“We at the NSHOA and BSS are certain you’ll be more levelheaded.”
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” Was it wrong that Donald reminded me of George McFly?
“This kind of thing is fine for the tourists in town. Not in this neighborhood. It’s nice. Our properties are pristine, while this—” he paused to give Percy a once-over “—monstrosity gets drearier every year.”
“You don’t say.”
The house trembled beneath our feet and I froze. It was slight, almost imperceptible, yet definitely there. After a minute, I asked Don, “Was that an earthquake?”
He took a wary step back and I couldn’t believe I was going to do this dance again. We didn’t even have music. I wondered if he would speed walk away like Mrs. Richter’s assistant had.
Despite the spike of fear in his expression, he straightened his shoulders and set his jaw.
Attaboy.
“I’m here to see what you plan to do about it.”
Speaking of tourists, I definitely needed to check out the town before I left. Surely walking around wouldn’t cost me anything.
When I didn’t answer, he added, “Ms. Dayne? Do you even have a plan?”
I snapped to attention. Or, well, pretended to. “Oh, sorry. What was the question?”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “What do you plan to do about the house now that it’s yours?”
“Right. Well, first, I’m going to a supply store to buy a no trespassing sign.” I slammed the door and was headed for the stairs when he knocked again. Seriously, the cojones.
I swung the door open again, my face surely in flames.
“Can you please sign for this letter explaining what the NSHOA and BSS would like to see done?”
I was about to tell him which cavity he could insert his letter into when a feminine voice drifted to us. “Oh, for the love of God, Donald. Get off that woman’s porch.”
We turned to see a fit middle-aged woman in a running suit walk up to the iron fence that surrounded the property.
“You stay out of this, Parris!” he shouted back.
That was apparently her cue. She walked through the gate and stomped toward us. “You’ll have to forgive Donald. He had a difficult childhood.”
Apparently having lost the battle, Donald tossed the letter onto Percy’s porch and left in a literal huff.
I grinned at the woman. “I’m Defiance.”
She took my hand. “That’s a beautiful name.”
“Thank you. Do you live—?”
“Right next door.” She pointed to the house on Percy’s north side. The white one with more splendor than Buckingham Palace. “I’m Parris. And that man,” she said, pointing to a brunette working in the yard of the house on Percy’s south side, “is my husband, Harris. So, let’s just get that out of the way. Yes, we are Parris and Harris Hampton. If you ever need anything, we are literally next door.”
“Thank you. Who lives in that house?” I gestured to the house where her husband was working. The one with grass so green and perfectly trimmed it looked like carpet. “And who does yardwork at seven in the morning?”
“He does. On both counts.”
“Your husband? Oh, I thought you said you lived—”
“I do. I live on your north and Harris lives on your south.”
“Wow. That’s unusual.” Both houses were mansions, and I wondered what these people did for a living. “You live in separate houses?”
“Sure do. Which is why we’re both still alive. I love the man. Really I do. But I’d kill him if I had to live with him again. We figured separate living quarters would be easier to explain to the kids than why one of us had to go to prison for homicide.”
Harris had walked around the fence and come inside the gate as well. He stepped onto the porch, both his tan and his hairline completely fake. “I’m Harris,” he said, holding out his hand.
I took it. “Nice to meet you.”
He had an easy grin and warm eyes. His wife’s were more . . . calculating.
“Your grandmother was something else,” he said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
How much personal info did one give complete strangers? And if I gave an inch, would they want to know the whole mile? Something told me the answer to that was yes. So I lied. “Thank you. I’m going to miss her.”
“I’m sure.” He gestured toward Percy. “I guess he’s yours now.”
I almost told them I couldn’t keep Percy. For some reason, I changed my mind at the last second. They’d find out soon enough. “I guess. He’s a lot to take in.”
“He is,” Parris said, taking Percy in, too.
I bent to pick up the letter Don had thrown down and wondered if I’d just picked up the proverbial gauntlet. “I don’t think Donald likes him.”
She laughed. “That’s okay. Percival doesn’t like Donald either.”
Did everyone know about Percival’s dark side? His seedy past?
A car pulled up to the gate. A taxi. After its brakes squealed it to a stop, a vertically challenged woman with a mop of curly, chestnut hair and turquoise cat-eye glasses got out.
“Annette?” My bestie wasn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow morning, yet here she was in all her windswept glory.
I hurried to greet her as the driver handed her an overnight bag, a carry-on, a suitcase, two grocery bags and a huge box. How long was she planning to stay?
“Nette the Jet.”
She turned and beamed at me. “D-Bomb!”
I had no choice. I had to pull her into a hug, mostly because I knew she’d hate it.
“Yeah, still not a hugger,” she said from the crook of my shoulder, fake-patting my back.
A giggle slipped past before I let her push off me and hold me at arm’s length. She did it to get a good look at me. To assess the situation, as it were. Then her gaze drifted to the couple lip-locked behind me.
“Hosting orgies already?”
“Oh,” I said, coming to my senses, “this is Parris and Harris Hampton. The neighbors.”
They unlocked.
“Nice to meet you, Annette,” Parris said. “We’ll be going. Let you two catch up.”
“Remember,” Harris said, “we are right next door either way you turn.” He chuckled at his own joke.
“Nice to meet you,” I said to them, before turning back to Annette. The love of my life. She was busy watching them walk in two separate directions when I snapped. “Wait, I thought you couldn’t come until tomorrow. Why didn’t you call me? I was going to pick you up from the airport.”
She returned her attention to me and blinked. “I don’t get it.”
“You don’t get what?”
“It is tomorrow.” She looked at her watch. “It’s 7:30 in the tomorrow morning.”
“The tomorrow morning?” I screeched. I looked at my watch, too, before remembering I didn’t wear one. “You mean, I slept all afternoon and all night?”
“’Parently. That can’t be a good sign.” She leaned in to study my pupils through her turquoise cat-eyes. “I wouldn’t plan too far ahead. I see chaos. Turmoil. A fight with a tree branch that leads to your untimely and violent death.”