Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

course, when he said it that way, it sounded pretty stupid. “Maybe. Yeah.”
Denver raised his eyebrows. “Do me a favor, El. Let me know when he walks in the door.”

chapter 3
    W
    hen I got home after work, I saw someone had stuck a bright pink flier into the rickety screen on my front door. I left it on the kitchen counter while I dialed Stacey’s number.
    No answer.
I stared at the flier as the phone rang. Curb Appeal Contest, it read. Although houses in similar neighborhoods in Tucker Springs were in high demand, my little corner, an older section between the edge of the Light District and the railroad tracks, was slowly falling into disrepair. The selfappointed homeowner’s association was always trying to come up with ways to increase property value. Block parties. New playgrounds. It seemed this time it was a drive to improve the look of the lawns and houses in the neighborhood. I was about to toss it aside when the bottom line caught my eye. $500 cash prize.
I could use $500. No doubt about that.
I dialed Stacey’s number again. Still no answer.
I put on some music and stuck a frozen dinner in the microwave, wondering how much it would take to win the contest.
Our secret judges will be patrolling the neighborhood, looking for yards that are well kept, colorful, and inviting.
That didn’t sound too hard. And for a cash prize—
There was a dull pop, and the kitchen went dim and silent.
“Goddammit.” I shoved away from the counter and glared at the faded wallpaper as if I could bore through to the wires beneath. “Should have known.”
I’d long suspected the wiring in the house had never been up to code and that whatever work had been done on it hadn’t exactly been on the level. The annoyances of living in a place where half of the wiring consisted of duct tape and extension cords were part of my daily life. No running the microwave and the window-unit air conditioner at the same time. No using the computer while watching TV. Every time Stacey had used her blow dryer in the tiny master bathroom, the bedroom lights flickered and my alarm clock blinked until I reset it.
With a weary sigh, I went into the garage and flipped the breaker. Back in the kitchen, I turned off the AC and restarted the microwave, then went back to the flier.
The contest would run for a month. They even had a website where weekly scores would be displayed. It was worth a shot, right?
I called Stacey again. This time, she picked up.
“Hello?”
She sounded annoyed. My heart sank. “Hey, Stacey. Happy birthday.”
“Paul, you shouldn’t be calling. I’ve told you that. If Larry finds out—”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to upset your new boyfriend,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
She sighed. “What do you want?”
This definitely wasn’t going the way I had hoped. The microwave beeped, signaling that my dinner was ready. Why hadn’t I waited until afterward to call?
I took a deep breath. “I wondered if you’re free tomorrow night? I wanted to take you out to dinner for your birthday. We could—”
“No.”
“It’s only dinner.”
“I really can’t. Larry wouldn’t like it.”
“Come on, Stacey. After seven years together, I’m not even allowed to wish you happy birthday?”
“You just did. And I appreciate it. But dinner isn’t a good idea.”
I opened the microwave door, waving away the steam. “How about lunch, then?”
She sighed, and I knew she was about to say no.
“Coffee?”
“I don’t know, Paul. I—”
Whatever she said after that, I didn’t hear, because my smoke detector went off. It was loud and high-pitched, as all smoke detectors seemed to be, and I jumped.
“Shit. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
“Paul? Are you okay?”
Too angry to answer, I put the phone down and went through the usual routine of making the noise stop. I couldn’t reach the smoke detector on the ceiling, but I took off my shirt and waved it at the thing, jumping up and down, trying to scatter whatever hint of smoke it thought it smelled. The damn thing went off nearly every time I cooked, whether I managed to burn my food or not.
“Shut up,” I yelled at it. I swung my shirt again, and it caught the edge of the lid and pulled it open. The incessant whine of the alarm stopped, although my ears were still ringing.
It hardly seemed fair that Stacey had picked the house and then left me to deal with it, although if I had my way, she’d be coming back.
“Fire alarm, huh?”