away.
"Go home," I said.
He shook his head. "I'm not leaving. Wouldn't get any sleep knowing you're here alone."
I decided right then that there's a time to stand your ground, and a
time to give in and accept help. And I needed help. I ran down the game plan for McCall over a cup of coffee, then he attacked the
dining room, and I took on the master bedroom.
My approach to this bedroom would differ from Ida Featherstone's, where my goal had been to empty the room. But after looking at some of the clothes overflowing from Aunt Millie's closet and
piled all around the room, it was obvious that three-quarters of them
had to go. I didn't see Aunt Millie fitting into her size tens anytime
soon.
I went through the mindless chore of packing all clothes marked
size fourteen and under into storage boxes, my thoughts on Wayne
McCall. Working with him might not be the smartest move. He could
be the killer for all I knew-a skillful liar with a hidden agenda.
Get real, I told myself. You're delirious from lack of sleep. You want
a reason to keep your distance from the man. No self-respecting murderer would put up with this job, no matter what his agenda. That's if
I seriously thought of McCall as a suspect, which I didn't.
I wouldn't let myself think about the real reason being close to
McCall bothered me, so I turned off my inner critic and concentrated
on moving faster. Still, it took me nearly two hours to get through
Millie's clothes. By 3:00 A.M., all sixteens, eighteens, and Triple X's
were on the closet rod, the hallway lined with boxes stacked three
high.
I blasted through Millie's bathroom and tossed everything that
looked grungy. Didn't leave much, but the room looked two hundred
percent better. If Millie freaked out, I'd take her on a Wal-Mart spree
to replace the necessities.
I splashed cold water on my face to revive myself, then pasted on
a businesslike facade and went to check on McCall. He had packed
as many boxes as I had-his filled with excess dishes and Aunt Millie's endless bric-a-brac. He stood in the now-pristine dining room,
closing up his last box.
"What's next, boss?"
"These boxes need to go," I said. "There's no other way. You have
your pickup here?"
He did. We loaded up his truck and the Durango and headed for
Millie's storage units. I figured we could make the round trip in an
hour, before starting on the upstairs.
The streets were deserted-a good thing, since my eyelids kept trying to slam shut. We made it to Simply Storage in First Colony without mishap. No other crazies were accessing their unit at this ungodly
hour, so we had the place to ourselves.
Lucky for us, Millie had rented side-by-side spaces we could access by driving right up to them. Each roll-up door was illuminated
by a small light fixture. Weak beams shone on the driveway, and
McCall parked his truck so his headlights would shine on our work
area.
Under ordinary circumstances, I would have labeled each box
with the precise contents, but to save time I'd made do with D for
dishes and C for clothes.
Millie's units were empty, and we unloaded and stacked boxes in
comfortable silence. The first unit was filling quickly, and I wondered if we'd have enough space for all the junk we'd eventually
bring.
I yawned and decided to worry about that another day. For now,
just get this stuff inside. I picked up two boxes marked D and was
heading into the unit. But I lost my footing when a wave of dizziness
passed over me.
McCall was right there to take my elbow and keep me from keeling over. He grabbed the boxes. "I got 'em. You sit."
I backed up to a stack and sat. I closed my eyes and leaned against
the cartons behind me.
"What is it?" McCall said. "You hot, too cold, thirsty? What can I
do?"
"Nothing. I'm just tired." I opened my eyes and looked at him.
He wore an expression that reminded me of the one I saw sometimes in the mirror. The one that said you're pushing too hard-take
a break.
"Don't
"Go home," I said.
He shook his head. "I'm not leaving. Wouldn't get any sleep knowing you're here alone."
I decided right then that there's a time to stand your ground, and a
time to give in and accept help. And I needed help. I ran down the game plan for McCall over a cup of coffee, then he attacked the
dining room, and I took on the master bedroom.
My approach to this bedroom would differ from Ida Featherstone's, where my goal had been to empty the room. But after looking at some of the clothes overflowing from Aunt Millie's closet and
piled all around the room, it was obvious that three-quarters of them
had to go. I didn't see Aunt Millie fitting into her size tens anytime
soon.
I went through the mindless chore of packing all clothes marked
size fourteen and under into storage boxes, my thoughts on Wayne
McCall. Working with him might not be the smartest move. He could
be the killer for all I knew-a skillful liar with a hidden agenda.
Get real, I told myself. You're delirious from lack of sleep. You want
a reason to keep your distance from the man. No self-respecting murderer would put up with this job, no matter what his agenda. That's if
I seriously thought of McCall as a suspect, which I didn't.
I wouldn't let myself think about the real reason being close to
McCall bothered me, so I turned off my inner critic and concentrated
on moving faster. Still, it took me nearly two hours to get through
Millie's clothes. By 3:00 A.M., all sixteens, eighteens, and Triple X's
were on the closet rod, the hallway lined with boxes stacked three
high.
I blasted through Millie's bathroom and tossed everything that
looked grungy. Didn't leave much, but the room looked two hundred
percent better. If Millie freaked out, I'd take her on a Wal-Mart spree
to replace the necessities.
I splashed cold water on my face to revive myself, then pasted on
a businesslike facade and went to check on McCall. He had packed
as many boxes as I had-his filled with excess dishes and Aunt Millie's endless bric-a-brac. He stood in the now-pristine dining room,
closing up his last box.
"What's next, boss?"
"These boxes need to go," I said. "There's no other way. You have
your pickup here?"
He did. We loaded up his truck and the Durango and headed for
Millie's storage units. I figured we could make the round trip in an
hour, before starting on the upstairs.
The streets were deserted-a good thing, since my eyelids kept trying to slam shut. We made it to Simply Storage in First Colony without mishap. No other crazies were accessing their unit at this ungodly
hour, so we had the place to ourselves.
Lucky for us, Millie had rented side-by-side spaces we could access by driving right up to them. Each roll-up door was illuminated
by a small light fixture. Weak beams shone on the driveway, and
McCall parked his truck so his headlights would shine on our work
area.
Under ordinary circumstances, I would have labeled each box
with the precise contents, but to save time I'd made do with D for
dishes and C for clothes.
Millie's units were empty, and we unloaded and stacked boxes in
comfortable silence. The first unit was filling quickly, and I wondered if we'd have enough space for all the junk we'd eventually
bring.
I yawned and decided to worry about that another day. For now,
just get this stuff inside. I picked up two boxes marked D and was
heading into the unit. But I lost my footing when a wave of dizziness
passed over me.
McCall was right there to take my elbow and keep me from keeling over. He grabbed the boxes. "I got 'em. You sit."
I backed up to a stack and sat. I closed my eyes and leaned against
the cartons behind me.
"What is it?" McCall said. "You hot, too cold, thirsty? What can I
do?"
"Nothing. I'm just tired." I opened my eyes and looked at him.
He wore an expression that reminded me of the one I saw sometimes in the mirror. The one that said you're pushing too hard-take
a break.
"Don't
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