Ladies' Night by Andrews, Kay (find a book to read TXT) 📗

appliances? I’m thinking at least five thousand,” Grace shot back. She’d walked out to the porch and was staring out at the overgrown yard. “The screens out here are all shot and you’ve got rotten framing, too.”

She turned around. “How about the air-conditioning? Does it work?”

“Window units,” he said, pointing to a rusting brown hulk that stuck out of the front living room window. “Couple smaller ones in the bedrooms. They do the job. Or they did, up until now.”

Grace put her hands on her hips. “What do you charge for rent? If you don’t mind my asking?”

“Four-fifty a month,” he said. “And we pay utilities.”

“Oh, Arthur,” she said with a knowing smile. “This house has such potential. And you’re only, what? A block from the bay? If we fixed this place up—I mean, really fixed it up, cleaned up the yard, got it landscaped, maybe put in a little central air unit…”

“No central air,” he growled. “Think I’m made of money?”

“It couldn’t cost that much,” Grace said. “How many square feet here?”

“A little under a thousand,” he said.

“If you’re paying for the electric, you’re spending way more money now with three old window units,” Grace said. “I bet if you put in a new efficient central unit, you’d save enough to pay for it after just a couple years. Plus, once I’ve got it fixed up and looking great, you’re gonna get more rent anyway, and definitely attract a better-quality tenant.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Arthur said. “You have any experience fixing up houses? Or handling investment properties, for that matter?”

“I’ve fixed up three old houses,” Grace said. “And my ex-husband and I had a little two-bedroom, two-bath in Bradenton that I did this very same thing with. That one, I gutted to the studs. By the time we sold it, a year ago, we were getting $1,200 a month. Unfurnished.”

“Ex-husband?”

“About to be,” Grace said casually. “We split a couple months ago. That’s why I’m living with my mom right now.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Arthur said.

“I’m not,” Grace said, lifting her chin. “So? What do you think?”

“Have to run it by my wife,” he said. “Five thousand. You’re talking about a lot of money.”

She decided to push her luck. “Five thousand, more or less. I haven’t even seen those bedrooms. And we don’t know what shape the floors are in.”

He chewed on that for a minute or two. “All right. Assuming my wife doesn’t hate the idea, you’ve got a deal.”

“Great!” Grace beamed. “What about the rattan furniture? It’s really good stuff, Arthur. I love it, but I don’t actually have a place I can use it right now. Once I get this house cleaned up, it’ll be perfect in the living room. Is there a place we can store it until then?”

He yanked his head in the direction of the back of the house. “There’s a garage out back. Guess I could lock it up out there for now.”

She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Gone out for a run, found a set of cool old furniture, and ended up with a new decorating gig and several months’ worth of potentially fabulous, totally original blog posts. This was a nonpaying gig, sure, but she couldn’t wait to dig in, turning this toxic-waste dump into a treasure.

“When can I get started?” she asked, trying not to sound too anxious.

“As soon as you like,” Arthur said. “I’ll get the worst of this crap hauled off tomorrow. Meet me over here then, and I’ll give you a key.”

“How will we work out paying for the materials?” Grace asked. “I’m, uh, kind of tight on funds while I wait for my divorce to play out.”

“I’ll set up a draw for you at the hardware store,” Arthur said. “Just keep the receipts. Oh, and there’s just one more thing. Part of the deal, you might say.”

“Yesss?” Grace felt her throat tighten. She knew it was too good to be true.

He walked toward the hallway. A moment later, he thrust the stinking, shivering bundle of fur into her arms. “You keep the dog.”

21

She didn’t dare tell her mother what she was up to. It was nearly 9:00 A.M. by the time she’d walked home with her bundle tucked under her arm. She thanked every holy force she could think of that it was Monday, and Rochelle had gone out do the week’s grocery shopping.

Grace dragged a washtub from the carport and filled it with water from the garden hose.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she cooed, keeping one hand on the dog’s back for reassurance. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up a little. This won’t hurt, and you’ll feel a lot better afterward.” She squeezed a little of her own shampoo into her hand and gently rubbed it into the dog’s fur.

The animal whimpered a little, but Grace rubbed and cooed and breathed through her mouth as a vile stream of brown water surged off the quivering animal.

When finally the water had turned clear, and she could see no more crust in the dog’s fur, Grace wrapped her in a beach towel. Upstairs in her bedroom, she set the beach towel on her bed and turned her blow-dryer to cool, running it back and forth over the little dog’s damp fur.

Even though she was now semiclean, the poor little thing still looked so pitiful, Grace could have wept.

“Okay, sweetie,” she said, ruffling the dog’s ears. “There’s a vet over on Anna Maria. I think we’ll just run over there to see if they’ll take a look at you.”

*   *   *

It was Grace’s first time in a vet’s office. The receptionist looked up at her with a blank expression.

“So … you don’t know anything about this dog?”

“No. Basically, she’d been abandoned, in a house. Locked in a bedroom, and I don’t know for how long. When I got her, she was kind of bloody. I think she’d tried to scratch her way out. I gave her a bath, but I think there’s probably something else wrong with her.