Page 59 of Thick as Thieves

“I didn’t partner with anybody.”

“Who have you talked to about me?”

“No one except the bartender, Don, and the woman, Lois, I met there. She approached me, not the other way around.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. Well, no,” she said, correcting herself. “Lisa.”

“Right, right. Sister dear. I overheard her opinion of me. She advised you to keep away. But here you are.” He extended his arms from his sides in a grand gesture that encompassed the room and beyond. “Why didn’t you take your sister’s advice and have nothing else to do with me?”

Before she could speak, he held up a halting hand. “You know what? On second thought, I don’t care what your game is. You want your house leveled, get somebody else. I suggest a wrecking crew. Efficient. Cost effective.”

“I considered doing just that. But I don’t want the demolition to be noticed. I don’t want anybody to know what I’m doing until it’s done.”

He laughed shortly. “Now that’s odd. But, whatever. I’m out. Thanks for wasting my time. The hour spent on the walk-through. The—”

“You came to me for the walk-through, remember?”

“—estimates I worked up.”

“Which you haven’t submitted.”

“I was going to bring them over to you in the morning.”

“Was that when you were going to show me the drawings?”

“I hadn’t decided.”

“My decision isn’t a reflection of your ideas. They’re excellent. The finished product would’ve been beautiful.”

He shrugged off the compliment.

“You put a lot of thought and time into those drawings. I’ll compensate you for doing them. And, as we agreed, you’ll get one hundred dollars for working up the estimates on the basic repairs.”

“Keep your money,” he said angrily. “We’ll be even-steven if you tell me why you changed your mind.”

“I’ll answer as I have to all your personal questions. None of your business.”

His features turned even more fulminating. “Right. It isn’t. As of now.” He scraped back his chair and carried his empty plate to the sink. “Hate to be rude, but today’s been a bugger. I’m going to bed.”

She made no move to leave.

Acting indifferent, he said, “Turn out the lights before you go.”

“First, talk me through that night when you were arrested and my father disappeared.”

Ledge had gotten no farther than the doorway leading into the rest of the house when Arden’s words stopped him cold, with the exception of his heartbeat, which spiked.

He took a moment to school his features before turning around. She had remained exactly as she’d been, except that now her hands were on the table, clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. She seemed to have braced herself to hear whatever was coming, no matter how unsavory it might be.

He steeled himself and, without inflection, asked, “What do you want to know?”

“Were you selling marijuana that night?”

“No. I told you, I was framed.”

“By whom?”