Chronicles Of The Keeper - Summon The Keeper Part 22

"Would you believe that he actually had the nerve to accuse my Baby of doing his business in your driveway?" Her voice dropped into caressing tones. "As if he didn't have his own little toilet area in his own little yard. He didn't repeat those vile and completely unfounded accusations to you, did he, dear?"

It took Claire a moment to straighten out the p.r.o.nouns. "He did mention..."

"And you didn't believe him, did you, dear? I'm afraid to say that he told a lot of, well, lies, there's no use sugar coating it. I don't know what else he told you, Caroline..."

Claire opened her mouth to protest that her name was not actually Caroline but couldn't manage to break into the flow of accusation.

"... but you mustn't believe any of it." A plump hand pressed against a polyester-covered, matronly bosom. "Now, me, I'm not like some people in this neighborhood, I mind my own business, but that Augustus Smythe..." Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone Claire had to strain to hear. "He not only lied, but he kept secrets. I wouldn't be surprised if he had unnatural habits."

Neither would Claire, but she was beginning to feel more sympathetic. No wonder Baby twitched.

"I'd love to stay and chat longer, dear, but it's time for Baby's vitamin. He's not a puppy any more, are you, sweetums? He's a lot older than he looks, you know."

"How old is he, Mrs. Abrams?"

"To be perfectly honest, Christina, and I a.s.sure you I am always perfectly honest, I don't actually know. The little sugar cube showed up on my doorstep one day, he knew I'd take him in, you see, dogs always know, and we've been together ever since. Mummy couldn't do without her Baby. Ta, ta for now!" She yanked the dog around and, with a cheery wave and a bark that promised further confrontation, they disappeared inside the house.

Stepping to the edge of the driveway, Claire peered toward the back of the property. Too far away to make a positive identification, a large brown pile had been deposited, nicely centered in the lane.

"Unfounded accusations," Claire muttered, carefully climbing the stairs and going back inside.

Stretched out in a patch of sunshine on the counter, Austin yawned. "Where have you been?"

"Oui meeting the obligatory irritating neighbor. How do you tell if a pile of dog s.h.i.t came out of a Doberman?"

The cat looked disgusted. "How do I tell? I don't."

"All right, how would I tell?"

"Check it for fingers. Why are we talking about this?"

"I'm beginning to think h.e.l.l wasn't the only thing Augustus Smythe wanted to get away from."

"Are you staying in the official residence, then?" Dean asked as Claire came down the stairs with her belongings. Sliding his hammer into the loop on his carpenter's ap.r.o.n, he leaped down off the ladder and held out his hands. "Can I help?"

"Yes." Pride not only went before a fall, it also went before dropping everything she owned. She shoved her suitcase at him, caught her backpack as it slid off her shoulder, and barely managed to hang onto the armload of clothes that she hadn't bothered to repack. "What were you doing?"

"Attaching that bit of molding over the door. It'd gone some squish. Out of plumb," he added as her brows dipped down.

"I see." Glancing at the repair, Claire wondered what, as his employer, she was supposed to say. Her mother wanted her to be nice to him... "Good work. You matched the ends up evenly."

"Thank you." He beamed as he held up the folding section of the counter and waited for her to go through.

She didn't think he was being sarcastic. Stopping by the desk, she lowered her backpack to the center of the ancient blotter. "Since this appears to be the only available desk, I guess I'm leaving my computer out here. I can use it for hotel business."

"Laptop?" Dean wondered, studying the dimensions of the pack curiously.

"No." Once everything else had been dumped in the sitting room, she returned to the desk. Opening the backpack, she pulled out a fourteen-inch monitor and stand, a vertically stacked CPU with two disk drives and a CD-Rom, and a pair of speakers.

"You've got to love the cla.s.sics," Austin snickered, watching Dean's jaw drop. "Now pull out the hat stand and the rubber plant."

"Hat stand and rubber plant?" Dean repeated.

"Ignore him," Claire instructed, untangling the cables. "I'm hardly going to put a rubber plant in here with all these electronics."

Dean removed his gla.s.ses, cleaned them on the hem of his T-shirt, and put them back on just as Claire unpacked a laser printer. "This is incredible. Absolutely incredible."

She shrugged, rummaging around for the surge suppressor. "Not really, it only prints in black and white."

"Boss?"

Squinting a little in the glare from the monitor, Claire leaned left and peered out into the lobby. Although all available lights were on, her computer screen was still the brightest source of illumination in the entire entryway. "What is it. Dean?"

"I thought I'd head downstairs and I just wondered if there was anything I could get you before I went."

"Nothing, thank you. I'm fine."

"You could get me a rack of lamb, but we all know who'd object to that," Austin muttered without lifting his head from the countertop.

When Dean showed no sign of actually heading anywhere, Claire sighed and saved her file. "Was there something else?"

Fingers tucked second-knuckle-deep into the front pockets of his jeans, he shrugged, the gesture more hopeful than dismissive. "I was just wondering what you were doing."

"I'm treating this site like any other I've been summoned to seal." She was not going to surrender her life to a run-down hotel; no way, no how, no vacancy. "I'm writing down everything I know, and I'm prioritizing everything I have to do."

Head c.o.c.ked speculatively to one side. Dean grinned. "I wouldn't have thought you were the 'lists' type."

"Oh?" Both eyebrows rose. "What type did you think I was."

"Oh, I guess the 'dive right in and get started' type."

Either he hadn't heard her tone, or he'd ignored it. Claire took another look at his open, candid, square-jawed and bright-eyed expression. Or he hadn't understood it. "Well, you're wrong." His smile dimmed, his shoulders sagged slightly, and his head dipped a fraction, nothing overt, nothing designed to inflict guilt, just an honest disappointment. She felt like such a b.i.t.c.h, her reaction completely out of proportion to his. "But how would you know differently?" Impossible not to try and make amends. "I do have something for you to do tomorrow, though."

"Sure." His head lifted, erasing the fractional droop. "What?"

"The G needs replacing on that sign out front."

"No problem." Smile reilluminated, he glanced down at his watch. "I'd better get going, then; it's almost time for the game on TSN."

"If he had a tail, he'd be wagging it," Austin observed dryly as Dean's work boots could be heard descending the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs. "I think he likes you."

Claire found herself typing to the rhythm of heels on wood and forced herself to stop. "I'm his new boss. He just wants to make a good impression."

"And has he?"

"How can you make such an innocent question into innuendo?"

The cat looked interested. "I don't know. How?"