Whiskey Beach(119)
“I can hold grudges with the best of them,” he countered. “But not against somebody I care about.”
“Grudges are negative energy turned inward, so I like knowing you can let go. And speaking of negative energy, I stopped by my cottage, and it felt better. Not all the way back, but it felt better.”
“Due to a smelly smoking stick?”
She drilled a finger in his belly. “It worked for me.”
“I’m glad, and sincerely hope you’re not thinking we need a couple of cases of smelly smoking sticks to offset the negative energy in Bluff House.”
“It couldn’t hurt, but we can talk about that later.”
Much, much later, he also sincerely hoped.
“Are you going to work now? I’ll just strip the bed and grab the laundry, then I’ll stay out of your way until you break.”
“Fine. But I want to show you something first.”
“Sure. What?”
“Up.” He jerked a thumb at the ceiling before taking her hand. “You missed a spot.”
“I did not.” Automatically insulted, she picked up her pace as they went upstairs.
“A really big spot,” he added. “Up.”
“Third level? I only do that once a month. Just vacuum and dust. If you wanted it back in use, you should have—”
“Not that. Not exactly. I’m thinking about moving my office up there, though, into the south gable.”
“Eli, that’s a fabulous idea.”
“Yeah, I’m playing with it. Great light, great view from there. Really quiet. Too bad I don’t paint or sculpt because the old servants’ hall would be a hell of a studio.”
“I’ve thought the same. One of the beach-facing bedrooms would be a wonderful little library—like for your reference books, a kind of library/sitting room when you wanted to take a break but not actually stop work.”
He hadn’t thought that far, but . . . “Maybe.”
“I could help you set it up if you decide to do it. Oh, these wonderful ceilings. So much potential, and I’ve always thought it was a shame not to use the whole house. Hester told me she used it years ago to paint, but found she worked better in her own sitting room, and best of all outside. It’d be hard on her to do two flights of stairs in any case.”
“The whole house is exactly what I’m thinking of using again.” He walked over, opened the panel.
“Oh! My God, this is fabulous. Just look at this.” She dashed over to do just that. “This is so utterly cool.”
“The lights work.” He demonstrated. “Now. And it goes all the way to the basement. I moved the shelves out so the panel works down there.”
“I would’ve played princess warrior in these as a kid.”
“Really?” And he found he could picture it perfectly. “See, you missed a big spot.”
“I’ll get on that, if you make sure any spiders bigger than a housefly are dispatched first. You should open up all the panels.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“To think of all the times I’ve cleaned in here and never realized this existed. It’s . . . He doesn’t know about this.” Eyes alight, she looked at Eli. “He doesn’t know.”
“I don’t think so. He sure as hell hasn’t used it. It took Mike and I and a lot of sweat to move that armoire. And it took me over an hour working alone to move the shelves out far enough to get through.”
“Laying an ambush. Eli—”
“I’m thinking about that, too.”
“Proactive instead of defensive.” Hands fisted on her hips, she strode around the room. “I knew this was going to be a good day. We can do something. We could catch him in the act.”
“I’m thinking about it. It’s not as simple as jumping out and saying boo. If the simplest explanation is also true, he’s not just an intruder. He’s a murderer. We don’t just jump into this.”
“We plan,” she agreed. “I think creatively when I clean. So I’ll get started, and we’ll both think.”
“And we wait to hear from the cops.”
“Oh yeah.” She deflated a little. “I guess we do. Maybe they’ll trace the gun and this will all be done. It would be better that way. Not as exciting, but realistically better is better.”
“Whatever happens, I won’t let you down.”
“Eli.” She took his face in her hands. “Let’s make a new pact, and promise not to let each other down.”
“That’s a deal.”
Twenty-two
HE HAD TO WORK. HE LET PLOTS AND PLANS FOR PROACTIVE ambushes cook in the back of his brain, but he had to get the story out, get those words on paper.