But it had felt good.
“You need something?” I asked.
“I was supposed to meet the new tenants for the two-bedroom next door but they bailed last minute.”
My brow furrowed. “Why?”
“They had some kind of family emergency. Changed their plans.”
“So it’s vacant another month.”
“Yeah, at least. I’ll get a new ad up when I get back to my laptop.”
I grunted again. A vacancy wasn’t ideal, especially since we were in the middle of another remodel.
Annika used to work part-time for our brother, Luke, at his custom auto shop, but I’d stolen her away to work full-time for me a few years ago. Now she was the face of our business. Dad and I bought the houses and fixed them up. She interfaced with renters, or buyers if it was one we’d decided to flip. My people skills weren’t exactly the best, so it worked out for everyone.
She also had like a million kids, so working from home suited her.
Okay, she had four. But still.
“This place looks…” She paused and glanced around. “I want to say it looks better but you’d know I’m lying. Stinks too.”
“A coat of Kilz on the wall should take care of the smell. And it has to get worse before it can get better.”
“Kind of like life sometimes.”
I put my safety goggles back on. “I wasn’t trying to be deep.”
“Maybe not, but it’s true.” She gestured toward the sledgehammer. “Be careful how many walls you take out. Some of them are probably important to the structural integrity of the building.”
“You think?”
She rolled her eyes. “On second thought, go nuts. Get some of that aggression out.”
I grunted again.
“I’ll see you later,” she said, already on her way out.
I mumbled a barely coherent goodbye. I liked my sister. We’d always gotten along. I just didn’t feel like talking.
Granted, I rarely felt like talking. Grabbing the sledgehammer, I got to work on the next section of cabinetry.
An hour later, the rest of the kitchen cabinets were in pieces and there was a lot less drywall. Part of me wondered if I should just rip it all out. We hadn’t planned on taking the kitchen down to the studs but it was probably past the point of repair.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I’d skipped lunch. I’d deal with the walls later. It was time to call it a day.
I left everything the way it was and went outside to lock up. A dumpster took up half the driveway and the outside of the house needed as much work as the inside. Fortunately, the roof was solid, but new paint and a hell of a lot of landscaping were in order.
I’d parked my truck on the street—a dark gray Ford F-150 that I’d bought a few years ago. Apparently it was a Haven thing; two of my brothers had the same truck, just in different colors.
The evening air was pleasantly cool and the sky was clear. It was June, but the heat of summer hadn’t hit yet. Which was a damn good thing. I needed to get my HVAC guy in there to service the AC unit soon, otherwise it was going to be a miserable summer.
I left the remodel, drove into town, and found a parking spot across the street from the Copper Kettle. Usually I just ran into the Quick Stop for a prepackaged sandwich when I was hungry but I was in the mood for a hot meal.
A squirrel ran across the road, making a guy in a red pickup truck slam on his brakes. The truck skidded to a halt, the front tire coming within inches of squishing the animal. It ran on, bushy tail bouncing along behind it, apparently oblivious to the fact that it was almost roadkill.
The squirrels around here thought they owned the place.
I tipped my chin to him and crossed to the diner.
The Copper Kettle smelled like comfort food and the clink of dishes mixed with the low hum of conversation. The hostess, Heidi, barely looked old enough to be in high school, let alone working at a diner. But what did I know. Everyone looked too young to me anymore.
“Do you want a table?” She glanced at the packed dining room. “It might be a few minutes. We’re pretty busy.”
“I’ll get something to go.”
“Do you know what you want or do you need to see a menu?”
“No, no, Heidi,” a familiar voice called from deeper inside the restaurant. “He’ll sit with me.”
A mild sense of foreboding struck me as my aunt Louise waved from her table.
Louise Haven had long gray hair she always wore in a bun and deep smile lines around her eyes. She’d married my dad’s oldest brother when they were both sixteen and they’d defied the odds by staying together for the last fifty-something years. At some point in the murky past, she’d adopted velour track suits as her signature look. I had no idea if she owned anything else or if her closet was simply a rainbow of zip-up hoodies and matching pants. Today’s was dark purple.