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

“Fortunately, no. Cookie’s cage was locked up tight. But our macaws, Heckel and Jekyll, weren’t so lucky,” Wyatt said, his expression grim. “Dad shot the varmint before he could do any more damage.”

“That’s awful,” Grace said, feeling a chill go down her spine. She hugged Sweetie closer and shivered, despite the ninety-degree heat. “Could a coyote attack a dog?”

“Maybe,” Wyatt said. “But after what happened with the macaws, I won’t let her roam around off a leash at night. She doesn’t seem inclined to go very far from me anyway, which is probably a good thing.”

“You’re not kidding.” Grace breathed. She set Sweetie down carefully in the yard. “So. What do you think of my little project?”

“Great house,” Wyatt said. “I love these old Florida cracker places. Not too many of them left around here.”

“I know,” Grace said, warming to her subject. “Do you want to see the inside?”

He glanced at his watch. “Can I have a rain check? Dad’s a little worn out from his big adventure last night. I need to stick pretty close to the park today.”

“Sure,” Grace said, feeling a little let down.

“This yard could be really pretty with some work,” Wyatt said, gesturing at the shrub he’d just been examining. “You’ve got some nice specimen palms in the front here, and that hedge of gardenias by the porch is in pretty good shape. Might want to spray it for aphids and trim it a little.”

“What about this pathetic yard?” Grace asked, stubbing the toe of her sneaker into what was left of the crabgrass- and sandspur-infested patch of sand. “What could I do with it that won’t eat up my fix-up money?”

Instead of answering, Wyatt walked away, pacing it off. He bent down, kicked at something in a patch of crabgrass, stood, and grinned. “You’ve got an old sprinkler system here, did you know that?”

“No!” Grace said, bending down to look. “You think it works?”

“I’d have to take a closer look,” Wyatt said. “But if the lines are intact and the system is in place, that’s half the battle. You can replace the old sprinkler heads and even buy new timers if necessary, but with those in place, you’d be able to replace the lawn with something hardier and keep it watered until it’s established.”

“A new lawn would do wonders for the curb appeal,” Grace said. “But that’d cost thousands and thousands. And I don’t even have hundreds and hundreds. Maybe that’s something Arthur would be interested in doing down the line.”

“Arthur?”

“Arthur Cater. He’s the owner. He’s kind of a tightwad, but my big hope is that once he sees what I’ve done here, he’ll loosen up give me a little more money to work with.”

“This yard isn’t that big,” Wyatt said. “I was walking around before you got here, just kind of brainstorming. You’ve got a lot of planting beds and borders that are all overgrown with weeds right now, but if you weeded and mulched them and put an edging around them, you’re left with just a nice little swath of green up front here and one in the back. The sides of the house are mostly shaded by those oaks, and they’re underplanted with some beat-up old hostas and leather-leaf ferns and begonias, but again, get that cleaned out, separate the hostas and give them some breathing room, and it’ll be fine.”

“What about the backyard?” Grace asked. “Pretty disgusting, huh?”

“It needs work, yeah. But it’s not impossible. I’d get rid of that old tin storage shed first thing. It’s falling apart and you don’t need it anyway with that big garage. You’ve got the start of a nice fruit grove back there.”

“Really? I just thought they were a bunch of old half-dead bushes. They’re all overgrown with moss and half the branches look dead.”

“They need some help, for sure,” Wyatt said. “But you’ve got a couple of tangerine trees, a ponderosa lemon, a lime, a grapefruit, and a kumquat.” He laughed. “You could set up your own fruit stand.”

“I might if it were my house,” Grace said. “But it’s Arthur’s. And it’s a rental house.”

“Have you thought about asking him if he’d rent to you?” Wyatt asked.

“Only since the first minute I saw it,” Grace said wistfully. “I could do so much with this place, if it were mine…”

“But?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I told him when I’ve finished with it, it should rent for at least $1,500 a month, this close to the beach and being on Anna Maria. That’s more than I could afford.”

“But you’re doing all this work, essentially for free, right?”

“So that I can photograph and write about it for TrueGrace,” she said. “It’s that kind of trade-off. Essentially to get material for my new blog.”

“Maybe you could work out some kind of arrangement with the guy,” Wyatt said. “You don’t know until you ask.”

“Maybe…” Grace said hesitantly.

He glanced at his watch again. “Okay, gotta go. What time should I pick her up this afternoon?”

“Her?” Grace was lost in thought.

“Sweetie. Remember?”

“Oh, right.” She laughed. “Just come whenever it’s convenient. I’m gonna try to finish ripping up the kitchen floor today, and then I hope to get started painting. It’ll be a late night. So come whenever you like. I’ll be here.”

35

The music boomed through the empty rooms of the old house, echoing off the wooden floors and high ceilings. Grace poured a gallon of white paint into the five-gallon bucket. Yup, too dead white. She pried the lid from the can of black paint and dipped in a plastic measuring spoon. A quarter of a teaspoon to start. It wasn’t scientific, but it was the best she could do. She took the wooden paint paddle and started to swirl the black into the white. Hmm. Not bad.

She dipped her index finger into the paint and smeared a bit of it on her Benjamin Moore paint chip. Not quite enough oomph, for lack of a better word, but not a bad start either. She added