P Is for Peril

somebody old. What are you, thirty-five?"
    "Thirty-six."
    "I'm twenty-eight myself, which I figure is prime for a guy," he remarked. He lifted his head slightly. "Here comes Richard."
    "How do you do that? I didn't hear him pull in."
    "Radar," he said. He got to his feet and stood there for a moment, running a critical eye along the baseboard. "I miss any spots?"
    "Not as far as I can see."
    Tommy found the lid for the can of paint and tapped along the edges to effect a seal.
    Richard appeared in the doorway wearing a long black raincoat with the ends of the belt tied together in the back. He wasn't nearly as appealing as his brother and certainly not as friendly, meeting my gaze with only an occasional flicker of his eyes. "I thought you had something else to do today," he said to Tommy.
    "Yeah, well I wanted to finish this. I don't like leaving a job until I know it's done right." Tommy delivered his lines without looking at his brother.
    There was something edgy going on between them, but I couldn't figure out what it was. They seemed chilly with each other, as though their current conversation were part of an ongoing argument. Tommy went into the bathroom where I could hear him running water to clean his paintbrush. He came out moments later and began to gather up his tools. It felt like a replay of the night I'd first seen the place, except that neither of them spoke.
    "Let me write you that check," I said, trying to inject a warmer note. I reached for my bag and took out the checkbook and a pen, leaning against the wall while I filled in the date. "Hevener Properties, Inc.?"
    "That's right." Richard stood with his hands in his raincoat pockets, watching me idly as I wrote in the amount. Meanwhile, as Tommy headed for the door, I saw the two exchange a glance. His gaze moved to mine and he smiled at me fleetingly before he disappeared through the door.
    I ripped the check from the book and handed it to Richard, who removed the lease from the inner pocket of his raincoat. He'd already filled in the relevant blanks. I began to read through the lines of minuscule print while Richard studied me.
    "I hope he's not bothering you."
    "Who, Tommy? Not at all. We were chatting about the deck. I stopped by to take some measurements. I'd like to put in some shelves."
    "Of course. Everything look okay to you?"
    "Fine. He did a great job."
    "When are you moving?"
    "I'm hoping the early part of next week."
    "Good. Here's my card. I'm the one you should call if you need anything."
    I turned my attention to the lease agreement, reading it line by line. Seemed like standard fare; no tricks, no hidden clauses, no unusual restrictions.
    Richard was watching me read. "What kind of cases do you handle?"
    "Just about anything. It varies. Right now, I'm looking into the disappearance of a doctor who's been gone for nearly ten weeks. January, I did a search for a missing heir."
    "Mostly local?"
    "For the most part, yes. Occasionally I go out of state, but it's usually cheaper for a client to hire a P.I. in their own geographic area. That way they don't have to pay travel, which can really add up." I scribbled my name at the bottom of the lease, handed him one copy, and kept the other for my files. "I'm always saying this, but the job's a lot duller than it sounds. Background checks and paper searches at the Hall of Records. I used to be associated with an insurance company, handling arson and wrongful death claims, but I prefer being out on my own." I didn't want to appear shiftless so I omitted the fact that CF had fired my sorry butt. I hoped he wouldn't press the point because I didn't want to lie to him this early in the game.
    He said, "Well. I better give you a key." He dug in his raincoat pocket and pulled out a ring, sorting through ten to fifteen keys until he found the one he wanted. He freed it and dropped it in the palm of my hand. "You might want to get a second one made in case you lose this."
    "I'll do that. Thanks." I took out my key ring and added it to my modest collection.
    After he departed, I pulled out my tape measure and began to lay out the dimensions of the room: the spaces between windows, depth of the closet, distance to the door. I made a crude drawing on my legal pad and then I sat in the middle of the carpet, tapping on my lip with my pencil while I studied the room. Between the smell of new carpet and the scent of fresh paint, the office seemed as clean and as slick as a brand-new car. Outside the window,