out of Meriwether.’
‘Fifty . . . you gotta be kiddin’, love. I can’t spare the time to blow me bloody nose, let alone drive all the way out there.’
Blaze said a curt goodbye, and redialled the next and last builder on her list. Thomas Vine & Son Building Services, to explain what she needed.
‘Jeez! Sweet Springs, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You that movie star, then? Heard you’d been swannin’ around town like you owned the place. Well, I’ll have you know —’
Blaze resisted the temptation to abuse her new phone by slamming down the handset, but she cut Thomas Vine or son off before he could finish his rant, which made her feel better.
‘Shit.’ She leaned back tiredly in the creaky leather chair. Since getting her wifi internet connection up this morning, she’d spoken to all seven of the local building contractors, and had absolutely nothing to show for it. Either they were too busy with other contracts, weren’t inclined to drive more than ten minutes to cost a job or, like Vine, were bloody bastards. If Blaze guessed right, someone had been whispering in the man’s ear, like that woman from the timber yard.
She could always phone Macauley Black and ask his advice, as Stella had suggested, but that was a last resort; beyond last. And she wasn’t quite there yet.
Still, she had made progress of sorts. The landline phone and laptop were working. She had a car. The top of Gramps’ desk was clear of paper – although everything was stacked in piles until she had time to sort through it – and last night she’d actually cooked an edible omelette for herself using a recipe from an old cookbook of Gram’s that had been published in 1947.
And – she peeked out of the study window overlooking the front porch to admire her work – she had planted two half-barrels of yellow and white pansies out the front, and another two on the back veranda. It was amazing how much more welcoming plants made the place.
Now the heat was abating a little, it was probably time to water them. Wandering into the kitchen, she filled her new watering can and lugged it outside. Carefully, she showered the young plants until they’d had a good drenching.
After eating her dinner outside while listening to the regular nightly symphony of frogs and cicadas, she was just about to go inside and clean up the kitchen when a soft growl from behind her had her spinning around. Her throat squeezed tight in fear as ghostly amber eyes gleamed in the dusky light, and a shadow slunk slowly up the steps towards her. Backing up towards the door, reaching behind her for the handle, she watched as the dog from yesterday morning approached with a limping gait. As she held her breath, it stopped a few feet from her, and sank down on to the veranda as though exhausted. Dropping its head to its paws, it whimpered pathetically.
‘Oh, you’re just an old sook, aren’t you?’ Blaze murmured. ‘I think your growl is worse than your bite, but since we don’t really know each other, I’ll keep my distance. Wait there. You look like you could do with something to eat and drink, and I can help you out with that.’
Careful to close the screen door behind her, Blaze raced into the kitchen, plunked the empty watering can down, and found the bowl she’d used previously. She filled it, took it out and placed it slowly in front of the dog, which didn’t budge from its position.
‘Okay, not exciting. But I have something else.’
She dashed back inside, grabbed another plastic bowl, snipped open the bag of dry dog food and poured a mound into it. She switched on the veranda light and eased the screen door open. Walking a cautious semi-circle around the dog, she placed the food in front of the animal and retreated to the chair.
The dog just stared at her, occasionally emitting one of his low and less-than-ferocious growls, until Blaze pushed the bowls closer and retreated.
This time, the dog sniffed, shuffled forward and lapped
‘Fifty . . . you gotta be kiddin’, love. I can’t spare the time to blow me bloody nose, let alone drive all the way out there.’
Blaze said a curt goodbye, and redialled the next and last builder on her list. Thomas Vine & Son Building Services, to explain what she needed.
‘Jeez! Sweet Springs, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You that movie star, then? Heard you’d been swannin’ around town like you owned the place. Well, I’ll have you know —’
Blaze resisted the temptation to abuse her new phone by slamming down the handset, but she cut Thomas Vine or son off before he could finish his rant, which made her feel better.
‘Shit.’ She leaned back tiredly in the creaky leather chair. Since getting her wifi internet connection up this morning, she’d spoken to all seven of the local building contractors, and had absolutely nothing to show for it. Either they were too busy with other contracts, weren’t inclined to drive more than ten minutes to cost a job or, like Vine, were bloody bastards. If Blaze guessed right, someone had been whispering in the man’s ear, like that woman from the timber yard.
She could always phone Macauley Black and ask his advice, as Stella had suggested, but that was a last resort; beyond last. And she wasn’t quite there yet.
Still, she had made progress of sorts. The landline phone and laptop were working. She had a car. The top of Gramps’ desk was clear of paper – although everything was stacked in piles until she had time to sort through it – and last night she’d actually cooked an edible omelette for herself using a recipe from an old cookbook of Gram’s that had been published in 1947.
And – she peeked out of the study window overlooking the front porch to admire her work – she had planted two half-barrels of yellow and white pansies out the front, and another two on the back veranda. It was amazing how much more welcoming plants made the place.
Now the heat was abating a little, it was probably time to water them. Wandering into the kitchen, she filled her new watering can and lugged it outside. Carefully, she showered the young plants until they’d had a good drenching.
After eating her dinner outside while listening to the regular nightly symphony of frogs and cicadas, she was just about to go inside and clean up the kitchen when a soft growl from behind her had her spinning around. Her throat squeezed tight in fear as ghostly amber eyes gleamed in the dusky light, and a shadow slunk slowly up the steps towards her. Backing up towards the door, reaching behind her for the handle, she watched as the dog from yesterday morning approached with a limping gait. As she held her breath, it stopped a few feet from her, and sank down on to the veranda as though exhausted. Dropping its head to its paws, it whimpered pathetically.
‘Oh, you’re just an old sook, aren’t you?’ Blaze murmured. ‘I think your growl is worse than your bite, but since we don’t really know each other, I’ll keep my distance. Wait there. You look like you could do with something to eat and drink, and I can help you out with that.’
Careful to close the screen door behind her, Blaze raced into the kitchen, plunked the empty watering can down, and found the bowl she’d used previously. She filled it, took it out and placed it slowly in front of the dog, which didn’t budge from its position.
‘Okay, not exciting. But I have something else.’
She dashed back inside, grabbed another plastic bowl, snipped open the bag of dry dog food and poured a mound into it. She switched on the veranda light and eased the screen door open. Walking a cautious semi-circle around the dog, she placed the food in front of the animal and retreated to the chair.
The dog just stared at her, occasionally emitting one of his low and less-than-ferocious growls, until Blaze pushed the bowls closer and retreated.
This time, the dog sniffed, shuffled forward and lapped
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