Girl From the Tree House, стр. 54
I wish I had more time to come up with a cunning plan, but before I even close the driver’s door behind me, he appears from the back of his house. At the sight of me, he takes off his hat and wipes his arm across his forehead. He wears nothing but a pair of work boots, jeans, and a black singlet.
His skin stretches over some impressive looking muscles glistening with sweat. Popeye the Sailor comes to mind and I’m already making a mental note to bring him a can of spinach. He’s not the George Clooney type. He’s too rough around the edges and bulky rather than athletic. The new gash on his head from the accident joined several other scars on his face and his upper body. One thing is sure, he never used a stand-in when he got into fights.
Scottie holds an ax in his hand, which he drops at the sight of us. I guess we surprised him. We are not the kind of neighbors who drive by to have a little chat about the weather or something. We are odd. Everyone says so. But so is he. Perhaps we are like two peas in a pot of chilly beans? Who knows?
I’m surprised too, though for other reasons. I’ll have to talk to Sky. She has to explain why I have butterflies in my tummy and why he can’t be my boyfriend. Because, holy smoke, he’s a fine-looking specimen, and he is a nice guy. So says Elise, and the Tribe agrees.
“Hi, this is a surprise.” He doesn’t let on whether it’s a good or a bad surprise.
I nod toward the ax. “Are you an escaped ax murderer or have you been chopping wood? Is this a bad time?”
“It’s not the right time for ax murderers. They only come out at night.” He grins from ear to ear. “Just kidding. No, your timing is perfect. It’s time for me to have a break.”
I put my hands into the pockets of my jacket and walk up to him.
“You’ve got a nice place here.”
He squints at me and dips his head as if he’s checking out a scratch in my paintwork. I know I’m lousy at small talk. But does he have to be so obvious?
“What can I do for you?”
He comes straight to the point. No pussyfooting around. I have no idea how to ease into our story, so I’m blurting it out. It comes shooting out of my mouth like a squall of vomit.
“I think we are in trouble and need help.”
“Please come in.” His face turns immediately from teasing to concerned. He motions to his hut and holds the door open for me. Just like the perfect gentleman. I step into his hut and I’m surprised.
By the look from the outside, I expected some sawn-off tree trunks masquerading as a table and chairs. Instead, his hut has, as far as I can see, two rooms. The large living space has a wood-burning oven in the right corner at the back of the room, a large leather couch and a chair and a small coffee table in front of a bookshelf overflowing with books.
He reads! I glance over the titles. History, philosophy, and Chekhov, to name a few. Not that I know those books. I’m a movie person and my favorite is Blue Lagoon. Just saying, reading is not my thing. I’ve judged him as an ignorant hunter and missed the mark. The corner with the books and the couch looks mighty inviting. He even has a bunch of wildflowers arranged in a large pickle glass.
A wooden plank, with shelves underneath filled with pots, pans, and crockery and a large propane camping cooker on top, is his kitchen. A small table and two chairs complete this part of the room. The basic look of his pantry tells me he’s not competing with at Master Chef anytime soon. We must invite him to one of Ama’s famous dishes.
I take a seat at the table and wonder where to start.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.”
“Again?” He raises his eyebrows.
I laugh but I have to admit it sounds mighty nervous.
“It’s hard to know where to start. We came here because someone in a black hatchback followed us from Port Somers right up to our turnoff. We panicked.”
“Did you see who was in the car?”
“No, it had tinted windows.”
“Why would anyone follow you?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. A few nights ago someone came to our cottage and looked through the window. The person ran away when we opened the door and set Prince after him. Whoever it was, the thug hurt Prince. He’s still limping a little on his left hind leg.”
Scottie strokes Prince who’d stretches out next to his chair.
“Good boy.” Then he turns back to me. “Do you have any idea what the person could have been looking for? I mean, neither your hut nor mine shout we’ve got treasures. Couldn’t it be someone who got lost and ended up at the wrong house?”
“And run away when I call out?” I shake my head. “All I can think of is the deed of the house, but then, hey, it’s not prime real estate, is it? It can’t be worth more than a hundred thousand dollars.”
“No, you are right, that makes little sense. Anything else you can think of?”
“We were on our way home from our lawyer, you know the one who’s dealing with the title for Wright’s Homestead. He told us that our marriage wasn’t valid. The man we thought was our husband was married to the woman he introduced as his sister. It’s all crazy.”
“It sounds like it. How come you suspected nothing?”
“Good question. There