But more important, what was he doing with Marigold? Not that any man wouldn’t fall in love with her overnight, but did this guy really know her? Marigold had grown up very sheltered and sometimes her friends could be a little overprotective of her, but I was okay with that. Maybe this guy thought she was an easy mark.
Who in the world was Raphael Nash? Why had none of us ever seen him around town? Nash had to be a pretty common name. Was it his real name or a fake? Was he hiding from his creditors? Or from the law? Okay, maybe that was a little far-fetched, but I wanted answers. And glancing around the table at the faces of my friends, I had a feeling they would want some answers, too.
• • •
The next morning, Amanda and I met at the Jorgensen house. She was wearing the same cute baseball cap from yesterday and I had a feeling it was part of her work uniform.
This time, the front door was answered by a woman around our age. She had a fragile beauty, with lovely skin and long, straight blond hair, and she wore a pretty yellow suit with two-inch ivory heels.
“You must be the construction people,” she said. “I’m Lindsey Jorgensen. Come in.”
“Hi, Lindsey,” I said, then added, “You probably don’t remember me but I’m Shannon Hammer. I went to school with Sean Brogan. I think you know his sister Amy.” I said it cautiously, not wanting to get my head chewed off if she was anything like her mother.
“Oh, yes.” She beamed. “I saw Sean outside a few minutes ago. It’s good to meet you, Shannon.”
“And this is Amanda Walsh.”
“Amanda, hi.” Lindsey continued to smile as she reached out and shook Amanda’s hand. I started to relax. She didn’t seem at all like her mother, which was a big relief.
“Amanda is a wonderful carpenter and she’ll be doing all the real work in here,” I explained. “I’ll just be in and out, helping her and the guys outside.”
“Sounds good. If you need anything, please—”
“Oh, Lindsey. Good, you’re awake.”
We all turned at the sound of Petsy’s voice. She stood on the stairs, staring down at us with thinly veiled disdain.
Lindsey sighed. “Of course I’m awake, Mother. I have an event this morning.”
“Oh.” Frowning, she scanned her daughter from her shoes to her hair and back down again. “Is that what you’re wearing to the fund-raising breakfast?”
Lindsey gritted her teeth briefly, then curved her mouth and said evenly, “Yes. It’s comfortable and flattering and it makes me feel happy.”
“Aren’t you a lucky girl?” Petsy smiled tightly. “I’m off to a meeting as well. I should be back by noon.” She turned and walked out the door.
With a mother like that, Lindsey didn’t seem lucky at all. She let out a breath. “I presume you’ve met my mother.”
“Yes.” I stopped there, since there didn’t seem to be anything else I could say without being insulting.
“I don’t actually live here,” she quickly explained. “I’ve moved to San Francisco. I have an art gallery off of Union Square, but there was a fire, so I’ve come home to stay for a few weeks while the reconstruction is going on.”
“I’m sorry about the fire.” I heard quick footsteps on the staircase and glanced up to see Matthew Jorgensen coming down. He wore jeans and a sweater and looked completely at ease.
“Hey, sweetie,” he said, and gave Lindsey a loud kiss on the cheek. “You look snazzy. Going out?”
She smiled and kissed him back. “Yes, Dad. Do you have everything you need?”
“You know I do.” He grinned at Amanda and me as he gave Lindsey a hug. “My favorite girl takes good care of me.”
She laughed and patted his shoulder. “Because you’re my favorite dad.”
He leaned closer and whispered, “I wish you would move back home.”
“We both know that won’t happen,” she murmured, then tucked her purse under her arm and glanced at us. “See you all later.”
“Nice meeting you,” Amanda said.
“You, too.” And she was out the door.
Matthew waited until she was gone, then turned to us. “Do you girls need anything? I’m right upstairs working, so just give me a shout.”
“We’re good to go,” I said. “Thanks, Matthew.”
Once Matthew had gone, I followed Amanda into the dining room and we got things set up for the day.
After a minute, Amanda said quietly, “They both seem really nice.”
“I know.” I glanced around, then whispered, “Wonder what happened to the mom.”
“She’s so mean,” Amanda said. “No wonder Lindsey lives in San Francisco.”
“I don’t blame her one bit for moving away. I’m only surprised she didn’t go farther.”
As soon as Amanda had settled into her work, I walked out the front door and went around to the side yard. Normally I hated gossiping about my clients, but Petsy was just too awful. I couldn’t believe she’d panned her own daughter’s outfit in front of strangers. And it was totally uncalled-for, because Lindsey had looked great as far as I was concerned. A young business professional.
What kind of atmosphere had Lindsey grown up in? I didn’t really have to wonder. It had to have been dreadful. Thank goodness she had her father to protect her. And he was a great guy, but I doubted he was strong enough to overpower his wife.
I wondered if it was his idea to send Lindsey to boarding school—for her own welfare.
“Good morning, guys,” I said.
Wade grinned and held up his ever-present cup of coffee. “Morning, Shannon.”
Billy looked up from adding a bag of powdered cement into the barrel of the cement mixer. “Hey, Shannon, you gonna help dig trenches today?”
“Looks like I’m too late.”
“Yes, you are,” Wade said. “We’re almost ready to pour the foundation. Then we’ll lay these concrete blocks down and wait for them to set. And while they’re setting, we’ll start attaching the frame to the house.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a plan.”
“We do. You sticking around?”
“I’m going to go check on the guys over at the Derry house, see how that dry rot project is going. Then I’ll be back.”
“See you then.”
I was crossing the street when Joan Derry yanked her front door open, walked out on her porch, and began waving and pointing away from the house. “Get out.”
All of a sudden Joe Scully, the building inspector, came striding out the front door. He crossed the porch and jogged down the stairs as fast as I’d ever seen him move. He turned to say something, but Joan held up her hand to stop him. “Not one word!”
“But you’ve got to—”
“Don’t tell me what I’ve got to do,” she shot back. “It’s your fault that damage occurred in the first place.”
“But, Joan—”
“Go away!” she shouted, clearly at her wit’s end.
Just then, another man walked out onto the porch. “Joan, what’s wrong? I heard yelling.”
“It’s Scully,” she said scornfully. “I found him down in the basement.”
“Scully? What the—?”
I assumed this was Joan’s husband. He jogged down the front steps and marched right up to Scully. “You heard her, Joe. Get out of here.”
Scully puffed up his chest, trying without success to appear bigger than he was. “I have a job to do.”
“Not here. You should be fired—or worse. I thought we saw the end of you two years ago.”
“As I told your wife, I’m—”
“I don’t care,” Mr. Derry said. “I know you’re not a smart man, but if you were, you’d take the hint and never show up on my property again.”
“Or what?” Scully countered snidely, then backed off quickly in case the man thre
w a punch at him. It made me think this sort of thing had happened before.
Joan ran over to her husband and grabbed hold of his shirt. “Don’t tempt him, Scully. Just go away and don’t come back.”
“No, let him stay,” Mr. Derry shouted, squirming to get loose from his wife. “Because I’m going to kill him.”
“No, Stan.” Joan shot Scully an angry look. “You’d better go.”
Scully took off running. I slinked behind a truck parked nearby so he wouldn’t see that I’d witnessed the altercation.
“Scully strikes again,” I muttered to myself. Obviously the guy was hated by one and all. I had tried requesting a different inspector in the past, but Scully was in charge of the office, so he chose which sites he wanted to inspect.
I wondered if Joan and Stan would do what Petsy had done and call the mayor to complain. I hated to wish anyone ill, but I wouldn’t have been sorry to see Scully lose his job.
Once Scully had driven away, I hurried up to the porch and knocked on Joan’s front door. I could hear her shouting as she walked toward the door, “If you’re thinking I’ll let you back in here . . . Oh. Sorry, Shannon. I thought you were someone else.”
“I know,” I confessed. “I saw Joe Scully drive away.”
“That horrible man. I’m not a violent person, but boy, I’d like to strangle him.”
Because I knew she was only half kidding, I gave a nervous chuckle. “You’re not alone.”
“Yeah, guess you saw Stan out here.” She grinned. “My husband is a poet, not a fighter, but I would’ve loved to see him take a swing at that nincompoop.”
She glanced around, realized we were still standing on the porch, and said, “Come on in. Do you want some lemonade?”
“No, thanks. I’m just checking on my guys.”
“They’re doing a great job,” she said as she headed for the basement door. “No thanks to Scully. That worthless . . . Sorry. Boy, I’ve got to get a grip.”
“That’s okay. He drives us all crazy.”
“Nice to know he doesn’t save it all for me.”
“Nope.”
“You go ahead down,” she said, waving at the stairs. “I’ll be up here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Joan.” I went downstairs and saw Johnny and Colin standing by the far wall, wearing gloves, respirators, and goggles.
Two steps from the bottom, I stopped and said loudly, “How are you guys doing?”
Johnny whirled around and waved, then turned back to the other two. “Keep working, you guys. I gotta go talk to the boss.” He removed his respirator as he walked across the room. “Hey, Shannon. Everything’s going great, but don’t go over there. It’s a mess.”
“I can see that. Sorry you got stuck with this gig, but it’s important. And I appreciate you supervising the new guys.”
“I don’t mind at all. The guys are cool and they know what they’re doing. Colin’s got some amazing tools. He brought in a great set of hand-tooled chisels we’ve been using for the precision work. And Joan is a kick in the pants. Not only did she read Scully the riot act, which would make me real fond of her anyway, but she keeps offering to feed us.”
It was official: no one liked Scully.
“Joan’s really sweet,” I said. “So, what did Scully want?”
“Oh man. Scully.” Johnny whistled. “She lit into him and practically dragged him upstairs by his ear.”
“Why?”
He shook his head. “So, get this. He comes down here pretending he’s got to inspect everything, right?”
“Yeah, I know his routine. But we’re not doing anything structural down here. Just cleaning out the dry rot, replacing some boards, and coating everything with the fungicide.”
“Right. So we both know he doesn’t belong here. But he gets right up next to me anyway. So, I just ignore him and keep working away, scraping off the layers of deadwood. After about a minute, he starts coughing. And it gets worse. He’s hacking and choking and finally he’s getting so loud with his barking and wheezing that Joan comes running downstairs. And Scully yells, ‘If I get sick from breathing this wood dust, I’m going to sue you for criminal negligence.’”
“You’re kidding,” I whispered. “It was his own fault for being down here without wearing a respirator.”
“Exactly. So, he takes off upstairs and she follows him. And I go over and listen to their conversation.”
“That’s my guy.” I patted his shoulder. “So what did you hear?”
Johnny shifted from foot to foot a little guiltily. “Well, you know we don’t snoop on clients, but this was Scully and I wanted to find out if he was going to try and pull the plug on our job.”
“I would have done the same thing. So, what did he say to Joan?”
He grinned and leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “So, he’s whining away and finally Joan tells him to shut up. She says he has no business down here until the work’s complete anyhow.”
“Not even then, really. But he can’t help sticking his big nose into everybody’s business.”
“So, then Joan starts yelling at him to get out of their house. She says that this damage never would’ve happened in the first place if Scully hadn’t signed off on the rehab work they did a few years ago.”
My stomach lurched at the news. “Scully was the inspector in charge of their basement rehab?”
“Yeah, but here’s the kicker.” Johnny grinned. “Scully’s son-in-law did the rehab work.”
I felt my mouth fall open. “No way. He must’ve bought the most inferior, bug-infested wood on the market if it brought on this amount of dry rot damage in such a short period of time. No wonder Joan wants to strangle him.”
“I don’t blame her,” Johnny muttered. “What a tool.”
“You can say that again.” I shook my head in disgust. There had to be a way to fire that guy once and for all. “Well, thanks for the update. I’ll let you get back to it. I was just checking in.”
“We’re good,” he said.
“Oh, and if you need more chisels, I’ve got a pretty good set, too. I just had them all sharpened a few weeks ago.”
“We should be okay, but I’ll let you know,” he said, waving me off. “Thanks, boss.”
• • •
That afternoon in the Jorgensens’ side yard, Wade had to rearrange schedules. We sent Todd to the Spaulding house to help load the appliances into the kitchen. I stayed at the Jorgensens’ house, helping Wade and Sean build the base of the orangery, mixing mortar for the bricks and attaching ties that would connect to the second round of bricks. It was the calm before the storm of drilling through brick walls that would take place later in the week.
At one point, Matthew came to the French doors to check on us.
“Are we disturbing you?” I asked.
“Not at all. It’s very quiet. But even if it weren’t, I enjoy the racket and clamor of a construction site. It’s the sound of industry.”
“We like to be industrious most of the time,” I said with a smile. Sometimes he spoke like a poet. “Do you work from home?”
“I do,” he said. “I paint. We tore down all the walls on the third floor to make me a studio. The light is fantastic up there.”
“I had no idea you were an artist.”
“It’s probably not something your father would’ve mentioned,” he said jovially, then laughed. “Although I do believe he won one of my paintings in a poker game.”
“He did?” I was surprised and pleased. “I would love to see your work sometime.”
“You can come upstairs anytime. I enjoy having visitors. The room is sort of a shambles, what with easels and canvases and tubes of paint and palettes lying everywhere. And, oh, you know, the odd bone and shell, and the occasional fruit basket. All those crazy things painters like to paint. But
please come and visit.”
“I will.” It suddenly made sense that his daughter, Lindsey, owned an art gallery. I wondered if she sold his paintings.
Matthew stepped out into the center of the space surrounded by the concrete foundation. “You know, this is looking good. When Petsy first suggested we put a greenhouse—er, I mean, orangery—here, I thought it sounded kind of dumb.” He glanced around furtively. “Don’t tell her I said so.”
I grinned. “Your secret’s safe with us.”
He gave me a wink. “But yeah, this will be nice. And it’s perfect that we already have these French doors right here.”
“We would’ve had to knock out the wall and install them if they weren’t already here.”
“So that was good planning.” He gazed around the side yard, staring up at the trees and taking in the ambience. “I never really go out into this yard. I’ve always thought it was too overgrown. But it’s pretty. I think I’d like to paint out here.”
“All those flowering bushes along the tree line look fabulous,” I said.
The older man nodded absently and stuck around for a few more minutes to watch Wade lay down a row of bricks. Finally he said, “I’ll get out of your way.” And we watched him walk back inside.
“He’s interesting,” Wade murmured. “Seems like a nice guy.”
“He really is,” I said.
“Not like his wife.”
I shook my head reflectively. “Not at all.”
• • •
We were just about to quit for the day when Joe Scully decided to pay a surprise visit. He came sauntering onto the site as if he were taking a stroll through the park.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, and immediately regretted it. I didn’t need to provoke him any further than he already had been. He would take it out on us and we didn’t need that aggravation.
“I mean, we’re just about finished for the day,” I amended. “What’s up, Joe?”
“I’m here to inspect your foundation.”
Eaves of Destruction Page 6
