Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
It took no time at all for Lars to remove the next section of drywall in the second bedroom.
Nothing. Just more dust and cobwebs. But as for the third...
“There’s a hole down at the bottom of this one,” said Lars, bending to inspect the drywall. The hole was about the size of his hand and cunningly hidden behind a flap of wallpaper.
“Notice how the carpet is darker?” I asked, pointing. “There used to be a set of drawers here. No one would have even known the hidey-hole was there.”
He cut into the drywall once again, revealing the house’s insides.
“Bingo,” muttered Lars.
“What is it?”
He brushed off the front of the magazine. “Porn.”
Sure enough, a blonde hippie wearing a sheer floral dress contemplated her toes on the cover. Bet she had natural bush and everything. And good for her.
“Playboy. April 1972.” I inspected the thing. “Oh, good God. Do you know what that must be? My father’s teenage masturbation material!”
He bit back a smile. “Probably.”
“Gross!”
“At least the pages aren’t stiff.”
“That’s not funny,” I said, tossing the magazine onto the ground. “I need to go bathe in bleach.”
He returned to the wall. “The drywall is well-attached to the studs. Not much room to slip anything through.”
“Studs are the pieces of wood making up the frame of the house?”
“That’s right.”
“Even if you could get your arm in the hole, I don’t see how you could get a piece of paper past the first stud, across the space between, then past the second stud to place it where we found it.”
“No.” He scratched at his short beard. Or maybe it was long stubble. “I’m out of ideas. How about you?”
I shrugged and slipped the folded-up certificate out of the pocket in my black cotton dress. Because in a right and good world, dresses should have pockets. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Why don’t I get back to work?”
“You’re really going to stay?”
His turn to shrug. Then he picked up his now-cold coffee and downed half of it.
I smiled. “Okay. I’ll leave you to it.”
* * *
While the sawing and hammering commenced in the bedroom, I got busy with my own work. First I responded to comments on today’s posts. Defused an angry customer with a twenty-dollar gift card. Then I started working on future promotions. Such was the joy of being a social media manager. I got to work from home the bulk of the time. But I had to be friendly, funny, creative, a problem solver, and available just about around the clock. My main clients were an organic and recycled-clothing company, a fleet of coffee trucks, and an online menstruation products store. I loved my job.
By the time I took a lunch break several hours later, I was ready to return to solving this whole mystery-divorce-certificate thing. I was also ready to eat. “You hungry?”
Lars gazed up at me. “Starving.”
There was a certain satisfaction in seeing a man on his knees. Too bad it was only renovations-related. But I digress. “BBQ?”
“Let’s do it.”
Thanks to the magic of delivery, we were soon sitting on the front porch with our food in hand. It was a typical pleasant summer’s day. Blue sky, birds, the usual. The sun was out, which meant you could see Mt. Rainier. Always a good thing. While Seattle was known for its rain, we do get some good weather. And all of the wet meant the grass and trees were a shade of green I’d never seen anywhere else. The plot of land the cottage sat on was about the size of a postage stamp, but there was room for a small garden in the front and back. I’d killed more than my fair share of houseplants. Perhaps this was my chance to develop a green thumb.
“Thought of a few questions,” Lars said, piling up his fork with coleslaw. “Who’s visited since you moved in?”
“Didn’t we already establish that there was no way someone could have hidden the certificate without the drywall being removed?”
“Humor me.”
“Okay.” I took a sip of water. “It’s not like I’ve been throwing parties or anything. The place isn’t ready for that yet. My friend Cleo has been over a few times.”
He gazed out at the quiet street for a minute. “Don’t think I ever met her.”
“No, I don’t think you did either. And leaving that in the wall isn’t something she would do. It’s not even like I would have mentioned you to her.”
“Harsh.”
“You were the best friend. Not the boyfriend.”
“Women only talk about relationships?”
I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
“What?” he asked.
“That question was just so stupid I honestly don’t know how to answer it.”
He gave me a dour look.
“Women talk about a lot of things, Lars. I just didn’t particularly talk about you.”
“All right,” he said. “Who else?”
“Just my family.”
“Do they know about me?”
“Maybe I mentioned you in passing,” I said. “But certainly not to the degree that they’d feel the need to pull a stunt like this.”