Jackson
Perched at the top of an extra-tall stepladder ordered specially for the job, Jackson was surprised at how excited he felt about ripping down a ceiling. He put his cordless drill into the first screw hole and undid the fixings. Awake early and keen to get a swift start, he’d left Niamh undisturbed in her own room to sleep in.
By the time he’d freed the first three planks, Jackson was able to take a look inside the cavity above the false ceiling with the light from his phone.
“Any bodies?” came a voice from down below.
“You’re obsessed.” He pulled his head and shoulders back through the gap. Looking down, Leah appeared even smaller from his vantage point on top of the ladder. “There’s none I can see. Although it would be a dumb place to hide a corpse. Fuckloads of upper-body strength required.”
“Is the molding intact?”
He poked his head through the hole again and felt a small thrill. “As far as I can tell it is.” His voice was muffled inside the cavity. “There’s a little damage but not too much. And it’s quite ornate.” He ducked down once more. “I’m guessing someone putthe false ceiling up to make it feel warmer. Or maybe because it suited the fashion at the time.” Jackson undid another two screws.
“Hmm.” He felt Leah’s gaze on him, but when he turned to carry the next board down, she’d gone again. Hardly surprising, since the weekend hadn’t gotten off to the best start. He only had himself to blame for that.
The exertion was welcome after a long week of desk work. It was mentally restful, enjoyably physical, and Jackson knew he’d feel it in his muscles later. As he worked, he found himself wishing he could take on other renovations like this with Hale Evolution, but his dad vetoed the suggestion every time he brought it up.
Lowering another board five minutes later, Jackson found Leah waiting at the base of the stepladder, arms outstretched. She’d changed into a ratty pair of ripped jeans and a green tank top. Her hair was tied into an efficient ponytail and she wore gardening gloves on her hands.
“A pot for the screws.” She waggled an empty carton. It looked a little like a white flag.
He reached down to take it, spat out the ones between his lips, and gathered up the rest from the top of the ladder. “Thanks.”
“Where are you planning to stack the boards?”
“Outside the back door for now. Then I’ll cart them over to the clearing behind the beech tree later.”
“Bonfire?” The single word was hopeful.
Jackson nodded. He was already looking forward to it.
“With marshmallows?” There was a breathless plea in Leah’s voice.
“Don’t see why not.”
Her smile felt like a searchlight on his soul. It sent a surge of warmth through Jackson’s veins. Leah’s happiness was the caffeine for his system on this strangely satisfying Sunday morning—who knew?
Fortunately, she moved first because suddenly he couldn’t look away. Lifting one of the boards he’d laid on the floor in her gloved hands, she headed for the door. Once she’d maneuvered it outside, Leah returned for another and Jackson forced his attention back to the ceiling. They worked to the backing track of his cordless drill for the next half hour. Their labored breath, the slap of wood on floorboards, and an occasional question were the only additional sounds in the room.
Leah’s grit impressed him. She was small and the boards were unwieldy, but she tackled the job with relentless enthusiasm, unfazed by the dust and dirt of unknown years. Her face and arms began to glisten as she sweated, color highlighting her cheekbones. And a damp V darkened the scooped neck of her top.
Jackson hadn’t been aware of Leah’s body before now. The bulky sweatshirts, baggy knitted sweaters, and multiple layers had successfully hidden what he now saw was a bombshell package of killer curves. When she bent forward, he found himself fighting not to gawp down the valley between her breasts. Facing away from him to pick up another board, the soft, rounded cheeks of her denim-covered ass were just as distracting, and he had to drag his focus back to the job at hand, tightening his grip on the drill.
As Jackson undid the last screw on the next board and pulled it away from the ceiling, something slid along the length of the wood. It fell to the floor, bouncing off Leah on the way down; she crouched to pick it up.
“Looks like you were wrong about the bodies.” Leah lifted her hands. Cupped in her palms was the dried corpse of a mouse, decades old and completely desiccated. A rigid, miniature skeleton with ears and a tail, held together with skin like the yellowed paper from an antique book. Grotesque but weirdly fascinating. Jackson climbed down the ladder for a closer look.
“He fell on my head.” She examined the tiny body in her hands with interest. Most of the people Jackson knew would have been repulsed, but of course the girl who had rejected the job of “serial killer” due to a lack of upper-body strength was never going to be like most people.
His phone rang in his pocket and, automatically, he pulled it out and answered, while his attention was still fixated on the mouse-from-the-past. “Yes?”
Leah lay the little corpse on one of the windowsills. He hoped she’d remember to move it before Niamh woke up. Something told him Niamh wasn’t going to be quite as interested in a mummified mouse.
“Have you called the granite suppliers again or shall I get Florian on it?”
Damn.One sentence and Jackson’s mood fell off a cliff.
“It’s Sunday, Dad.”
