“Why?”
“Did you find anything yet that will help the Fesslers?”
He leaned back in the chair so Right Ned could glance over at me. “No.”
“Neither did I. But there’s an untapped database upstairs scrubbing my kitchen floor. He said he’d answer anything I asked.”
“You’re going to ask him who’s out to crush our little desert community?”
“In a roundabout way, yes.”
“He’s not on our side, Tilly.”
“I don’t need him to be on our side. I just need him to talk.” I climbed the stairs, pulled the door open, and almost yelped.
Abraham was right there, leaning on the wall across from the door, arms folded over his chest.
“Evening,” he said, that quick gaze of his soaking in every detail of the shadows behind me.
“Hey.” I stepped out and latched the door shut as quick as I could. “Are you done with the cleanup?”
“For a while now.”
“Well, then. I’ll see to getting you those sheets.”
“What’s in the basement?”
“Storage. Dust. You know.” I strode down the hall and waved my hand over my shoulder. “Basement things.”
“A locked door can’t keep me out.”
“What are you going to do—break it down?”
“I’m assuming you’d shoot me if I did.”
“You are an intelligent man, Mr. House Gray.”
“Abraham.”
“Let’s go see about those sheets.”
He followed me through the living room and into the opposite hallway, past Neds’ room to his room at the end.
The door was open.
Everything in the room was cleaned, dusted, and rearranged.
“So I see you changed the sheets. And the room,” I said.
“I got bored.”
“You prefer the bed on the opposite wall?”
“I prefer the bookshelf in the lower left corner of the room, and the ceiling fan not to be hanging over my head while I sleep.”
“OCD?”
“Feng shui.”
