and my friends.”
“You don’t need to be drinking beer,” he said.
“Come on, Bill,” Frank said as he headed to the front door. “Let’s go home and fix Callie’s car.” He turned to me. “I’ll call you when I know what’s wrong.” He grinned sheepishly. “I offered to help Jane move. Don’t let her forget, okay?”
I assured him all help would be appreciated and mentally thanked him for reminding me to call my landlady. She readily agreed to show Jane the apartment. I explained that I’d have to see about getting my car back or renting one before I could set a time.
“No problem,” she said. “Why don’t I just drop the keys off to you this evening? You can show it to your friend at your convenience. Call and let me know what she thinks. If she’s willing to take it as is, the rent will be a hundred less a month than yours. If she wants carpet and the walls painted, it will be a hundred dollars a month more than yours.”
The day had been long. I filled my tub with rose-scented bath oil and rummaged through my books until I found a Sherlock Holmes collection. I have many favorite modern mystery writers, but sometimes, I’m just in the mood for classics. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle fills that need. I dropped my clothes on the floor and stepped into the tub. The water was perfect. I slid into the bath until only my face and hands were out of the water. I was barely into the story when the doorbell rang.
Dalmation! I considered ignoring whoever was there until I realized it was probably my landlady and if she thought I wasn’t home, she might use her key to come in. She might even need to use the bathroom and walk in on me lying naked in the tub reading a book instead of answering the bell. I climbed from the tub and slipped on my terry cloth robe. I had some satin and silk robes when I was married to Donnie, but for comfort, terry cloth is tops.
I tied the sash and opened the front door without peeking through the peephole. Levi Pinckney stood on my porch. Exuding testosterone in all directions, he leaned against the corner column with a box in his hand. “Nate’s Sports and Subs” was printed on the carton.
“Pardon me,” he said in that smooth Charleston accent of his. “I’m looking for 1450 Oak Street, but most of these houses don’t have numbers on them, and I can’t find it.”
“This is 1440 Oak.” I closed the robe more tightly. “Fourteen fifty is on the next block.”
“Oh.” Those dark eyes lit up and sparkled. “I’m sorry I interrupted you.” He backed down the step. “I know it sounds trite, but don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“I saw you early this morning at the Dawkins home. I’m surprised you’re not with Mrs. Dawkins this evening.”
“You’re the girl who brought the hearse, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m the woman who drove the funeral coach when Mrs. Dawkins called me.”
“Roselle didn’t want me around tonight. I’m working part-time for Nate’s Sports and Subs. The delivery guy didn’t show up, so I’m filling in for him.”
I’m nosy. I promise I try not to be, but bottom line is that I am a nosy and catty female. “Are you Roselle’s ex-husband or boyfriend?” I asked.
He laughed—a full, rich roar. “Not at all. Roselle is my half sister. She found me on the Internet several months ago when our father died, and we were getting to know each other when she got foolish and married an old geezer three times her age after she’d only known him a few weeks.”
“But she virtually accused you of stalking her.”
“I was raised in Charleston by our father and my mother. Roselle grew up in Georgia with her mother. When she located me about six months ago, I liked her, but she worried me with all that online dating. I thought it might be dangerous.”
Levi grinned, and I felt my toes curl. “I’ve tried to keep an eye on Roselle since she came to South Carolina to meet this Dawkins,” he said. “They married right away and
“You don’t need to be drinking beer,” he said.
“Come on, Bill,” Frank said as he headed to the front door. “Let’s go home and fix Callie’s car.” He turned to me. “I’ll call you when I know what’s wrong.” He grinned sheepishly. “I offered to help Jane move. Don’t let her forget, okay?”
I assured him all help would be appreciated and mentally thanked him for reminding me to call my landlady. She readily agreed to show Jane the apartment. I explained that I’d have to see about getting my car back or renting one before I could set a time.
“No problem,” she said. “Why don’t I just drop the keys off to you this evening? You can show it to your friend at your convenience. Call and let me know what she thinks. If she’s willing to take it as is, the rent will be a hundred less a month than yours. If she wants carpet and the walls painted, it will be a hundred dollars a month more than yours.”
The day had been long. I filled my tub with rose-scented bath oil and rummaged through my books until I found a Sherlock Holmes collection. I have many favorite modern mystery writers, but sometimes, I’m just in the mood for classics. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle fills that need. I dropped my clothes on the floor and stepped into the tub. The water was perfect. I slid into the bath until only my face and hands were out of the water. I was barely into the story when the doorbell rang.
Dalmation! I considered ignoring whoever was there until I realized it was probably my landlady and if she thought I wasn’t home, she might use her key to come in. She might even need to use the bathroom and walk in on me lying naked in the tub reading a book instead of answering the bell. I climbed from the tub and slipped on my terry cloth robe. I had some satin and silk robes when I was married to Donnie, but for comfort, terry cloth is tops.
I tied the sash and opened the front door without peeking through the peephole. Levi Pinckney stood on my porch. Exuding testosterone in all directions, he leaned against the corner column with a box in his hand. “Nate’s Sports and Subs” was printed on the carton.
“Pardon me,” he said in that smooth Charleston accent of his. “I’m looking for 1450 Oak Street, but most of these houses don’t have numbers on them, and I can’t find it.”
“This is 1440 Oak.” I closed the robe more tightly. “Fourteen fifty is on the next block.”
“Oh.” Those dark eyes lit up and sparkled. “I’m sorry I interrupted you.” He backed down the step. “I know it sounds trite, but don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“I saw you early this morning at the Dawkins home. I’m surprised you’re not with Mrs. Dawkins this evening.”
“You’re the girl who brought the hearse, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m the woman who drove the funeral coach when Mrs. Dawkins called me.”
“Roselle didn’t want me around tonight. I’m working part-time for Nate’s Sports and Subs. The delivery guy didn’t show up, so I’m filling in for him.”
I’m nosy. I promise I try not to be, but bottom line is that I am a nosy and catty female. “Are you Roselle’s ex-husband or boyfriend?” I asked.
He laughed—a full, rich roar. “Not at all. Roselle is my half sister. She found me on the Internet several months ago when our father died, and we were getting to know each other when she got foolish and married an old geezer three times her age after she’d only known him a few weeks.”
“But she virtually accused you of stalking her.”
“I was raised in Charleston by our father and my mother. Roselle grew up in Georgia with her mother. When she located me about six months ago, I liked her, but she worried me with all that online dating. I thought it might be dangerous.”
Levi grinned, and I felt my toes curl. “I’ve tried to keep an eye on Roselle since she came to South Carolina to meet this Dawkins,” he said. “They married right away and
Similar Books
