On the way back across the rocks to his place, Sean and Ian peppered Owen with questions about Abigail and what she was doing out here by herself, and why wasn’t she married—and why was she a detective?
“Sorry, guys,” Owen said. “I don’t know all that much about Abigail.”
A true statement, as far as it went. And as long as he was being honest with himself, he admitted he’d like to change that.
The boys ran up onto the deck and back into the house.
Owen lingered out in the cool night air. He did want to know his neighbor across the rocks better.
He had for a long time.
CHAPTER 10
Mattie Young jammed his shovel into a two-foot hole he’d dug and hit rock. He laid the shovel next to him and got down on his hands and knees, digging into the hole with one hand, but he couldn’t find the edges of whatever he’d just struck.
“It’s ledge,” he said.
Ellis Cooper peered into the hole. “That’s not ledge. That’s just a rock. Dig it up. The hole’s not deep enough.”
Mattie wanted to take the shovel to Ellis’s head, except Ellis had always treated him well. Mattie knew his nerves were frayed, and he hadn’t been sleeping well. Drinking too much, smoking too much. And Linc. The money. The tension of whether the kid would crumple under the pressure and tell someone about the blackmail.
I should have demanded the ten grand all at once.
For the Coopers, ten thousand dollars was a minuscule amount. Even Linc could manage to scare up that much without drawing too much attention to himself—if he tried. He just needed the right motivation.
For Mattie, ten thousand dollars was a fresh start.
A new life.
“We need at least another eight inches,” Ellis said, pulling on his doeskin work gloves, not that he’d be doing any of the work. “You’ll try, won’t you?”
Mattie nodded, rancid-smelling sweat pouring down his face and back, dampening his armpits. He could taste the booze and cigarettes from last night. He’d scared the hell out of Doyle’s sons, but what the hell was he supposed to do? Even half in the bag, he’d known he didn’t want Sean and Ian to see him. They’d tell their father—and Owen. Possibly Abigail, too. He didn’t need anyone’s scrutiny right now.
Let them think he was a ghost.
He’d only brought enough beer to keep himself from dehydrating after a long day digging and hauling and snipping for the Coopers. He knew his limits, never mind what anyone else said. He’d hoped the cigarettes would help with the mosquitoes. He didn’t like the smell of bug repellant.
Angling the blade of his shovel, he jabbed it into the hole and carved around the edges of what turned out to be a rock, not ledge. But it was a big damn rock. Mattie dropped the shovel again and dug both hands into the hole, trying to get his fingers around one end of the rock. He didn’t wear gloves. His hands were so callused that new nicks and scratches didn’t bother him.
Ellis leaned over him. “Use your shovel for leverage.”
Ignoring him, Mattie got his hands under an edge of the rock and squatted down, putting his legs into it as he pulled hard, grunting. That end of the rock came loose, but it was too big for him to just pry it up out of the hole. He sat back on his butt, catching his breath.
Ellis was still hovering. Mattie wiped his mouth with the back of his dirt-encrusted hand. “You can go do something else,” he said. “This is going to take a while.”
“That’s all right. I’ll stay here in case you need me. I don’t mind.”
Mattie almost burst out laughing. Ellis, help him? The guy liked to work in his gardens, but he only did jobs that amused him. Digging up rocks wasn’t one of them.
Getting back up onto his knees, Mattie grabbed his shovel and stabbed it onto the other end of the rock, dislodging it, too. Using both hands and shovel, he managed to get hold of the entire hunk of granite and heave it out of the hole and onto the pristine grass.
“That’s a good-looking rock.” Ellis rolled it over with his foot. “Clean it up. I might find a use for it.”
How ’bout I bash you over the head with it?
But Mattie coughed, nodding, then sat on the grass, his muscles jittery, his head pounding. Maybe he’d had one more beer than he should have last night.
“The hole’s deep enough now,” Ellis said. “We need to get that hydrangea into the ground as soon as possible. It’s late in the season for transplanting shrubs. I don’t want the roots to dry out in this sun.”
What would you do, boss man, if I barfed into your hydrangea hole?
“I’m on it,” Mattie said.
Ellis nodded, satisfied. “Don’t strain yourself.”