last of the annuals went into the flower boxes, we had two offers on it. Ned was happy, because one was $10,000 over asking.
The moment Ned got back to the office with the keys to the Glengarry Court bungalow, I dialed Jasper and made arrangements to take him through.
“How does five-thirty grab you?” He asked.
“Uh...” I hesitated. How do you tell someone you really need to go for a run? I wanted to kick myself for the long pause. After all, Jasper was serious about the property, and that really should be my priority.
“Were you going for a run?” he asked with a laugh.
“Well, it’s kind of my normal routine,” I acknowledged. “Get out of work, go for a run, have dinner.”
“I wouldn’t want to disrupt that,” he responded. “How about I meet you at your place, we do a run to the bungalow, check it out, and run back. I’ll take you to dinner.”
“After a run, I usually take a quick shower.”
“Is that an invitation?” Jasper wanted to know.

Chapter Seven --

“I’m just saying....”
“Relax, Dawkins. It was a joke. I told you I respect you as a woman,” he reminded me. “I have no problem with you taking a shower after we run. I’ll take one, too. And then we’ll hit the town.”
By five, I was itching to get out of the office. Ned kept piling papers on my desk and peppering me with questions. Finally he asked me where I was going in such a rush.
“Home.”
“Just home?”
“I’m going for a run with a friend.”
“Is that friend a guy, by any chance?” His eyebrows shot up expectantly.
“Maybe,” I grinned.
“Jasper?”
“Could be.”
“For a guy who blew you off, he’s certainly changed his tune. I thought he was married.”
“Nope. Has a girlfriend, but they seem to be going their separate ways. He came back because his brother-in-law died. He’s here to help his sister with her three kids. That’s why his mother’s moving to Glendale, too.”
“Family-oriented. That’s a plus. Just don’t get your hopes up. If he’s got a relationship, he could choose to go back to it, kiddo. You don’t want your heart broken.”
“True.” Ned had a point. There was no reason to think that Jasper was a free agent just yet. I decided to go with the running buddy route. I would keep it light and casual, but I would be the good friend in the frayed jeans and tee shirt.
I got home with barely ten minutes to spare, and as I waited, I changed my running shorts three times, finally settling on a hot pink pair. Just as I threw on a white tank top, I heard a knock at my door. Grabbing my running shoes and socks, I hurried out into the living room to let him in.
“Welcome,” I greeted him, throwing open the door. Jasper stepped in, gazing around my living room.
“You guys do the reno on this?”
“We did.”
“Nice.”
I gave him a quick tour, pointing out the view of the bay from my living room balcony and my pride and joy, the adjoining turret, with its many windows, where I had a dining table and chairs. He liked my raised gas fireplace, with its sea glass tile surround. I had carried that design element into the kitchen, where I had chosen a limestone porcelain tile, accented with shell-embossed tiles and tiny sea glass mosaic tiles. I shared with him the special features of my compact kitchen, from the rollout pantry to the dishwasher drawer.
“A lot of singles only fill their dishwashers once a week or run them more often than necessary. The smaller drawer lets me keep up with the washing, but it saves me water and electricity. It’s really convenient, considering the kitchen is so small.”
I showed him the bedroom with its angled ceilings and well-outfitted walk-in closet. I also showed him the adjoining bathroom, with the view of the ocean from the step-up tub. He asked me about storage, so I showed him the built-ins that were tucked throughout the space.
“And there you have it.”
“I like it. It’s architecturally interesting, but efficient. I think you’ll be able to come up with a winning design for June. Maybe you could walk her through these same kinds of options.”
“I’d be happy to show her the many, many, many options,” I agreed. He laughed at the emphasis. “Shall we head out?”
We started at a light trot, running side by side down the quiet lanes, chatting as we ran. Jasper was a good head taller than me, but he slowed his pace to meet my stride. We made it to Glengarry Court in about fifteen minutes. Removing the key from my pocket, I slipped it into the back door. I wanted to start in the kitchen, saving the best -- the master bedroom -- for last. Out of habit, I made sure the door locked behind me.
“Afraid the bogey man will sneak in?” Jasper teased.
“Actually, I once got cornered by a stranger who let himself in when I was working at a place by myself. Ever since, I’m overly cautious.”
“Oh, Suzanne, I apologize.”
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “It was a long time ago.”
As we moved from room to room, I explained each phase of the preliminary plan for changes. Jasper posed several questions about the expected construction, wanting to know the rationale for this choice or that. I took him down to the basement and showed him the laundry area and the spot where I wanted to put in a cedar closet. He informed me he’d prefer a washer and dryer on the first floor for June, so he wouldn’t have to worry about her falling down the stairs while carrying a laundry basket.
“There might be enough room in the bathroom,” I told him, as we headed back upstairs. I explained that my original idea was to put in both a shower and soaking tub. “We could lose one or the other and install a laundry closet.”
I paced out the space, showing him there was room for a full-sized stacked set or possibly a pair of side-by-sides. I was about to give him a rundown on the types of machines when he hushed me.
“Shh!” Jasper put a finger to his lips and stopped moving. A floor board squeaked as someone moved stealthily through the house. I held my breath as we waited to see what specter would appear. The footsteps suddenly stopped. A moment later, we heard them retreat. Jasper was out the bathroom door and through the hallway in a flash. By the time he reached the kitchen, the back door was wide open.
“I’ll bet it’s Sullivan,” I told him. Jasper leaned past me and looked out the kitchen window at the fleeing figure.
“And you would be right. He must have a key to the place.”
“We’ll change the locks tomorrow,” I decided. “I’ll let Ned know.”
“Good idea. We should nip the bad behavior in the bud, before he gets any more territorial.”
We locked the door again and then continued the house tour, inspecting the bedrooms. We finished up on the sun porch. Jasper thought June would make it a cozy den for watching television and the perfect place for all of her houseplants.
“Ned wants to reconnect the sun porch to the kitchen.”
“That would help a lot,” Jasper decided. “Much more convenient than going back through the house every time you want to go to the kitchen.” 
I agreed as we retraced our steps. Standing on the back stairs, I locked up as Jasper watched me.
“You know, we could grab a couple of lobster rolls, Suzanne, if you’re in the mood.”
“Sounds good.”
“See? I’m a casual kind of guy,” Jasper grinned. “And you thought I was going to take you out for a stuffy meal at a snooty French restaurant, with a menu you can’t pronounce and waiters that give you the bum’s rush.”
“Hey, I like French food,” I told him as we started to trot. “I’m actually a decent cook. I make a mean ratatouille.”
“Do you? I’ll be the judge of that,” he replied. “Invite me the next time you make it, and I’ll give you my official decision.”
Twenty minutes later, we finished on Seaside Avenue, leisurely cooling off at the end of our run by walking along the boardwalk until we got to Hanover Street, where we crossed the street and waited our turn at Mel’s Crab Hut. The line was ten deep, but it moved quickly enough. We placed our order, waited a few minutes, and picked it up at the window when our number was called.
“Beach or picnic table?” Jasper asked me. I looked across the street at the sandy beach, where the surfers were coming and going, and then at the crowded tables on the lawn at Mel’s. For me, it was an easy decision.
“Beach.”
We carried our cardboard trays the hundred yards across the street. There was a beautiful orange glow painting the low-lying clouds that hovered above the sea. It felt good to have my toes in the sand. I noticed he seemed more relaxed here, too. We settled down, cross-legged, and opened the packages.
“What’s your girlfriend like?” I wanted to know. I bit into my lobster roll with gusto.
“Not like you,” were the words out of his mouth before he could stop himself. A look of shock came over his face as he realized what he had said. “I didn’t mean it in a negative way. At least not about you.”
“Okay,” I laughed nervously, not sure where this was going. “Let’s try again. What’s she like?”
“Very focused on her work,” he said.
“And I’m not?”
“You’re a lot...warmer. You’re not just focused on your job, you’re focused on the people around you.”
“Oh,” I nodded. “And that’s a good thing?”
“Eva is rather like a train with a powerful engine. There’s not a lot of negotiating about where the train’s going once the engine starts. She’s very determined and you can’t knock her off course when she makes up her mind.”
“That seems rather unyielding,” I commented. It was all I could do to not say she sounded like a bitch.
“Actually, Eva is in the silver circle for financial planners who bring in more than $50 million dollars in client assets a year for the firm to manage. She’s a big success.”
“And yet, you have your doubts.”
“Maybe,” he replied. “She has some good points. She’s very efficient and goal-oriented. She always donates at least fifteen percent of her salary to charity. And she teaches finance at the university level.”
“So far, she sounds like a great business woman. What’s she like as a person?”
“Once you get to know her, she warms up.”
“That makes it sound like she can be cold.”
“Sometimes. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”
“Can I give you some unsolicited advice?” As I leaned forward, I accidentally brushed against him, our arms touching. “From one running buddy to another? You’re the kind of guy who would move back to his hometown to help his sister out. You’re the kind of guy who looks for just the right house for his mother. You’re a people person. Shouldn’t your wife also be like that? Otherwise, you’re going to be one miserable guy. It doesn’t really matter how successful a woman is if you’re not happy being with her.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Jasper said wryly, watching the waves roll in. I wasn’t sure if I had overstepped my bounds in criticizing his relationship. The truth was I thought he deserved a better woman, even if it wasn’t me.
“Let me guess. Eva’s hot. Long legs, long hair, big boobs, and a butt that doesn’t jiggle. Am I close?”
He took a long swig on his bottle of Orangina and smiled, like he was remembering how she looked. I wanted to kick myself for reminding him what he didn’t have at the moment.
“Something like that,” he agreed, crunching on a kettle chip.
“I will never, as long as I live, understand you men. There is more to life than a woman who looks good naked!”
“Are you sure about that?”
“There’s friendship,” I pointed out. “It’s nice to have someone to spend time with out of bed.”
“That’s why I’ve got my buddies. We play basketball twice a week and golf on Saturdays and Sundays.”
“Companionship,” I continued.
“I’ve got a dog. He doesn’t bitch when I come home late or leave the toilet seat up.”
“You can’t dance with a dog,” I pointed out. “You need a warm, willing partner to hold in your arms, someone who will follow your lead and move to your rhythm.”
“Who says I want to dance?”
“How can you not want to dance?” I said incredulously. “Dancing is the ultimate intimacy.”
“I’m pretty sure sex qualifies as that. Two people going at it....”
“You can have sex with someone you don’t care about,” I insisted. “You can go through the motions and when you’re done, you don’t know anything about the other person. But you can’t dance effectively without working with your partner. You learn to understand the subtle signals that pass between you, to read your partner’s body language, to anticipate the next move. Dancing with the right person is pure romance at its finest. It’s the physical, non-verbal language of love.”
“Hardly,” Jasper sniffed. “Dancing is overrated.”

Chapter Eight --

“Wow,” I sighed. “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?”
“Why? Because I’m not a dancer?”
“No, because you’re a cold fish. You think women are only good for one thing. How sad is that?”
“Relax, Dawkins. I’m yanking your chain.”
“You are?” I studied his face. “Why?”
“Because it’s fun to see you get so fired up.”
“Hmm.” I wondered if that meant he was flirting with me. Maybe he was just a big tease with every woman. Maybe his girlfriend was on the way out of his heart. Maybe I was inventing hope where there was none. I took a stab in the dark. “Does that mean Eva’s not hot?”
“Oh, no. She’s definitely hot. In a cold, heartless, ice queen kind of way.”
“You’re yanking my chain again, aren’t you?”
“I sure am.”
After dinner, we headed back to West Avenue. Arriving back at my address, Jasper said good night, climbed into his Lexus, and drove off into the sunset. I headed upstairs, excited that tomorrow was the first day of the new renovation. I went to bed early, anticipating the thrill of the first hammer whack on the new job. You never know what hides inside the walls.
I was the first one there the next morning, so I had the bungalow to myself. Susan Lefkowitz’s family cleared out most of her belongings just before the closing. They rented a van and hauled away the pieces they wanted. The rest they left behind. As I walked through, I spied a little side table that I thought could be repurposed with some fresh paint. In the drawer was a Star of David on a silver chain. Most of the closets were empty, save for wire hangers, empty shoe boxes, and the odd sock left behind. I had done enough of these flips to know that people sometimes left things behind that they really did want. Rather than throw everything out, I worked methodically, sorting what would go in the dumpster that Tidy Hauling was dropping off in a couple of hours and what to keep. Less than thirty minutes later, I had a pile of items by the front door to go. That left the basement to explore, and it didn’t look like there was all that much down there to clear out. Poking my way into the nooks and crannies, I removed old mousetraps with dusty little skeletons, glad that I was wearing nitrile gloves to protect myself. I found three old mason jars and a couple of cardboard boxes of hardened laundry detergent powder that looked like they were abandoned in the seventies. And then I found the box of love letters.
Or could I call them love letters? Tucked behind the old, abandoned furnace we planned to remove, sitting up on a ledge, someone had put them out of reach. I used an old stepladder to get them down. They were torrid notes about sexual escapades that seemed to have taken place all over Glendale. I wondered if the Lefkowitz family knew about them. Was that why Susan’s relatives left them behind? Should I stop reading them? After all, they were Susan’s private correspondences. But another part of me wondered if I might find some clue, some hint of her fate inside the envelopes. What if something bad had happened to her and these letters held the secret?
By the third letter, I knew the man, who signed his letters with a dramatic “K”, was married to a clueless wife. Melanie was under the impression that the vibrational healing sessions he took with Susan, also known as Rainbow, were to help him recover his waning libido, and fooling his wife seemed to delight him. “K” wrote to his lover that the only thing that would do the trick was if Melanie dropped the eighty pounds she gained after giving birth to their three children. He talked about Susan’s prowess in bed and the New Age healer’s ability to make him sexually satisfied in ways he never knew existed before her. The graphic descriptions were a real eye-opener for me. They clearly enjoyed pushing their sexual activities in unusual directions.
The photos fell out of the seventh envelope. Looking down at the one I held in my hand, it was my first glance at the missing woman -- at least I assumed it was Susan. You couldn’t call her beautiful. The face was too long, the eyes too narrow, the lips too prominent for that. There was a look of recklessness and wild abandon to her. Her hair was an untamed mess of dark brown ringlets suspended in air, as if she had stuck her wet finger in a light socket. She was very lithe, very limber, judging from the positions she took in bed and out of it. She had a rather unremarkable, undeveloped body, as far as bodies go, but she was clearly an active participant in the party games. Posing in the act with various toys, she gave the photographer her all -- pouting, grinning, clearly lusting for him. I was about to just tuck all the photos back into the envelope, without looking any closer, when my eyes lit on one Susan must have taken herself. There was a man grinning from ear to ear, his wrists bound to the headboard of a bed that was dressed in leopard print sheets. He was naked and excited, his legs spread immodestly for the world to see. I recognized the face. There was no doubt about it. I was looking at Kyle Hargrove.
“Holy crap!” I sighed. Maybe it was more than a coincidence that Kyle showed up here the other day. Maybe he came to collect his pornography.
“Anyone here?” There was knocking on the back door and I heard a male voice calling out. I quickly thrust the depraved photographs back in the envelope and grabbed the whole box before heading for the steps. Jasper was waiting on the steps, so I let him in.
“Sorry to bother you. I’m on my way to the city for a meeting right now, but I’m picking June up later tonight. My mom wants to know if you’re free for lunch tomorrow. She told me to tell you she’s looking forward to seeing the place.” Jasper noticed the box tucked under my arm. “Find some treasure?”
“Susan’s family left it behind. Lots of letters,” I said guardedly. “I thought they might shed some light on what happened to her.”
“Why do I get the feeling something shook you up?” he asked. I shrugged. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to show the photos to Jasper. After all, the very naked Susan was exposed in all her glory. Then again, maybe it would be good to talk to someone who knew what a vile piece of vermin Kyle Hargrove was. I rummaged around in the box and pulled out the envelope with the photos. I handed it to Jasper without a word. He took it, peered inside, and then pulled out the letter. His eyes grew wide as he read the words Kyle had written to his lover. Once he finished, he carefully folded it up again and tucked it back into its paper sheath. Then he pulled out the photos. Glancing at each one in turn, he made little comments about Susan’s athletic abilities and sexual propensities. When he got to Kyle’s triumphant smile, he gave a low whistle.
“Wow. I guess we know now why Kyle wants the house.”
“Here’s a dumb question,” I responded. “What kind of guy wants to buy a house he doesn’t need, just to get his hands on dirty pictures of himself and his missing girlfriend?”
“Not a smart one,” Jasper conceded.
Glancing out the window, I could see the crew had arrived to dig up the pipes that were to be replaced. They were wasting no time, maneuvering the back hoe into place. It was a good thing we planned to tear up the yard and do new landscaping, because their heavy machinery was wreaking havoc on the yard. I turned my attention back to Jasper.
“The question is what do I do with them? Should I take them to the police? What if Kyle killed her because she tried to blackmail him?” There was something about the look on Jasper’s face that stopped me.
“Kyle’s not necessarily a killer, Suzanne. And Susan Lefkowitz might not be dead.”
“How can you say that?” I thought about Jane and what she went through. “How can you defend the guy?”
“I’m not defending him. I’m just saying that dirty pictures do not a murderer make.”
“He raped Janie. Now Susan is missing. She’s been gone a long time. He’s a wicked man!”
“I have something to tell you about Janie,” Jasper began. “There’s something you should know....”
“Holy crap!” An excited Bobby Rodriguez, our foreman, burst into the kitchen. “Zan! Zan! Come quick! You’re not going to believe this!”
Jasper and I followed him out to the side yard, where five members of the Dawkins Builders’ crew were looking down into the freshly-excavated soil. We joined them, leaning in for a closer look.
“We found the cause of that water leak,” Manny, the operator of the back hoe, announced, pointing to the pile of bones poking up through the rich brown earth. “Someone must have cracked the pipe when he dug the hole to bury the body.”
Two hours later, the neighborhood was alive with people. The police had cordoned off the yard with fluorescent yellow tape and evidence teams were collecting samples and taking measurements. The box of letters was now in police custody. Jasper had left for his meeting a little late. I went back to the office after a lengthy session of questions by two detectives. Ned shook his head as he came in from the parking lot.
“Told you so, Suze. Said it was a bad idea to buy a house when the homeowner was missing.”
“You did,” I agreed. “But look on the bright side. Susan Lefkowitz is no longer missing. Her family finally knows where she is.”
“On my dollar,” my brother announced. “We’ll never sell that house now.”
“I’ll figure something out. I’m actually glad Susan is no longer missing. Someone killed her and buried the body. Someone almost got away with murder.” I thought about Kyle and how much I wanted to see him behind bars. He got away with what he did to Jane. He wouldn’t get away with silencing the sexually adventurous Rainbow, thanks to those damning photos.
“We’re going to be in the center of a lot of negative press, Suzykins. Not good for business.”
“You know what? We should have some kind of service for Susan and invite the public. We should show people that we regret her unfortunate death and we’re offering our thoughts and prayers for Susan. If we’re lucky, we may found out she wasn’t murdered on that spot.”
“But she was probably killed in the house. Which raises the point that the police have issued a ban on any work to the bungalow until the case is solved or they’ve at least removed any and all evidence. We’re stuck with a house we can’t flip.”
“Maybe they’ll solve the case quickly.” I told Ned about the box of letters and the dirty pictures. He made a face of disbelief, but I saw a glimmer of hope behind the eyes.
“I’ll get started finding a rabbi to officiate at the ceremony.”
 “Any chance Jasper’s mother will still want to buy the bungalow?”
“Possibly. But don’t worry. If the house doesn’t sell in a month, I’ll buy it.”
“What? My baby sister is willing to give up her little castle in the sky for the bungalow from hell? Why?”
“I don’t know. There’s something about this house that speaks to me. I felt it the first time I walked through the door.”
“It’s your dollar, kiddo.”
By two, we were inundated with calls from the media. They wanted to know if we had photographs of the bungalow they could use in their stories, since the police wouldn’t let anyone inside. Someone had tipped the reporters to the box of letters, and several of them peppered me with questions, which I did not answer. Kyle had been at the police station for the better part of the day, and it looked like he would be there for some time to come. He had already hired a well-known criminal defense attorney, M. Ross Twachter. Nothing but the best for that stinking sleaze bag. I left Ned in charge of schmoozing with the press. I knew he’d put the interests of Dawkins Builders in the forefront, so I got busy on putting Susan Lefkowitz’s spirit to rest.
I spoke with Rabbi Stein at Temple Beth Shalom, explaining my desire to honor the dead and described the area where Susan’s skeletal remains were recovered at the Glengarry Court bungalow. I admitted I did not know what her family’s wishes were and feared offending them by not understanding Jewish tradition. He offered his services as a go-between, extending a hand to her family while also serving as the community’s liaison. He asked me if I could meet him at the property and show him where the body was found and tell him how it was discovered, so he could plan appropriate prayers for the dead woman. I met with him a short time later, glad that I made the right choice. He was a friendly, kind man with a reassuring manner, and if anyone could soothe the spirits, it was he. The rabbi had already contacted Susan’s family and they were amiable to having a service for her at the site. In fact, they were most appreciative that Susan’s body was finally discovered. Her mother said it was a blessing in disguise that they finally decided not to wait any longer to sell the bungalow. Sadly, I had to agree with her. The woman known as Rainbow to her followers, and Susan to her family, could have lingered under the ground for many more years had it not been for the planned renovation. They say the Lord works in mysterious ways. Even after all these years, Kyle’s bad behavior was finally catching up to him. It made me wonder what his punishment would be.
It also made me wonder how Susan died. Was she strangled during some kinky sex game? Was her throat slashed in some lover’s quarrel with Kyle? Did she fall and hit her head during an altercation? Was her death planned out or did it happen on impulse? Even as I asked myself the questions, I made a note that I should try to wean myself off the daily diet of “whodunnits” on TV. Still, I couldn’t help thinking about what Kyle was thinking in the moments just before she died. Was it a thrill for him? Was he angry? It was hard for me to turn off the musings in my mind.
Detective Gertmuller called me at the office a little after four, asking if I would meet the forensics team at the bungalow, so I made yet another trip to the property, this time parking so far down the street, I had to pass all the news crews who were hanging around outside the house. Several tried to block my passage down the sidewalk and force me to comment for them, but when I got to the front yard, a young police officer warned them off. I scooted through the front door, relieved when it shut behind me.
The forensic team knew we were renovating the interior, and because of that, they wanted to make sure to get as much physical evidence as possible, since they wouldn’t necessarily be able to come back for it, especially if it was removed as part of the construction plan. They had covered the windows with dark plastic sheeting, to block out the light, and I saw at least two people using black lights as they searched for blood stains.
I met Detective Gertmuller in the dining room and he led me down to the basement, wanting to see exactly where I found the box of letters, on the off chance there might be more. I explained how I normally did things when we were about to flip a house.
“Ever find anything valuable?” he wondered, making conversation.
“I found an engagement ring left in a can of coffee on a bedroom closet shelf once. I was pouring the grounds out into the trash and saw something glitter. The little old lady who owned the house had dementia and the family thought she had lost the ring years earlier. And once I found a savings book that still had a couple hundred dollars in it. It’s always nice to turn things back over to the families and see their reactions.”
“Well, you hit the jackpot on this. That body could have remained there for eternity. Why were the men digging there again?” he wanted to know. I explained that the water bill was too high for an empty house, which made him want to know exactly when the bills increased.
“Why?” I asked.
“We can’t find all the bones. Some are missing and we think the body was moved here long after the murder. By the way, that’s not information for the press.”
“No, no,” I agreed. But it made me think. “Why would someone move bones? That sounds really creepy. Almost like an obsession. I mean, if she was already dead somewhere else, why would the killer bring her skeleton back here? Why not just dump it somewhere else? You probably wouldn’t even be able to identify her.”
“Twisted minds do odd things,” he replied. He was watching me closely. “You look like you might know something.”
“I don’t know that I actually know anything,” I admitted. “But the next-door neighbor seemed rather disturbed by the fact that we were here in the house yesterday. John Sullivan claimed he was watching the place for her and that he and Susan had had a long relationship. He even said he moved here to be closer to her. It made me very uncomfortable. I’m positive I locked the door this morning like I always do. I was in the middle of showing it to a prospective buyer when we caught the guy sneaking around the house. Very creepy.”
“Thanks,” he nodded in response to the information. He seemed to be deep in thought.
“As for what we plan to remove from the premises,” I changed the subject, “let me give you a run-through on what’s staying and what’s going.”
I left by five, passing the media gauntlet on my way out. One of the more aggressive reporters followed me all the way to the silver streak, offering favorable press coverage for Dawkins Builders if I cooperated. I turned him down flat and he got snarly on me, but I didn’t really care. It’s not like Ned and I were participants in the murder.
I decided to take my evening run in the opposite direction, to avoid getting near the edge of the press feeding frenzy. Once I changed into my running clothes, I headed down Johnson Boulevard and over to Spruce Street. It was less traveled, less scenic, but I told myself that at least I wouldn’t have anyone following me. Boy, oh boy, was I wrong about that.

Chapter Nine -- 

The sky was overcast, putting a damper on the evening’s sunset. There was a light breeze coming off the ocean and it seemed to follow me as I ran towards Jenkins Hollow. I decided to do the front loop, running on the trail down to the old ruins and back. I gave myself twenty minutes to do it, knowing that meant I was averaging a ten-minute mile. It felt good to have the wide open space to myself, save the occasional walkers and a family having a picnic dinner under a big sugar maple in the pasture. A figure on a bike passed me at a rapid rate, feet pedaling frantically. I couldn’t have said whether it was a man or a woman, because the hood was pulled up over the bike rider’s head, but my gut told me it was a man. He was certainly in a hurry, almost out of sight by the time I reached the top of the hill and headed down towards the old stone fortification. I turned at the well, marking it as my halfway point, and checked my watch. I was running about a minute slower than I had hoped, but I was distracted by my thoughts of Susan’s murder.
I had never met the woman, but the belongings in the house gave a glimpse into her life. Definitely a colorful, almost chaotic character. I thought the name she had taken on, Rainbow, probably described her approach to life. This was not a timid wallflower. The decor of the house proved that. The photographs illustrated that. She was defiantly proud of herself in some of the more kinky ones, almost as if she were daring the photographer to keep up with her unconventional side. Could she have rubbed the killer the wrong way? Kyle had an enormous ego and a very large need to have it stroked. Maybe she told him to go pound sand and he lost it. Maybe she had found someone new to take his place, someone like her neighbor, although I didn’t really think John Sullivan was her type. Maybe Kyle hurt her while they were having sex. Maybe she wouldn’t let him control her. I thought about how angry he was when I called him on his bad behavior.
I was running down the steep incline to the brook basin when I felt a sharp, painful sting as something struck me hard in the stomach. A moment later, I was struck again in the middle of my thigh with equal ferociousness, hitting muscle and causing me to instantly cramp up. Grabbing my leg reflexively, I was unable to stay upright, and the rest of me tumbled the remainder of the way down. I felt my skin burn as I tore across the surface of the gravel-covered trail. By the time I landed in a very unglamorous pile of pain, a bruise the size of a quarter was emerging on my left thigh. There was another purple shadow on my stomach. What in God’s name could have caused that? I looked all around me before I saw what was out of the ordinary. On the ground, about ten feet apart, were two tiny white glass balls, very visible against the dark gray stone path.
Standing up tentatively on my sore leg, I hobbled over to the first glass orb and picked it up. Why would someone want to hit me with what seemed to be a white marble? I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t true, even as I knew it was. I couldn’t help thinking that it reminded me of the run the other day in the park, when I went tumbling down the hill. Had something struck me then, too? Maybe that sting I felt on my ankle wasn’t just a stray pebble sent into the air by a wayward footfall.
It took me ten minutes to hobble up the hill and find my way to the road. I saw the familiar car just as I emerged from the tree-lined path. Jasper had his mother in the Lexus and I could see the look of concern on their faces as he pulled off the road and slowed to a stop in front of me.
“Suzanne, what happened?” Jasper rushed to my side.
“I think someone hit me with this.” I held out one of the white glass balls for him to see.
“That’s slingshot ammo,” he told me. He looked down at my thigh and the now-throbbing bruise. “You could have been seriously hurt. What kind of kid thinks this is a good activity?”
He managed to load me into the back seat. His mother was kinder than I remembered, offering me ice from her cold drink.
“This is the second time in a few days you’ve had this kind of spill,” Jasper pointed out.
“Funny,” I groaned. “I remember feeling a sharp pain in my ankle before I fell at Plover Park.”
“Why would someone want to harm you?” June wondered aloud. “You seem like a nice girl.”
“I am a nice girl,” I agreed wholeheartedly. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a single enemy I might have, other than Kyle. “Does anyone know where that creep is?”
“You didn’t hear?” Jasper announced, watching me through the rearview mirror. “Kyle’s in police custody. They’re holding him overnight.”
“Damn!” I cursed. “He made such a good suspect. What kind of jerk uses a slingshot?”
“Well, when I was a kid, the typical target was a squirrel.”
“Please tell me you didn’t go around torturing little squirrels with marbles,” June demanded.
“Not me, Mom. Remember Keith Hublein? The guy was a wizard at knocking squirrels out of trees. He didn’t kill them. It usually stunned the hell out of them.”
“That’s mean!” his mother admonished him. “I wish I had known. I would have peppered Keith’s fanny with marbles, give him a taste of his own medicine. What a little juvenile delinquent he was.”
From the back seat, I watched mother and son, thinking that they were comfortable bickering together. June and I thought alike on the fate that should have befallen Keith Hublein. It’s one thing to get rid of a pest. It’s another to enjoy the cruelty of torturing a living creature.
That thought brought me back to the fact that I had been deliberately struck by a couple of glass balls used as ammunition for slingshots. Was my assailant sadistic? Did he mean to inflict pain on me? Or was he hoping for worse? And if it wasn’t Kyle, who was it?
“He had to be hiding before I ran down that hill,” I said suddenly, interrupting their conversation. “And he had to have been hidden at Plover Park, too. Do you think it’s just some jerk using runners as target practice? Or do you think it was me he was after?”
“Would anyone have a motive for hurting you? Are you being stalked?” June was curious.
“I don’t think so.”
“No hang-up calls? No strange mail?” she asked. I shook my head.
“Well, you take my advice, dear. Don’t take any chances. It’s not worth it. These days, there are a lot of unbalanced people out there, doing really crazy things.”
“Tell me about it,” I replied with dismay.
When we arrived at my place, Jasper helped me out of the car and up the stairs while his mother waited for him. He got me an ice pack from my freezer and a cold soda.
“Are you going to be okay, Suzanne?”
“Sure.” I gave him a little smile. “I’m getting used to falling down when I run.”
“No,” he told me. “Don’t ever get used to it. It’s not okay that someone hurt you. I think you should tell the cops. It might have something to do with Susan Lefkowitz’s murder.”
“What do you mean?”
“The first time you got hit, hadn’t you just decided to buy the bungalow? Today, her body was discovered. Maybe the killer is mad at you for stirring things up. Or you’ve made him nervous.”
“Oh, great. Now I’ll never be able to sleep tonight! Thanks, Jasper.”
“Look, I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just saying that maybe you’re a target because you upset the apple cart.”
“I wish I hadn’t.” I looked down at that bruise. “What a terrible thought. What if he comes after me?”
“Let me drop June off at my sister’s -- that’s where she’s staying tonight. I’ll come back after we eat and I’ll stay the night here with you, probably around nine. That sofa looks pretty comfortable.”
“Oh, I feel silly. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Maybe those little glass balls were already there on the ground.”
“And maybe they weren’t,” Jasper pointed out. “If nothing else, you’ll get a good night’s sleep. By the way, do you have a problem with dogs?”
“Only the human kind,” I responded with a half-hearted smile.
“I’ll bring Fang with me. Lock the door. Call me if you need me. And think about telling the police about what happened. Even if the incidents are unrelated, that’s information the cops should have.
“I’ll think about it,” I promised. The idea was less than appealing, but I would consider it.
After he left, I closed the door and used the dead bolt. And then, giving in to a bout of nerves, I got out my tool box, the big one I keep in the closet. Most women probably aren’t familiar with basic builder’s tools, but I grew up around them. I’ve been swinging a hammer since I was about ten and I crafted my first dollhouse. At eleven, I built my own tree house with my dad supervising me. At fifteen, I spent the summer working on my dad’s crew. I might not carry a Glock, but I’m mighty fast with a nail gun, and no slingshot-wielding creep was going to get the drop on me.
I rested for a while before getting up to scramble some eggs and toast some bread. I watched the evening news and a couple of game shows. The thought of a hot bath was tempting, but I really didn’t want to be naked if the killer stopped by for a visit. By eight-thirty, I was feeling drowsy. I double-checked my weapons on the coffee table. The hammer would be handy as a blunt force instrument. I loaded the nail gun with the longest nails I had available, thinking I could pin the killer to the wall if necessary. I grabbed a screwdriver with a long shaft to use like a knife and laid it on the table. Then, and only then, I let myself dose off, awaiting Jasper’s return.
I was in the middle of a dream in which Jasper’s lips were almost touching mine when I heard a slight scratching sound at the door. The hair on the back of my neck rose up in response. Grabbing the hammer, I silenced the television volume and then crept forward, towards the door. I listened carefully, trying to identify the sound, but there was nothing more. And yet, something told me not to relax my guard. Instead, I waited, feeling like there was more to come. I was right, but it wasn’t what I expected.
Five minutes after I heard the strange noise at the door, the lights went out without warning. I cried out as everything faded to black. Quickly, desperately, I reached out and felt my way along the wall to open the built-in cupboard near the kitchen. I was looking for my battery-operated lantern, and when my hands wrapped around it, I flicked it on. It cast an eerie glow in the dark room. Looking out the window, I could see that the street lights were still lit. Remembering that unusual sound at the door a few minutes ago, I rushed forward and checked the locks. The deadbolt I had so carefully turned was now unfastened, as was the door knob lock. I remedied that. I realized the scratching I’d heard was the sound of the killer picking my door locks. If he opened them once, the man who had been on the other side of my door might do it again. He must have gone down to the basement to shut off the power, planning to overtake me in the dark. That thought struck terror in my heart. The killer was coming back. He was probably climbing up the stairs at this very moment. I rushed to my turret, grabbed one of the chairs at the table, and dragged it back to the front door. Working quickly, I shoved it under the knob, wedging the door shut, and then I picked up my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. With one hand on the hammer and the other on the phone, I spoke breathlessly when the operator came on the line.
“I’m at 16 West Avenue. Someone just tried to get into my locked apartment and then the lights went out in the building, but the street still has power.”
“Can I have your name?” said the steady voice on the other end. “Are you alone? Are there other people in your building?” The questions continued as my hands shook uncontrollably. And then, suddenly, swiftly, the door knob turned, but did not yield. Seconds later, there was a terrible crash and the door frame splintered, but the chair under the knob held.
“What was that noise?” the police dispatcher wanted to know. But I didn’t have time to answer. I dropped the phone and picked up my nail gun. When the next strike against the door came, I was ready. I pressed the gun against the wood of the door and fired. I felt the nail penetrate something on the other side. I heard a muffled yell, but I didn’t recognize the voice. The lights came on unexpectedly and as I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the incursion of brightness, there was a commotion out on the stairs. I could hear voices raised, but I couldn’t hear the conversation. And then there was shouting coming from outside the condo, followed by the screech of tires. I looked out the window, seeing the figures moving across the wide expanse of lawn. Police lights blazed into action as two patrol cars tore off in pursuit of a pair of tail lights, heading down West Avenue at a high rate of speed.
“Ms. Dawkins?” A knock at the door drew my attention. “Glendale Police. Can you open the door?”
“It’s okay, Suzykins. I’m here.” I heard my big brother’s voice and burst into tears. It took all of my physical and mental energy to remove the chair keeping the door in place. Even as I pulled it away, I heard the chair feet gouge my beautiful wood floor and cursed myself for being so sloppy. At last, the chair came free and I unlocked the deadbolt and the knob.
“Are you okay?” The first face I saw was Jasper’s. He wrapped me in his arms and squeezed me tight. As soon as he let me go, Ned hugged me, too.
“I was driving by just as Jasper got here and I stopped to talk to him. We saw the lights go out. We went down to the basement to turn the circuit breaker back on.”
“We had no idea the guy was up here, trying to get at you. He came scurrying down the stairs, holding his arm,” Jasper told me. “We tried to stop him, but he got away.”
“Looks like you nailed the bastard,” my brother announced proudly. We all looked at the scrap of black fabric hanging from the metal tip that poked through the wooden door.
“Did you see who it was?” I asked breathlessly.
“You don’t know?” Jasper was surprised. “It was John Sullivan.”
The police officer was still examining the battered door when his radio crackled to life. He chatted with the voice on the other end, sharing details. We left him on the landing and went back inside my condo. When he finished, he joined us.
“We have a hostage situation. Sullivan is holed up in his house, threatening to shoot any cop who tries to get in.”
“Well, that can’t be a good thing,” said Ned, understating the obvious.

Chapter Ten --

The local news stations covered the action in Glengarry Court, right down to the hours of negotiations by the S.W.A.T. team. When that went nowhere, the police staged a distraction, which allowed several members of the team to slip in through the basement hatchway. Once inside the house, they quickly apprehended Susan Lefkowitz’s killer.
It turned out that she had barely spoken to her neighbor. Certainly, she had never given him a key to her home. That didn’t stop him from breaking into her bungalow, sometimes even as she entertained her lovers. On one of his illicit forays, when Susan was off doing a stint as Rainbow, the vibrational healer, John Sullivan had come across the letters and photos she had stored in a dresser in her bedroom. This apparently enraged Susan’s stalker, and he reacted by tearing up her garden, cutting all of the heads off of her daisies. When she returned home and found her flowers decimated, she assumed it was a prank by teenagers, not the result of a man spiralling out of sanity. Over time, he could no longer control his jealousy, and he began to menace his neighbor in dangerous ways that seemed to escalate with each new imagined slight.
When he finally did decide to kill her, he didn’t rush into it. He didn’t one day lose his temper and lash out at her. Instead, he spent some time planning it. Police found Susan’s blood in his home, along with her collection of sex toys and the headboard she had tied Kyle up to in that memorable photo. She didn’t even die right away. Instead, she was held captive, chained to a wall in the basement of John Sullivan’s home over the course of a couple of weeks. The police knew because they found the killer’s stash of naughty photos. The sheer look of terror in Susan’s eyes told the police that she had been tortured, debased, and otherwise abused by her kidnapper. When Susan finally managed to break free one day, she made it all the way to the kitchen before John Sullivan grabbed her and threw her down the basement stairs, intending to restrain her again. She struck her head on the way down, and slowly bled to death from the concussion she received.
Two days after John Sullivan’s arraignment on murder charges, Jasper and I met for another picnic dinner on the beach. I had been staying with Ned and his family for a few days while my front door was replaced and my floor was repaired. Even though I knew that Susan’s killer was behind bars, I was still nervous about going back home.
“Want me to sleep on the sofa?”
“Oh, I do and I don’t. A part of me wants that, but another part of me thinks I need to know I’m safe there, even when I’m alone. And an even bigger part of me wants to know you’re staying with me for me, not as a protector, but because we both want you there. Let’s face it. You’re still wrapped up in Eva.”
“Am I?”
“You seem to be. You still keep me at arm’s length.”
“How do you figure that?” Jasper leaned into me. “I’m here with you.”
“Only because Eva didn’t want to move.”
Jasper rubbed the back of my head affectionately. It hardly suggested he thought I was as irresistible as the goal-driven girlfriend with the fabulous figure and the emotional exuberance of a cold front moving in. “Eva offered last week to move here. She wanted us to get back together. I told her no. I want a very different kind of life than what I had with her.”
“You did? You do?”
“I did. I do.”
“Before that lunatic tried to kill me?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh,” I smiled. “You like me.”
“I do.” He leaned in and gave me a kiss that sent sparks flying through my veins, all the way from the top of my head to my toes. I was about to give myself up to the passion when I felt Jasper pull away.
“Before this goes any further, I think there’s something you need to know, something about Jane.” Those green eyes were serious and I sensed an unspoken plea.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“You remember those photos Jane got before she dropped the charges?”
“Sure. That bastard Kyle....” Jasper cut me off mid-sentence.
“I was one of the naked guys in the photos.”
“What?” I felt like I was in a bad dream, in desperate need of a pinch. “I don’t understand.”
“You think Jane left because she was embarrassed that she was raped. The truth is she left because Kyle stole her stash of dirty photos. Jane always took photographs of the guys she took to bed. I know because I was one of them.”
I felt it in my gut, like a big, fat sucker punch that knocked the air out of my tires. I was surprised I didn’t double over with the pain. Not only was Jane not the victim of a rape, the man who just told me he was interested in spending time with me was one of her conquests.
“When Kyle sent those photos, he wasn’t trying to blackmail her. He was sending Jane a message that there were plenty of guys available to testify about her sexual activities.”
I thought about that trip to the police station with Jane, about her tearful description of the terrible things Kyle had done to her, about the evidence gathered by the emergency room doctor. For so long, I had been disappointed in Jane, not only for not standing up to a bully like Kyle, but for running away, taking her friendship with her. She had made it all up. It never happened.
“But why?” I heaved a great sigh. How could any woman do this? What had she hoped to achieve?
And then I remembered the conversation we had in our senior year of college. We were talking about what we planned to do after graduation. Jane had decided she was going to get married.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” I had asked her. I can still remember that sly, little smile she wore as she sat on my bed.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“But that means you’re not in love,” I replied. “Why would you want to get married if you’re not in love?”
“Oh, grow up, Suzanne. Marriage isn’t about love. It’s about getting what you want. You have to wheel and deal to win, and sometimes, you have to make a man do things he doesn’t even know he wants to do.”
“And how are you going to do that?” I had laughed.
“I have my secret ways,” she insisted. I finally figured out what she meant by that.
“It was a long time ago,” Jasper said in his own defense. He was studying me carefully. “Twelve years, to be exact.”
“Oh.” I had no idea Jane even dated him. She never told me. I thought we shared everything about our lives. It turned out there was another Jane, a secret Jane, a woman who was cunning and even ruthless in her efforts to meet her goals, even those goals that were twisted and shaped by bad judgment. Now I understood why Jasper had seemed so cold when we ran into each other again.
“That’s why you blew me off when I came up to you at the restaurant?”
“I thought you knew what Jane did. I thought you were a part of it. Kyle warned all of us. We knew you and Jane had gone to the cops and to the hospital, and that she was planning to claim Kyle raped her. We were all waiting for the cops to knock at our doors.”
“That’s terrible.” I looked down at my hands, thinking of how I had patted the tearful Jane reassuringly as she gave details of the incident to the police woman.
“It is. This all got very complicated because Kyle is Kyle. His problem is that he’s really a sleazy guy. Why wouldn’t you think he killed Susan? Especially after the shabby treatment he gave you. If it’s any consolation, Kyle told me he had his hands all over you because he was trying to provoke you into claiming assault, so he could prove you and Jane conspired all those years ago. Only none of the guys who had slept with Jane had ever even gotten to second base with you.”
I nodded, still stunned by the revelation. It suddenly dawned on me that Jane ran away from Glendale, not because she was the victim of a crime, but because she had a secret life and was afraid it would all be revealed, no matter what she did.
“Who knew people could be so awful?” I sighed. “You think you understand the people around you and it turns out they’re really strangers.”
“You were right about Eva,” Jasper said. “She really was all wrong for me. Just like Jane. All the wild sex was exciting -- I won’t deny that. But I always felt like I was living two different lives. The truth is I never really liked either of them as people. And I sure as hell never respected them.”
“I guess some of us have to learn the hard way,” I said softly, still lost in thought. And then I realized what I had just said. “Oh, I didn’t mean it the way it came out!”
“It’s okay, Suzanne. You’re actually right. My mother likes you, by the way.”
“She does?”
“She thinks you turned out okay. You have a good head on your shoulders now.”
“What does that mean?” I looked at him, thinking back to my days at the dress shop, and my run-ins with his mother.
“June thought you were a little too easygoing back then, a little too casual. You thought everything was perfect, no matter what the status quo. She says you’ve begun to see life isn’t always a bed of roses.”
“I have a confession to make,” I admitted. “I thought your mother was a royal pain in the ass. She was very picky.”
“And you weren’t picky enough.”
“Maybe.”
“Could be all the building you’ve done over the years with your brother forced you to make better choices,” Jasper suggested. I considered that in light of the men I had dated over the last ten years. It was true that my standards had risen considerably. I was no longer satisfied by a good time and some laughs. The truth was I wanted a whole lot more out of life than just that. But I was also beginning to think I was too picky, pricing myself out of the marriage market with a growing list of needs. Jasper cleared his throat.
“June says you’re good for me.”
“She does? Why?”
“She says I’ve loosened up a bit since I came back here. She thinks I ought to ask you out on a real date.”
I sat there, staring straight ahead at the rolling waves, as this handsome man with the lips that were so tantalizing and the eyes that were so mesmerizing leaned into me. There was a part of me that was tempted to jump on top of him and smother him with my own hot, hungry lips. Every nerve in my body seemed to be on fire. But somewhere, deep down inside me, a little voice called out. Make him work for it. Make him want it. Make him commit to the relationship. Don’t settle for what isn’t his best. Make him be a better man. Build the relationship.
“So?” Jasper gently poked me in the ribs. “What do you think?”
“It doesn’t really matter what your mother says. What matters is what you think about us.”
“I think we should give it a try. We enjoy each other’s company. We have fun together. And you don’t take any of my crap.”
“Well,” I replied, trying to keep my hands from shaking, “I suppose it’s worth a shot. Of course I should warn you -- I don’t do dirty pictures.”
“No, I wouldn’t expect that of you,” he replied, chuckling.
“And I’m never going to be a hard-driven business woman.”
“No, I didn’t expect that either. It’s one of the reasons I like you so much.”
“Is this relationship likely to end in marriage?” There it was, the big question. “Because I should tell you upfront that I’d like to have kids, so if you’re one of those guys who thinks kids are a bother, we shouldn’t waste each other’s time by dating, especially if there is no future for us. I’m not going to invest any energy in a fling.”
“Well,” Jasper shrugged, “I am just getting out of a very complicated relationship. I’m not sure I can promise marriage and children.”
“But can you rule it out completely?” I turned my gaze on him, seeing that face and wondering whether we could make a relationship work. “I’m not going to pretend that I’ll be your buddy, come what may, through thick or thin. I’m saying that I’m in the market to settle down, whether it’s with you or with some other guy. So, if you’re just looking to fill the hours, I’m the wrong girl for you.”
“That’s rather a direct approach,” he replied, somewhat shocked by my bluntness.
“Take it or leave it. I’d rather not have my heart broken by some guy who can’t make up his mind.”
“Wow. Sounds like you expect me to dance to your tune.”
“I guess I do. I like the music and I like you. What’s it going to be?” I kept my eyes on him, speaking steadily as I observed his reaction. The truth was I was fed up with wafting through relationships. After all these years, I had finally left the sidelines as a wallflower and decided I was hitting the dance floor. I set my sights on what I wanted and I would settle for nothing less than the whole ball of wax -- the romance, the passion, and even the stability of a good relationship. I deserved it. I earned it. One way or another, I was going to have it, even if it meant walking away from Jasper. I wanted a partner I could move in sync with, someone who would catch me when I stumbled, someone I could move with even if he faltered momentarily. I wanted strong arms around me as I stepped into life’s dips and twirls.
I watched Jasper rise to his feet and my heart sunk. Had I gone too far? Had I pressed for too much? Perhaps it was better to find out now than to waste any more of my life on empty promises. As I sat there, gripped by fear, I saw him extend his arms in my direction.
“In that case, madamoiselle,” he grinned, taking my hands and lifting me to my feet, “shall we dance?”
That warm smile spread across his face, inviting me to join him. I felt his fingers wrap around mine and felt the distance between us disappearing. I took a step towards him and fell into his arms.
“We shall.”

Other Dance with Danger Mysteries by Sara M. Barton:

Bossa Nova with a Belligerent Bear
Foxtrot with a Furtive Fox
Mambo with a Maniacal Mako
Paso Doble with a Passionate Python

Bodacious Baby Boomer Escapes by Sara M. Barton:

Where There’s Smoke, There’s Prometheus
The Deadly Secret of Dr. Arcanum Lock’s Evolutionary Spirit Project
It Will Be Our Little Secret

Practical Caregiver Capers by Sara M. Barton:

Murder on the High Seas
Murder at the Mountain Vale Inn
The Passion Beach Psycho Strikes at Midnight
The Inscrutable Case of the Nobbled Netsuke
Who Snatched Aunt Marion?