“Deal,” I said.
We high-fived, low-fived, bopped our fists, and shook on it.
“I’m Keith Howard, by the way.”
“And I’m Lindsay Boxer.”
“So, where am I delivering this heap, Lindsay?”
It was my turn to grin. Caveat emptor, indeed. I gave Keith my sister’s address and directions on how to get there.
“Go up the hill, then turn onto Miramontes and then onto Sea View. It’s a blue house on the right, second one in from the end of the road.”
Keith nodded. “I’ll drop it by day after tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“Excellent,” I said, climbing back into the Explorer. Keith cocked his head and flashed me a flirtatious look.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere, Lindsay?”
“No,” I said, laughing. “But nice try.” The gas station guy was coming on to me! I was old enough to be his . . . big sister.
The kid laughed along with me.
“Well, anyway, Lindsay. Call me anytime if you need me to bring over an engine hoist or whatever.”
“Okay, I’ll do that,” I said, meaning just the opposite. But I was still smiling as I honked the horn good-bye.
Chapter 25
SEA VIEW AVENUE WAS a link in a looping chain of cul-de-sacs, separated from the curving arms of the bay by a quarter-mile stretch of dune grass. I opened the car door, and as Martha bounded out, I was almost blown away by the heady scent of rockroses and the fresh ocean breeze.
I stood for a minute, taking in Cat’s cheery house, with its dormers and porches and sunflowers growing against the fence in the front yard, before taking the keys from the niche above the lintel and opening the door into my sister’s life.
Inside, Cat’s home was a comfy hodgepodge of overstuffed furniture, crammed bookshelves, and gorgeous views of the bay from every room. I felt my entire body relax, and the idea of retiring from the force rose up in me again.
I could live in a place like this.
I could get used to waking up in the morning thinking about life instead of death.
Couldn’t I?
I opened the sliders to the back deck and saw a playhouse out in the yard. It was painted dusky blue like the house itself and was fenced all around with white pickets. I made my way down the back steps right behind Martha, who was running with her head down low.
I suspected that I was about to meet Penelope.
Chapter 26
PENELOPE WAS A LARGE Vietnamese potbellied pig, all black and whiskery. She waddled over to me, huffing and snoodling, so I leaned over the fence and patted her head.
“Hi, gorgeous,” I said.
Hi, Lindsay.
There was a note tacked to Penelope’s little bungalow, so I entere
d the pen to get a better look at “The Pig House Rules,” as “written” by Penelope.
Dear Lindsay,