since I delivered the eviction notice. Why? Is there a problem?”
“Not a problem,” she said through clenched teeth. “Lots of problems. If I made a list, I’d get writer’s cramp. Or carpal tunnel. Or both.”
“Gee, Eden, I’m sorry to hear that, but—”
“I’m coming back over here in the morning, and I’m bringing my camera. I’d like you to be here when I document this...” She looked around and ground her molars together. “This mess.”
“I, ah...”
His phone hit the desk with a thunk and Eden heard him riffling papers. “What time did you have in mind?”
“Seven.” At that hour, he couldn’t use the old “other meeting” excuse. “That’ll give us time to evaluate things without taking too big a bite out of the rest of your day.” And speaking of eating, Joe didn’t know it yet, but he was going to explain how he’d allowed this to happen—and why he hadn’t notified her about it earlier—over coffee and eggs at Breakfast King.
“Oh, and, Joe? Bring your camera, too.”
“Okay, but why?”
“We’re compiling photographic evidence for a possible lawsuit, that’s why, and two cameras are better than one.”
She listened patiently as Joe explained how unlikely it was that they could find the Hansons, let alone get them to stay in one place long enough to file suit.
“Besides,” he said, “you know the old adage, ‘can’t squeeze blood from a—’”
“I thought you might say something like that.”
“Anyone who’d all but destroy the place they called home can’t be expected to do the right thing and reimburse me for the damage done,” Eden said.
With the wisdom of Gramps and Shamus ringing in her ears, Eden said, “See you tomorrow, seven sharp. And don’t forget the camera. I’ve had too many pictures go missing to trust my cell phone.”
“See you in the morning, then,” he said, hanging up.
She’d paid Joe a handsome monthly fee to oversee Pinewoods, and he’d let her down, big-time. Admittedly, that was partly her fault. If she hadn’t been so concerned that spur-of-the-moment inspections might hurt his feelings, she might have nipped things in the bud before they became problems. Starting tomorrow, she’d lead with her head instead of her heart.
“Better watch it, Quinn,” she said, locking the front door behind her, “because this exercising-your-rights stuff feels good enough to be habit-forming!”
JOE SLOUCHED AGAINST the tufted red Naugahyde booth at Breakfast King, scrolling through the pictures Eden had taken at Pinewood. “I’ll bet this happened when they dragged the stove out the door,” he said, pointing at an image that showed a deep gouge in the kitchen’s door frame. His dark brows furrowed as he studied photos of curtain rods hanging from single screws and cabinet shelves that slanted at awkward angles. He turned off the camera and slid it to her side of the caramel Formica tabletop.
“Saying I’m sorry doesn’t begin to cut it,” he said. “I feel awful that the Hansons stuck you with that mess.”
Eden folded her napkin back and forth, back and forth, and fanned herself with the resulting paper accordion. “I’m sure you’ve faced situations like this before. Any idea what we’re looking at in repair costs?”
Joe shook his head as the waitress delivered their coffee.
“Thousands,” he said when the woman walked away. “Easily.”
Eden waited for him to empty two milks and three sugar packets into his mug before continuing. “So how does this work? Will you hire a contractor?”
He nearly dropped his spoon. “Me? Whoa. You expect me to foot the whole bill?”
Eden smoothed out her paper accordion. “In retrospect, I should have paid more attention to the Hansons. It’s my property, after all.” She met his eyes. “But as we discussed when I hired you, the nature of my job makes it difficult, at best, to get away. You told me not to give that another thought, because absentee landlords make up the bulk of your client list, and that it was your job to do periodic spot checks, to make sure tenants are living up to the conditions outlined by the lease. And that if they didn’t, we’d come to an agreement about repairs, in order to avoid arbitration.” She paused long enough for her words to sink in. “Remember?”
“Of course I remember.” Nodding, Joe stared into his mug. “I spent most of the night on the computer, trying to hunt down the Hansons.” He looked up. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have a bit of luck.”
She drew an invisible figure eight on the tabletop. “In other words, since you can’t find them, we can’t file a lawsuit.”
He winced slightly at the word. “Oh, if I kept looking, I could find them. Eventually. I used to be FBI, remember. But what’s the point?”
If he quoted the old “can’t squeeze blood from a turnip” cliché again, Eden didn’t know what she’d do. She pointed at her purse beside her on the seat. “I brought our contract, just in case we needed to refer to it.”
Smiling slightly, he nodded again. “Why am I not surprised.” Joe picked up his mug, put it right back down again. “Okay. I admit it. Somehow, we completely overlooked your property. I could make excuses, like it’s on the opposite side of town, or my regular guy quit and there wasn’t anyone in the office capable of doing the job. I’m embarrassed to admit that we screwed up big-time, but—”
His phone rang, and one glance at the screen was enough to cut his sentence short.
“Sorry, it’s my kid’s school. I have to take this.” He stood. “When the waitress gets here with our food, ask her to bring me some tomato juice, will ya?”
Eden went back to pleating the napkin. Her landlord wanted an answer. More accurately, he wanted to sell Latimer House, the sooner the better. A lot depended on whether or not Joe would do the right thing. She felt like a passenger in a leaky dinghy, sinking slowly, while a big storm loomed on the horizon.
“You’re up and at ’em early...”
Eden jumped, and then looked up into Nate’s smiling blue eyes. “I could say the same thing.”
“Had some early-morning appointments. Thought I’d grab a cup of coffee before heading back to the Double M.” He pointed over her left shoulder. “I’ve been sitting right over there.”
She glanced at the red counter stools behind her. He’d been near enough to hear everything she and Joe had discussed.
He slid into Joe’s seat. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me back there, shuffling the pages of yesterday’s Denver Post. Bet I read the same article four times, trying to tune out what you guys were saying.”
