tile floor. I’d prefer nice vinyl flooring—not wood—since we are at the beach. I really want to see a nice, inviting space with color and modern floors and furniture.”
“Of course. I’ll make sure that this room is painted and decorated to give it a beachy feel.”
“Yes, like what you did in your design. I want you to fix up the whole house like that.”
“We only have two weeks,” she gently reminded Kitty. “And I have to do something with the outside terrace because I already ordered the plants and the crew, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll leave the hot tub and anything else that you want me to keep. And for now, besides the living room, we’ll choose one other room to transform, exactly as you’d like it. But just one. Which would you like?”
She prayed Kitty didn’t choose the kitchen, because then she would have to refuse her. But if she’d said that upfront, then Kitty might have chosen it. Kitty seemed to have a perverse streak in her, and Lyndsay, while she felt compassion for her obvious unhappiness, had no desire to tap it.
“All right. Let’s go upstairs.” Kitty set her chin. She stood, walk-marched over to the curving staircase to the second floor and motioned Lyndsay to follow.
Lyndsay knew the floor plan well, having already worked here for four days. Honestly, what needed the most work was the guest bedroom suite, the rooms where Lyndsay would sleep, which were a wreck, with peeling paint and old, stained carpeting.
Of course Kitty did not choose the guest bedroom suite. Lyndsay followed her down the hallway toward the master bedroom.
Lyndsay paused. Curiosity made her stay quiet.
Kitty tried the handle, but the door didn’t open.
“It’s locked,” Lyndsay said. “I was asked not to enter.”
“Well, I want it updated. I hate our furniture, I hate our window treatments, I hate the paint color.” Kitty pulled out her key ring again, and flipped through the keys. Dramatically, she opened the door and stepped inside, waving Lyndsay after her. “Isn’t it ugly?” she asked Lyndsay.
A king-size bed. Two nondescript dressers—his and hers. Two windows with messy old blinds, drawn. That same white paint that was in every other room. Builders’ grade.
Wordlessly, Lyndsay entered the small hall that led to the door into the master bath. Also in the hallway were two walk-in closets.
The safe must be inside one of them. She would check that out later. Turning, she saw a small alcove built into the corner of the room. Here were two more original paintings. Watercolors, smaller than the oil paintings of Kitty downstairs. She peered closer. There was a woman in both paintings, but she didn’t look like Kitty. She sat on the beach in front of this cottage, frolicking with two golden retrievers.
“I want this entire master bedroom area updated,” Kitty was saying, “including new furniture and bedding. And of course I want the master bathroom remodeled by the time I return from my trip. The open sitting room at the top of the stairs, too. So in summary, I’d like the downstairs living room painted and both main floors, up and down, need to have flooring installed. Of course, that is in addition to the master bedroom and bathroom update.”
“Kitty...” Lyndsay warned. It was inconceivable that she could manage all that in two weeks, plus act as an undercover detective.
Defiant, Kitty moved to stand beside her. “I know you have our credit card on file. I know you have a generous limit and more than enough time to implement these small changes for me.”
I can’t do all the flooring, or the master bathroom tiling, Lyndsay was about to say. But Kitty was gazing at the two watercolor paintings with a strange look on her face.
Lyndsay stilled, watching her.
“It wouldn’t be a bad thing if these went missing,” Kitty spit.
“What do you mean?” Lyndsay asked, her heart beating faster.
Kitty turned and gave her a cryptic smile, then lowered her lashes. “I’m sure they’re insured.”
Whoa. The cop in her was straining on the leash, eager to interrogate Kitty.
“Who are they?” Lyndsay asked instead, casually. “The woman and the dogs, I mean.”
Kitty snorted. “The less said about that, the better.”
What did this mean? Lyndsay bit her cheek. Had anyone on the task force interviewed or considered Mrs. MacLaine? Lyndsay would bet not.
“Your husband is an art collector?” Lyndsay pressed. She leaned closer to the paintings. The signature was an illegible scribble. “Who’s the artist?”
Kitty laughed. “It’s not important. The important thing is that I’m trusting you with the key to this room. But as a reminder, only you are to enter inside. Absolutely no other people can.”
“No movers? Or tradespeople? I can’t change the furniture or paint the walls in that case.”
“Well, then you must be with them at all times, no exceptions. My husband prefers this door be locked. No one should be left in here alone.”
“Understood.” Lyndsay nodded. She was most excited about the knowledge of the two previously unknown watercolors, and about Kitty’s strange reaction to them. Lyndsay realized she was leaving a whole lot of questions on the table, but she didn’t want to make Kitty suspicious, and there were other avenues she could take to find answers. The investigator within her was chomping at the bit, in fact.
Still, with all this reno work to supervise, it was going to be a very busy two weeks. Good thing she liked to keep busy. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you,” Kitty said. “I’ll be excited to come home and see what beautiful things you’ve done for me.” She gave Lyndsay a heartfelt, happy smile.
And Lyndsay couldn’t argue with that. She liked to see people happy. Who didn’t?
She needed to get the information she’d learned about the paintings to the task force. She would discuss it with Pete during their meeting.
On the plus side, all this work gave her the perfect excuse to skip a few lunches at the Seaside with Andy and his crew.
“You’re a hard driver, Kitty. But thank you for trusting me with your home. You have a good trip, and I’ll have the big reveal ready when you return.”
* * *
KITTY’S RED SUV wasn’t gone from the driveway thirty minutes when the front doorbell rang. Putting down the laptop where she had been looking for anything related to the watercolor paintings—and coming up empty—Lyndsay reluctantly headed to her guest room, where she had a commanding view of the street.
Andy’s van was parked in her driveway. AJ sat in the front passenger seat. Moon in the rear. The engine was idling.
Sighing, Lyndsay headed downstairs and pulled open the door before Andy had a chance to ring the doorbell again.
He met her with a grin. “You’re still here. That’s
