See No Evil. Gayle Roper

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СКАЧАТЬ interrupted—” he said.

      I frowned at him. I’d hardly classify my comment about his name as an interruption. He frowned back.

      “—this is my project.” He waved his hand, tablet and all. I understood he meant not the living room in which we were standing but Freedom’s Chase with its mini-mansions under construction, each house all but overflowing its mere quarter-acre lot. There’d never be much call for a lawn service around here. There weren’t any lawns.

      “If you fall and kill yourself,” he said, “your survivors will doubtless sue me for all I’m worth.” He looked as put upon as if the suit were already in progress.

      Thinking he needed to lighten up a bit, I asked oh-so-sweetly, “And you’re worth how much, Edward? Just so I can tell the family an amount to ask for if the unthinkable comes to pass.”

      He stared at me, dark eyes narrowed. “Cute.”

      I grinned. “Thank you.”

      He shook his head and reluctantly grinned back. My heart went pitter-pat as if I were sixteen, and the star quarterback had deigned to smile at me.

      “Will you be much longer?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock. Past time to go home.” He practically vibrated with impatience.

      I turned to the fabric, carefully lifting the beautiful, pricey Tuscan Vine. The large clusters of aubergine grapes, the green leaves and the brown vines were embroidered on cream silk. I loved the pattern. I glanced at him over my shoulder. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be. It depends on whether I have the peace and quiet I need to do my job.”

      “Ha-ha,” he said.

      I searched for and found the top edge of the drapery. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know.” I pointed to the other long windows. “I managed to hang those all by myself. I’m sure I can manage this one, too.”

      He flicked a glance at the windows I indicated. As he did, the sofa caught his eye. “The couch is purple!” He sounded offended.

      “Aubergine,” I corrected, glad I wasn’t the one who had picked the color. The interior designer who had subbed out the windows to me had made that selection. I decided not to mention that I thought it went well with the grapes in Tuscan Vine and the purple in the Sinclair plaid on the slipper chairs.

      “It’s purple. Bright purple.”

      “It’s not bright purple,” I said patiently. “It’s aubergine.”

      He sniffed, walked to it, and ran his hand over the seat. “It’s slippery!”

      “It’s taffeta.”

      “Taffeta? Taffeta is for dresses, not sofas.” He suddenly looked uncertain. “Like evening gowns, right?” At my surprised expression, he said, “I have four sisters.”

      “Huh,” I said eloquently. “I have four brothers. I’m youngest.”

      “Oldest. And you can call purple aubergine until you’re blue in the face, but it’s still purple.”

      “Deep purple. Eggplant. In fact aubergine is the French word for eggplant.”

      “Semantics. And you need to pack up. I’m not leaving until everything is locked up tight. We’ve had some nighttime thieves recently, and I’m not taking a chance with this model home.”

      I stopped fussing with Tuscan Vine and its clusters of grapes. “You’ve had thieves?”

      “Storage shed broken into, tools taken, nails, lumber. Nothing has been vandalized, nor has anything of great value or quantity been taken. Still, I’ve hired a night guard to patrol the development.”

      I frowned. “I saw a man walking around one of the houses on the next street.” If he was the thief, that would explain his skulking air, and if he was the guard, I guess he was sneaking around trying to catch people.

      Gray stiffened. “The guard doesn’t come on until midnight. When did you see this man and at what house?”

      “I was watching him when you startled me. And that house.” I pointed out the back window.

      He walked over and looked. He immediately relaxed. “It’s all right. The Ryders bought that house, and Dorothy Ryder comes out practically every day to see how the work is progressing. Drives my men crazy. Ken must have decided to come with her today, so they came later, after work and dinner.”

      Relieved, I nodded. Thank goodness I hadn’t called anyone.

      Gray turned from the window and sat in one of the plump armchairs covered in Scalamandré’s plum Bali pattern, and began ticking mysterious things off the lists on his tablet. His cell rang, and he silenced it, checking the readout. He made another note on his pad.

      He looked good in the chair.

      Of course, that was solely because the chair looked good. The whole house was being done in fabulous fabrics from Scalamandré, the high-end company that did one-of-a-kind orders for clients like the White House and limited quantities of hand-loomed fabrics for the wealthy. I’d never cut and sewn such expensive material in my life and probably never would again. I calculated over and over to be certain of my measurements, and every time I cut, I hyperventilated. The thought of ruining material worth three to four hundred dollars a yard tended to do that to a person.

      While Gray checked things off on his list, I repositioned my ladder.

      He looked up suddenly. “Our first official Open House is Saturday.” He nodded toward the partially draped window. “You will be finished by Saturday?”

      “I will be finished by Saturday,” I agreed. “Absolutely.”

      “Today’s Tuesday. You only have three working days left.”

      “How convenient. I only have less than three days worth of work left,” I said, the very soul of reason. I didn’t mention that several pillows and the round table skirt, aubergine taffeta like the sofa, weren’t yet cut out, let alone sewn. Neither was the square table topper of Sinclair tartan in soft green, mauve and aubergine on cream.

      I put a foot on the first rung of my ladder.

      Gray jumped to his feet. “What are you doing? Don’t use that ladder!”

      I mentally rolled my eyes. “I have to use the ladder.” I climbed the first two steps. It swayed drunkenly. “How else can I hang the treatments?”

      “Look—” He halted. “By the way, what’s your name?” He actually appeared interested.

      “Anna Volente.”

      He nodded. “Look, Anna, get a decent ladder.”

      “I am not going to go buy myself another ladder. My father gave me this.”

      “Your father—” He stopped abruptly, wisely thinking better of saying whatever he was thinking. “This is a building site. We have plenty of ladders.”

      “And they would СКАЧАТЬ