Ladies' Night Andrews, Kay (great novels .txt) 📖

sure it would take at least two coats of primer, plus two coats of the Benjamin Moore. At some point, she’d have to make another trip to the hardware store to buy more paint.

“Looking good,” Wyatt said. He held out a white paper sack. “I went and got us some lunch. You ready for a break?”

They sat cross-legged on the front porch to eat their turkey sandwiches. Grace rested her aching back against the wall and took a swig of her Diet Coke. “How’s it coming in the kitchen?”

“There’s good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

She made a face. “Tell me the good stuff first.”

“I managed to get all the paint off the fridge and stove. We didn’t get so lucky with the cupboards. They’ll all have to be repainted.”

Grace sighed and pushed a strand of sweaty orange-streaked hair off her forehead. “What’s the floor looking like?”

Sweetie, who’d been sitting politely on her haunches, stared hungrily at the sandwich wrappings and whined softly. Grace tore off a bit of turkey and tossed it to the dog, who caught it in midair.

“Like a really long night of repainting red and white checkerboards,” Wyatt said, grimacing.

Grace groaned and rolled up the legs of her jeans to show him her bruised knees. “I’m still not recovered from the first time I painted that floor. Me and my big ideas.”

“I know this is probably a silly question, but couldn’t we just paint the whole thing one color?”

“We could—except that I got an e-mail from an editor at Veranda magazine this morning. They want me to do a series for them—story and photographs, of my redo of the cottage. And the editor very specifically mentioned that she adores that floor.”

“Oh.” Wyatt munched on a potato chip. “Veranda magazine. That’s good?”

“Very good. Especially in my world. It’s huge.”

“I’d slide over there and give you a congratulatory hug, but I’m too tired.”

She smiled. “I’ll consider myself hugged. Anyway, who knows if I can get this place cleaned up enough now to even do the story?”

He chewed and thought. “Maybe you could make this”—he swept his hand, indicating the charred porch floor and broken windows—“part of the story. You know, intrepid girl rescues house from fire and paint bomb?”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Now I wish I’d taken some pictures of the bedroom before I started cleaning it up.”

“Could you use the pictures Arthur took?”

“Maybe. I guess they’d have to be scanned or something.” She finished off her sandwich and threw a last chunk of turkey to Sweetie, who’d been stealthily creeping closer to the source of the food while she talked.

Wyatt stood and helped her to her feet.

“Guess I’d better grit my teeth and check out the damage in the bathroom,” Grace said, making a face. “Arthur wouldn’t even let me look in there when I got here this morning. He said it was pretty gross.”

“It was,” Wyatt said. “Nothing I’d want you to have to deal with. I got the tub and all the walls wiped down with bleach, and I managed to unstop the toilet and mop up most of the water. All I can say is, if I ever get hold of the punks who did all this…” He made a fist. “Pow!”

“Yeah,” Grace said. “About those punks. I’m not so sure this was the random act of vandalism that Arthur assumes it is.”

“Really? Then … You’re not saying your ex did this, are you?”

“Maybe. Although this—especially the way Arthur described the bathroom—that’s not really Ben’s style. J’Aimee, on the other hand? I’m not so sure it wasn’t her. Or maybe she put somebody else up to it.”

“I don’t know, Grace,” Wyatt said. “What happened here is pretty extreme—even for a pissed-off ex-husband. Besides the fact that the two of them are scum, what makes you think they’re behind this?”

“For one thing, the paint. That was a brand-new can of orange paint, and a brand-new can of black paint. I didn’t have either of those here in the house, so whoever did it took the trouble to go buy paint and bring it along. So not really a crime of opportunity. Same with the fire. That wasn’t just a bunch of rags they used to start the fire in the living room. There were loads of old towels and sheets in the linen closet, but they didn’t use them to start it. They brought what looks like a new canvas drop cloth. Because, again, whoever set that fire was quite the little planner. Does that sound like kids to you?”

He stared at her. “Are you sure you haven’t been watching too much CSI?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think while I scrubbed that floor,” Grace said. “Shall I tell you what else I think is suspicious?”

“Shoot.”

Grace pointed toward the house across the street. The lawn was neatly mowed, and two green recycling bins stood at the curb. “There were three or four different kinds of beer cans in the kitchen sink, plus the Red Bull, plus the vodka. I think whoever did this caper wanted us to think they had a party, so they probably just scooped up some empty bottles and cans along the way. Today was recycling day, so every house on this street had full bins sitting on the curb last night.”

“Anything else?” Wyatt asked.

She walked into the living room, and he followed. She kicked at the remains of the charred thing on the floor. “I don’t think J’Aimee intended to burn the house down. That’s pretty scary, even for her. I think she just wanted to make a little fire. Why else just set fire to something like this? If someone really wanted a fire, they would have poured lighter fluid, or kerosene, or whatever all over the house. But it’s just this one little corner of the room that’s charred.”

“Why would she, or Ben, do any of this?” Wyatt asked. “How do they even know you’re working on this house?”

“Trust me,