“Oh no, George’s house is one over from Miss Hayley, your neighbor. I fixed her toilet when she moved in, but the rest was good to go. Nothing like what you got.” It was a good thing DJ wasn’t a lawyer or doctor, the way he could dish.

  That was good news, though. She had a cushion between her and George, who she could tell was an asshole. It wasn’t much of a buffer, but she’d take it. With that settled, she wanted to know more about Miss Hayley. That wasn’t a name she’d give a character in the romance she was still contemplating if only to fuck with Blanche, but not all girls could be named Magnolia.

  “So,” she said, sounding the least slick ever. “Is Hayley married? Are she and George an item?” It was hard to miss how much DJ’s belly shook when he laughed, given the way his shirt rode up.

  “In George’s fantasies, maybe. No, he’s married to Karen, who you should avoid accepting any pies from. My excuse is that I’m allergic to most fruits and custards. Trust me on that.” He accepted the mug of coffee and kept writing. “Now your neighbor, Miss Hayley, according to George, is one of those ho-mo-sexuals.”

  She loved people who pronounced homosexual like it was three separate and distinct words. It was hard not to smile when she saw DJ’s expression after his big revelation. He didn’t appear to be really upset about the news, and she had her theories about that too. Old DJ probably had some girl-on-girl porn back at the plumbing store and was sure Hayley would invite him over one day when she had company. You know, for a plumbing issue, quote-unquote.

  The day that happened, Hayley and her girlfriend would be naked except for the spike heels no real woman ever wore to bed because they were murder on the sheets. After they went down on each other for DJ’s entertainment, they’d invite him to join in because all they’d been missing all their lives was DJ.

  “That’s interesting.” It was all she could think to say to stop her mental monologue. “What does Hayley do?”

  “Something with books, I think, but I’m not entirely sure what. I’ll ask George at bowling on Wednesday. He’s over there all the time. Do you bowl?” DJ stopped writing, seeming interested in her answer.

  “Bowling isn’t a talent of mine, sorry.” The question of how DJ charged popped into her head. Considering how much he talked, she hoped it wasn’t by the hour.

  “Ain’t one of mine, either, but the beer helps with the humiliation. Music is good over at the Rockin’ Bowl, and it’s half off on all the taps if you join a league.” He tapped on his notes and put his pencil down. “Mrs. Fuller would be happy you’re fixing the place back up. She kept it up nice until she couldn’t no more. The Fullers that followed weren’t real interested in housework if you catch my meaning.”

  “I do, and the house does seem to have good bones—it’s just a little brittle, maybe.” Since he’d finished writing and wasn’t getting to the point, he must’ve felt it to be painful. “So, what’s the damage?”

  “All the galvanized shit is in poor shape and will have to be ripped out. We’re talking total gut job. The gunk you got all over you is cause of them pipes.” He took his cap off again and scratched his head as he handed over his list. “I can start today, if you want.”

  She glanced over at his itemized list and wondered if he’d left stuff off—by New York standards, the bill was cheap. “Think you can retile the bathrooms and refurbish the tubs?” Pink and green tile from the turn of the century were enough to induce hives.

  “Yeah, we got you covered on that too. That’s a good idea. So we’re good?” DJ held his hand out and smiled.

  “Go ahead. I have to run out for groceries, so can I leave you a key?”

  He was on the phone barking orders at someone before she grabbed her wallet, and he waved as she headed out.

  There were four other guys with him when she got back, and they seemed appreciative when she loaded the antique refrigerator with different types of drinks and told them to help themselves. They’d made more holes than she had to get to the shit pipes DJ had mentioned, and she was happy they appeared to know what they were doing. She left them to it, wanting to stay out of the way. The work she could do herself would be better done once they’d finished ripping things apart and putting them back together.

  She grabbed one of the journals she’d found and carefully made her way through the jungle out back to the rotting pergola that had one good rocker sitting under it. Once DJ took a break, she’d ask him about a lawn service. She’d never had to worry about that, and she didn’t want to start now.

  The first twenty pages of the journal were all cookie recipes. Wyatt had no interest in baking a cookie—that’s why God invented Oreos—but she read every single one. She was entranced by the beautiful handwriting and how Lydia described each cookie and why baking them was a wonderous thing. It was easy to see why DJ still remembered her and the treats she made for him and his friends.

  Things got interesting after that when Lydia gave a detailed account of her eighth year of marriage to Sam, a seemingly incongruous entry after all the recipes. Not that life with a guy who sold produce was an Ian Fleming novel, but Lydia wrote it in a way that made it impossible to put down. Sometimes the mundane was what you needed to unchain your thought process, but in a way Lydia’s life with Sam wasn’t mundane. Certainly, Lydia hadn’t thought so, and her love for Sam was woven through what Wyatt had read so far.

  It was a love story, of that she was certain, even if Lydia hadn’t written it that way. The short glimpses into their lives opened your heart to the love Lydia had for Sam. This man she’d built a life and a family with was everything to her, and it was reciprocal. Lydia wanted the reader to know that their lives were more than a business and children. At the heart of who they were, to her their love was magical. There was Sam, and he’d made Lydia complete and happy.

  Good for them. Wyatt’s parents had the same story. They didn’t lead exciting action-packed existences, but they knew happiness and fulfillment, and it was enough to sustain them. Defining that in the minutiae of life took the kind of talent that she didn’t possess. That was why she wrote mysteries.

  She was squinting as dusk painted the sky a beautiful pink that made her think of Pippa, when DJ cleared his throat, startling her. All she had was a blade of grass to mark her place a little less than halfway through, so she snapped the journal closed and took a breath.

  “You okay?”

  “Sorry, I was afternoon dreaming.” She noticed another stack of journals in DJ’s hand. They’d found thirteen so far, and she’d try putting them in some kind of order, based on the dates. “Were all those in the walls?” The pages in the ones she’d found were starting to become brittle, so she wanted to get the ones DJ found inside. They’d survived this long without losing any sheets, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  “Yeah, in the big bedroom, outside the bathroom in there. Saw you had a stack already, so here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We had to keep the water shut off because you got no pipes yet, but I’ll try and have that small bathroom downstairs working by tomorrow. We’ll be back at six, and if you gotta pee, George said to knock. I’m sure Miss Hayley won’t mind either. She’s real nice. I’d tell you to try the yard if you’re desperate, but baring your ass out there might be an invitation to get you bit by something that’s going to require shots and stitches.”

  She had to laugh—she liked this guy. “I’ll keep that in mind, and I’ll see you guys in the morning.” She locked up and flipped through the new journals. “I wonder if you hid any others? For a housewife with a bunch of kids, Lydia Fuller, you’re an interesting woman.” If she couldn’t find it in herself to write, she’d read all about the life of someone who could.

  Chapter Ten

  Hayley held the phone away from her ear as the woman on the other end raged. The newbie author had never published anything, like, zippo, yet had taken offense at the notes Cheryl had sent on her work. Though this might’ve not been Cheryl’s favorite project, Hayley couldn’t find fault with the edits she’d forwarded, but the author had insisted on speaking to Cheryl’s supervisor. Hayley agreed to take the call only because if she helped a new author break ground it would be an all-around win.

  The author was acting like Hayley had called her a few nasty names while also insulting her mother and entire family. Overall, her behavior was an exercise in what not to do when trying to sell a manuscript. Marlo was sitting in Hayley’s office laughing as Hayley held up her middle finger while she rolled her eyes.

  “All right, enough!” she said, loud enough to break the woman’s stride. “Your submission doesn’t meet our needs in its current form. If you feel you don’t need editing, that’s fine—it’s your work.”

  “I’m glad you understand that. All I need is a contract and a check.”

  “If you can find someone to publish it, I’m sure they’ll provide that—it just won’t be us. You might want to reconsider the term honeypot for vagina, but what the hell do I know. There might be a lot of people like you out there that find that erotic, but I personally don’t know any. Good luck.” She slammed the phone down with satisfaction and groaned. “This job would be so much easier without having to deal with writers.”

  “True, but they’re usually more professional than that. You need to train your admin to weed out those types of calls. They’re a waste of time.” Marlo sipped from her tenth cup of coffee that day and shivered. How she didn’t have any major health issues from all the caffeine and nicotine was a miracle. Cornelius was the same way, and he was about eighty by now, so it must be something in the genes that repelled a healthy lifestyle.

  “That was the fifth time that woman’s called today, and I couldn’t do that to Mel, and Cheryl flinches every time the phone rings. Now that I didn’t give her a contract and a check, I’m sure you’re next on the list of harassing phone calls.” She tidied the stack of work she was bringing home.

  “That’ll be entertaining if she tries. Go home—it’s already dark outside.” Marlo finished her coffee and pointed to the door. “And relax. I don’t pay you enough for all the hours you put in.”

  “You’re getting a bargain then, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She went downstairs with Marlo and saw Fabio packing up. “What are you still doing here?”

  “End of the month crap, and ordering dinner. Here.” He handed her a slip. “That Italian place you like is waiting to hand over your favorite.”

  “You’re the best.” She kissed his cheek and then Marlo’s. Marlo often got Fabio to order dinner for her as a thank-you for the hard work. It was nice to be appreciated.

  The host of the restaurant walked her order out, so she didn’t have to park, and the kindness made her consider her new neighbor. Maybe she should cook and invite her over one night. Of course, the brunette might be the new owner’s contractor, but even so, Hayley could be friendly. With any luck she’d get to find out if the woman had rough hands or not.

  An invitation would also add a voice to the gorgeous package, which would only be a drawback if her neighbor sounded like she was sucking helium. She was more partial to the low burr that didn’t come from too much whiskey and cigarettes. Thinking about Butch last night, watching her touch herself, had made her hot enough to almost lose consciousness when she came. That alone had made her curious about who Butch really was.

  “Either that or I need to find someone to go out with, so my life isn’t all about work and my vivid fantasy world.” She laughed about trying internet dating again. With her luck she’d end up with someone like the author who’d sucked up twenty minutes of her time on the telephone today.

  Her next stop was the grocery close to the house to get milk for her coffee, and something to cook for Lucy when she came over for dinner, once she got a day’s reprieve at work. She grabbed a cart and headed for the small produce section for a salad to go with the fish she was planning. The running list she always had going in her head made her oblivious to her surroundings as she grimaced at the sparse selection.

  “Hello,” someone said loudly, right behind her. George.

  He’d startled her enough to make her jump a step forward, lose her balance, and fall against the bin of oranges. That started an avalanche, so she threw herself on the rest to stop them from rolling off and falling on the ground. One of these days she was going to have to have a talk with George about his questionable behavior. As she slowly got up, she noticed their new neighbor standing at the end of an aisle, watching her strange interaction with George. At least her expression telegraphed in neon red that the interaction was indeed strange. She’d get no argument from her.

  “A little warning next time would be good, George.” She straightened her clothes, not surprised Butch had moved on. Watching her spread herself over fruit couldn’t have been too sexy, so her plan for a dinner invitation might need some more planning while she regained her dignity.

  “Sorry, I thought you saw me.” George moved his cart to trap her in the sea of oranges. She started picking them up, and he got the message and helped her. The old guy who owned the store had a habit of banning people, and she didn’t want to ever be put on that list.

  “I didn’t see you because you were behind me. Here’s a helpful hint—if you keep doing that, I’ll never see you.” Keeping her voice upbeat when she was being sarcastic took a talent she didn’t possess, but one screaming match was enough for the day.

  George completely ignored her bad mood. He shrugged, and she expected an aw, shucks, but thankfully he refrained. “I’m glad I ran into you. I got a call from DJ today.”

  “The plumber or the car guy?” One of the neighborhood mysteries was why one of them didn’t just use their first name. It’d keep everyone from asking that question every single time.

  “Plumber, and we bowl on Wednesdays, but he couldn’t wait that long.” George followed her once all the oranges had been corralled. “He started redoing the Fuller place. Total gut job, he said.”

  “That’s fascinating.” Why the hell was she a magnet for weird people? Not that she didn’t love weird people when they were weirdly interesting. George was just weird.

  “I thought so because she had a lot of questions about you.” George reported that in a whisper, making her think he was going to give her a tape that would self-destruct after she listened to it.

  A quick stab of panic drilled through the middle of her head when she thought about last night. Had Butch seen her and asked DJ the plumber about her after telling him what she’d been doing? She exhaled when she dropped that thought. Her self-relaxation techniques were still her secret, she was sure. “What kind of questions?” She was sure George was dying to tell her, but he wasn’t going to until she asked. Petty but effective.

  “She wanted to know what you did for a living.”

  She stared at him for what seemed like a full minute until she was sure he didn’t have anything else to say. “And?” She made a rolling motion to help him along.

  “There was more, but he was at the plumbing supply place buying stuff for the job. They start at six tomorrow. He had to get going so he could go to bed.” He slowed, and she took a chance and turned down one of the narrow aisles.

  “Okay then,” she said, waving. “See you soon.” She waved again, wanting to make him understand the conversation was over. Saying anything else was chancing the black hole of time that was George.

  “I’ll keep you updated.” He was close to shouting, and she walked faster. Whatever else she needed she’d get tomorrow on her lunch hour. She was done for tonight. She looked around as she checked out, but there was no Butch in sight.

  When she got home, she heated the pasta dish Fabio had ordered and stood at her kitchen window to eat it. This wasn’t a habit—she ate in front of television like most normal people—but Butch was doing the same thing. Their houses were like mirror images, and Butch’s kitchen and bedrooms faced hers. She couldn’t take her eyes off Butch, but Butch hadn’t really raised her head the entire time. It seemed she was doing something as she ate her sandwich.

  They finished together, and as much as Hayley wanted to keep watching, she had some reading to do before bed. She poured a glass of wine and headed upstairs to change and sit in her favorite chair. The light in the bathroom was on, giving her enough illumination to move around and take her shirt off. She got as far as the middle of the room before she stopped, not wanting to move so as not to scare Butch off.

  She watched as Butch pulled her shirt off in a brightly lit room, followed by her jeans and underwear. “And we have naked.” Unlike the hose incident in the yard, she could see much better now. Butch made her burn.

  Naked Butch walked to the wall and started touching it in different spots. She touched, knocked, and seem to caress the walls before stopping to put on sweatpants and a T-shirt. She dropped into a chair facing the window. Hayley stripped her pants off and waited. Maybe she’d get to see Butch’s technique, but she was disappointed when the book appeared.

  “Still, you did strip for me. It’d be rude not to touch myself now.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The woman Wyatt now knew was Hayley had been laid out on the navel oranges like some kind of fruit-worshipping nutjob. Wyatt had thought she’d found the perfect opportunity to introduce herself until she’d seen George and decided to take a hard pass. She’d eventually have to formally meet him, she supposed, but certain things in life should be put off as long as possible. Things like setting one’s feet on fire and avoiding people who screamed Danger, I’m a fucking lunatic without uttering a word.

  She’d skipped everything else she’d come for, since the real reason she went shopping was to use the closest available bathroom without having to interact with her neighbors. Hayley’s house had been on her list of possibilities, but she wasn’t home when the urge to pee hit her. Once she walked home from the grocery, she made a sandwich and noticed Hayley at her kitchen window, eating pasta and watching her. That appeared a much better choice than ham and cheese, though the intense staring was a tad disconcerting, but she didn’t move. There was something sexy about being watched by a beautiful woman from afar. She went back to Lydia’s journals, not wanting to scare Hayley away.