Tarnished and Torn
Page 29
“Not for long they aren’t,” answered Luz.
“Tell the kitchen crew I’ll be right there,” I said to Monty, then spoke to Luz in a low voice. “Whatever you do, don’t let those frat boys near the power tools.”
“They’re on the schedule as the painting crew,” said Luz, flipping through the sheaf of papers on her overstuffed but organized clipboard. “We’re slated to get this place painted today. Not sure the boys are really up for that. How about we leave today’s painting to the sorority girls—they’re not quick, but at least they’re sober—while I find something else for the boys?”
“Any ideas?”
“Well, I was thinking . . . Monty has those two big dogs. Before we can do any work out back, somebody needs to clean things up. What say I put the frat on pooper-scooper duty? Make them the Kaopectate Krew.”
“You, madam, have a mind of rare and infinite beauty.”
“So true. You should tell the promotion and tenure committee.”
“How’s that going?”
The committee was ruminating on Luz’s promotion to Professor of Social Work at San Francisco State University. Luz was a dedicated teacher, a brilliant scholar, and an astute judge of human nature . . . but her interpersonal skills could stand some adjustment. Simply stated, when it came to tolerating fools, Luz had about as much finesse as a demo crew.
“Let’s just say I’m considering applying to be a sorority mother. According to the girls, there’s an opening. Anyway, after the fraternity finishes doggie-doody duty, I thought I’d get them to clean out the old shed.”
“Sounds perfect. Keep an eye out—Monty says he has no idea what’s in there, so there may be something we can repurpose for the renovation. Could be a real treasure trove. But be sure to explain to them what constitutes hazardous waste, since they’re likely to find some old paint or gasoline cans.”
“Will do,” Liz said, then turned toward the fraternity members. “Yo, boys!” she bellowed, and I saw more than a few wince. “On your feet and follow me! Fall in!”
If the gig as a sorority mother didn’t work out, I mused, Luz could always join the army. She was a natural drill sergeant.
But just before I turned away . . . I heard Dog barking again. Before I could stop myself, I looked at the house next door. There, in the window, was a ghost, its pale countenance as clear as you pleased. Looking straight at me, as though yearning, seeking . . . something.
Ignore it, Mel. You’ve got dry rot to deal with.
What does it say about my life when rot was a pleasant alternative?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Juliet Blackwell is the pseudonym for a mystery author who also writes the Haunted Home Renovation series and, together with her sister, wrote the Art Lover’s Mystery series. The first in that series, Feint of Art, was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Novel. She also writes the Haunted Home Renovation mystery series. Juliet’s lifelong interest in the paranormal world was triggered when her favorite aunt visited and read her fortune—with startling results. As an anthropologist, the author studied systems of spirituality, magic, and health across cultures and throughout history. She currently resides in a happily haunted house in Oakland, California.
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