P Is for Peril

Like many people, he seemed to be uncomfortable discussing money, and I wondered how much experience he had in landlord-tenant relationships.
    "What time?"
    "Ten, fifteen minutes?"
    "I'll see you shortly. And thanks."
    As soon as I hung up I did a little dance of joy, my attention already darting forward to the practicalities of moving. Fortunately, I'd never completely unpacked in the three years since I'd landed at Kingman and Ives, so that would save time. Desk, chair, daybed, phony ficus plant. This was going to be a snap. I could park in my own spot a mere fifteen steps from my office door. I could eat lunches at the table on the redwood deck…
    I opened my closet door and hauled out the top two boxes, looking for my tape measure, which I found at the bottom of the second box. The tape was one of those heavy-duty metal suckers with a reel-back so fast it would slice off your little finger if you didn't watch yourself. I tucked it in my shoulder bag, grabbed a yellow legal pad and pencil, made sure my message machine was on, then shrugged into my slicker and walked to my brand-new digs. I felt like skipping and then I wondered if kids ever did that these days.
    I was already feeling extraordinarily possessive as I trotted along the driveway from the rear of the lot. While I could see the bungalow from Lonnie's office, I had to go halfway around the block and cut down the alleyway to reach the place. There were lights on throughout the bungalow and by hopping up just once, I caught a glimpse of the CPA who occupied the front office. I'd have to take a moment to introduce myself when time allowed. I rounded the corner, noting a sedate-looking dark blue sedan that I assumed belonged to the CPA. Tommy's black pickup was parked two slots down.
    Once inside the backdoor, I was careful to wipe my feet on the shaggy cotton door mat provided for that purpose. The door to the back office was standing open and I could smell fresh paint. I peered in and found Tommy on his hands and knees, touching up the baseboards with a brush and a can of white latex paint. He flashed me a quick smile and continued with his work. He was wearing a khaki green coverall, and I was struck again by the vibrancy of the picture he presented. By day, his red hair carried glints of copper and a sheen of pale freckles seemed to make his skin ruddy.
    I said, "Hi. How are you?"
    "Doing good. Thought I'd get this finished while I had the chance. I hear you're the new tenant."
    "Well, it looks that way. Richard said he'd meet me over here to do the paperwork." There was something nice about the fact that his attention was fixed on the job in front of him. It allowed me to study his shoulders and the soft reddish hair on his forearms where his sleeves were rolled up. I could see the lines in his knuckles where a fine bleed of white paint still clung to his skin. The hair along the back of his neck was in need of cutting and curled haphazardly.
    He glanced over his shoulder at me. "Thought maybe you left, you're so quiet back there."
    "I'm here." I moved over to the window just to have something to do. "The deck's great." Really, I was wondering if he had a girlfriend.
    "I built that myself. I was thinking to add some trellising, but it seemed like overkill."
    "Looks nice as it is. Is that redwood?"
    "Yes ma'am. Clear heart. I don't like cheap materials. Richard bitches about that, but I figure in the end it'll save us money. Anything cheap, you end up doing twice."
    I couldn't think of anything to add to that. I cranked the window open and cranked it shut again. Idly, I lifted the telephone handset. I could hear a dial tone.
    "You got a call to make?"
    "I just wondered if it worked. I guess I'll have to talk to the phone company and have the service switched."
    "How's the boyfriend?"
    "He's fine."
    Another pause while Tommy dipped the brush in the can. "Hope he's treating you good."
    "Actually, he's out of town." I winced when I said it because it sounded like a come-on.
    "What's he do for a living? He some fancy-pants attorney?"
    "He's a P.I. like me. Semiretired. He was laid up for a while with a knee replacement." Mentally, I crossed my eyes. The way I was describing Dietz made him sound like some an old geezer who could barely walk. In truth, Dietz had been gone so long that my claiming him as a boyfriend was patently ridiculous.
    "Sounds old."
    "He's not. He's only fifty-three."
    Tommy smiled to himself. "Now see? I knew you'd be the type to go for