The following Wednesday morning, Sam returned to his house after working around the clock. He found Susan in the living room with a man he didn’t know. Smiling her pleasure when he appeared at the door, she quickly went to him and slid an arm around his waist.
“I was wondering when you’d be back.”
“What’s happening?” he asked casually, but there was a wariness in his eyes, which never once left the stranger.
“Come.” She took his hand and led him into the room. “This is Dennis Becker. He’s been helping me. We’ve come up with some ideas that you’ll love. Dennis, Sam Craig.”
The two men shook hands, Sam far more cautiously than Dennis, who burst out with, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam. I’ve worked with Susan, and her father before her, but this job is something quite different. You have a delightful place here. The interaction of light and lines is fantastic. By the time we’re done, you’ll have something to be proud of.”
Slowly Sam turned to Susan. Quietly he asked, “What’s this about?”
Susan slid her elbow through his and said proudly, “I’m decorating your home. You told me that you don’t have the time or the talent. Well, I have both, and what I don’t have, Dennis does. We’ve put together a whole plan with diagrams, pictures, estimates. Come see.”
She tugged on his arm, but he held back. He had spent the last twenty-four hours doing surveillance on two of Rhode Island’s heaviest drug dealers. One of their customers had OD’d practically before his eyes. He had blown his cover trying to get the man to the hospital before he died.
The last thing he wanted to see at that moment was a decorating plan.
Brushing his fingers over his upper lip, he bought himself a minute to search for moderately tactful words. “Uh, Susan, do you think we could make it another time?”
“But Dennis is here now.”
“Another time?” he repeated.
“But we have all the plans here. All you have to do is point to what you like, and we’ll go ahead with the order. It takes a minimum of three months for delivery on most of these things.”
Aware of a growing annoyance, Sam worked to keep his voice low and even. “I don’t think this is the right time.”
But Susan was enthusiastic enough not to heed his warning. “This is theperfecttime. Dennis is in from New York. We’ve both put a lot of thought into this, and we’re ready to act.”
“You should have clued me in.”
“And ruined the surprise?” Leaving his side, she bent over the sofa and raised a multicolored drawing of his living room furnished to the hilt. “Is this gorgeous or what?”
Sam was quickly realizing that bad timing wasn’t the only problem. If Dennis had come from New York with elaborate drawings, no less, there were already expenses to be paid. Though Susan hadn’t yet asked for a cent, Sam wondered whether, left to her own devices, she’d spend him broke.
Suddenly the most basic differences between them reared up and hit him between the eyes. Unable to face that after what he had just been through, he said, “I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.” Turning on his heel, he left the room.
Slightly bewildered, Susan looked from where he’d vanished to Dennis and back. “Give us a minute,” she said and ran in pursuit of Sam. She caught him on the stairs and followed him up, hissing, “Sam,Dennisis here.”
Without breaking stride, Sam went right on into the bedroom. He tossed his jacket to the bed. “Fine. You visit with him.”
“He’s not here to visit. He’s here to do business.”
“Whose business?” He whipped his sweatshirt over his head and came out looking a little more rumpled, but no softer. “Not mine. I didn’t invite him, and I sure didn’t hire him.”
“No one hired him. He’s doing me a favor by being here He doesn’t get any money until you agree to the plans.”
Sam tossed the sweatshirt on top of the jacket. “And how much does he get then? A flat ten thousand for his services?”
“Five thousand, plus expenses and a commission on the furniture. As decorators go, he’s not bad.”
Sam sputtered out a laugh. “‘As decorators go, he’s not bad.’ Susan, I don’t have an extra five thou for Dennis, and even aside from Dennis, the estimate you’ve got is probably three times my budget.” He kicked off his sneakers. “You forget who you’re dealing with.” Sitting on the bed, he went to work on his socks.
“If money’s the problem, I’ll help you out.”
“No way.”
“Why not?”
