10. Declan #2
He gives me a wink. “I like Miles. But I think I’ve switched teams this morning.”
I lift a brow. “Glad to hear it.”
Michelle nods. “Oh, I’m definitely Team Declan.”
Well, that vote only cost me twenty-five thousand dollars. But I would give Michelle and her husband the money even if they were wearing Team Miles T-shirts every day.
Which gives me an idea…
Just then there’s a loud knocking on the front door, and the doorbell rings three times consecutively.
“I thought Michelle was our last guest this morning,” I told Wilson.
“She is. For this. But you never know who might be showing up at that front door.”
I push my chair back and head toward the door while Michelle and Wilson finish chatting.
I pull the door open to find the woman from the porch across the street standing there with a frown.
Her short, bright white hair is wrapped in a grape-purple scarf, and she’s wearing a sleeveless purple silk dress that falls to the matching sandals, with purple, silver, and teal rhinestones along the straps.
She’s got multiple beaded necklaces draped around her neck in purple, silver, and teal that match the bangles on both wrists. She’s also holding a paper sack.
“I couldn’t open the door. It’s locked,” she informs me as soon as she sees me. She points at the statue. “And the key is missing.”
“We are not going to be keeping the key there anymore,” I tell her.
“Where is it now?” She looks around, clearly trying to locate the new key hiding place.
“We’re not going to be keeping a key outside the house at all,” I clarify.
Patty props her free hand on her hip, bracelets jangling. “Then why is the door locked?”
“To keep people from walking into the house.” I’m amused, I’ll admit.
“How am I supposed to come in and drop things off?”
“You can leave things on the porch. I assume this is a safe neighborhood.”
“We can’t leave stuff. It will be in the way of the door.”
I give her a quizzical look. “Set it to the side.”
She frowns. “On this porch?”
“Yes.” I look up and down the expanse of the porch that runs the length of the front of the house.
It’s completely bare of anything other than the otter statue.
Astrid doesn’t even have a welcome mat. I have never, in my life, had a front porch, but I suddenly feel like this porch needs…
something. Definitely a mat of some kind.
There are clearly people here a lot. And as I look at the other porches on the block, it’s clear that everyone makes their porch a part of their house.
There are plants, tables, chairs, and swings.
“We could put a little table out here. Or a box or bin to put things in. It could be decorative and—”
Patty takes two steps to the right, and the floorboard creaks loudly, and then I hear a crack. The end of the slat near the porch railing tips up. My eyes widen, and I reach for her, tugging her back toward the door.
She shrugs out of my grasp and gestures with her hand. “The secure zone is these four planks.” She indicates the four floorboards that lead directly up to the door.
“The rest of the porch is…?” I ask.
“Precarious.”
There is the spot with the missing board, but it’s just one relatively thin board.
I rub the middle of my forehead. “We’ve had people coming and going all morning.”
What if someone had gotten hurt? Jesus, the liability alone makes the back of my neck tighten. But I would feel like shit if any of the people from this morning had gotten hurt. They have enough going on in their lives without adding a sprained ankle or a gash on their leg from rotten wood.
Patty shrugs, clearly unconcerned. “People know. And if they’ve never been here, they probably saw the note on the website.”
“The note? On the website?” I parrot stupidly, rubbing the back of my neck.
“When Wilson posted the note that you were holding meetings today, he added the note about the porch, as always.”
Well, that’s a good thing, I suppose. Wilson should know if that covers us legally.
I look side to side. This porch needs to be fixed. What if Astrid comes home some night and it’s especially dark? Or she’s a little tipsy? If she steps off the “secure zone” and gets hurt…
“Well, if you have things to drop off, you’ll have to come when Astrid is home. Or when I’m around is fine,” I tell Patty, shutting down the images of Astrid falling through the floor of her porch and breaking her leg.
Patty’s eyes narrow. “And when will you be around? You’re always in Portland.”
Right, Patty’s Team Miles. I tell her what I hope is the truth. “I’ll be here when Astrid is.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “Uh huh.” Then she sighs. “You’ll just have to get keys made for all of us if you’re going to be silly about this.”
“Astrid’s safety isn’t silly. And we’re not going to make keys for everyone.” I say it in the voice I use to address various boards of directors. It’s friendly, it’s we’re-here-for-the-same-purpose, but it’s also firm and I’m-calling-the-shots.
Patty tips her head, less intimidated than many I’ve sat around conference tables with. “You don’t trust us? Miles didn’t have a problem with the key outside.”
I find myself smiling. “Well, I just want to keep my wife safe. Astrid’s happiness and health are my first priority. I’m a little surprised Miles doesn’t feel the same way.”
Patty’s eyes widen slightly. “Well, I don’t know that that’s an assumption you can make.”
I lift a shoulder. “What else am I supposed to assume when he’s fine with anyone and everyone walking in and out of this house? A window on the side that’s so easy to open? A key just sitting under a statue right by the front door? I take very seriously that this house be fully secure.”
Her posture loses a little starch. “I can understand why you would feel that way. We all love and care for Astrid very much.”
I tip my head acknowledging that. “I believe you. But I promise you that no one feels that more strongly than I do.”
One of her brows arches. “That’s very good to hear.”
I also trust that Patty will be telling people I said it. I didn’t say it for Team Declan points. I mean it. Completely. I will be assured Astrid is safe here, even if everyone feels I’m overreacting in how I ensure that. But I’ll take the brownie points with the town if I get some in the process.
“I take it you brought something over?” I ask, indicating the bag she’s holding.
“Green tomatoes. She loves fried green tomatoes.”
Now my eyes narrow. “Astrid knows how to make fried green tomatoes?”
Patty’s chin lifts. “Yes, I taught her myself.”
“And are they good?”
“Wonderful, in fact. You should definitely ask her to make you some.”
“Oh, I can’t wait.” Because now I’m curious if Astrid will make me crappy fried tomatoes.
I’m putting my money on yes, definitely.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say. “I can give you my number. If you ever have anything to drop off for Astrid and we’re not here at the house, just text or call.
I’m happy to swing by wherever you are and get it from you. ”
“Or you can drop whatever it is at my house.” Wilson appears next to me, escorting Michelle out.
The women exchange greetings as Michelle moves past Patty and down the front steps.
“Astrid will never get any of my produce or baked goods if I bring them to your house,” Patty tells Wilson.
“I didn’t say she would,” Wilson says. “I just said you can drop them off at my house.”