Des empties the paper bag onto my prep bench. Mouse traps skitter across the stainless steel, an unopened jar of peanut butter rolling out behind them. I groan when I see the shiny gold label. “Christ, Des. You didn’t have to buy the mice the gourmet shit.”
“Ah, if you’re gonna do a job, better to do it right, ay, Aggie?”
He grins at me like he’s something special. Sad thing is, he’s right. Full head of grey-brown hair. Big shoulders. Sparkling blue eyes. He’s always been a looker. Always knew it too, which was half the bloody problem.
I bite back a grin. “Think we’ll get all of ’em today?”
“Should do.”
The health inspector who spotted the mouse was decent enough to recognise there were no signs the mice had settled in; no droppings, holes or grease streaks on the walls. But Afterglow can’t reopen until an official sign-off from an exterminator, and I told Cece I’d handle it.
I wanted to save her more stress, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I wasn’t thinking it was a good chance to call Desmond O’Malley. He did a stint in his cousin’s pest control business in ’08, and he agreed to help me catch the furry bastards for free. If we’re lucky, we’ll have the tick of approval from the council in no time. It’s just a matter of whether the customers ever come back.
“So,” Des says, snapping open a trap. “How’re the girls holding up?”
“About the same as the wallpaper. Hanging by a thread.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He knows better than to expect more from me, but it never stops him from trying. He’s that kind of man. Or at least he is now. Back when we had a shot at something decent, he bolted like a soaked cat.
“I’m worried about the boys, too,” I say. “That rugby show pony running around on Ada, and Davy acting like Cece’s unpaid supervisor. Pair of idiots, both of them.”
The kitchen doorbangs open, and Des jolts.Speak of the devil.
Davis steps through, dressed head-to-toe in black, hoodie up. “Afternoon.”
Des raises the trap like a weapon, and I laugh.
“I’m sure you think you know what you’re doing, O’Malley, but I doubt that’ll hurt anything bigger than a mouse.”
Des scowls as he lowers the trap. “You might wanna rethink wandering into places dressed like that, mate,” he tells Davis. “Pick a shirt with some colour.”
“Black’s a colour.”
“It’s the colour you wear to rob someone.”
“Can it, Des.” I fold my arms, one bra strap slipping down my shoulder. I ignore it. Fidgeting’s a weakness. “What’s in the bag, Davis?”
“Traps. Raisins for bait.”
I give him a look. “The mice aren’t your responsibility, love. I told you last night, Des and I’ve got it covered.”
“I know. I just figured you could use a hand.”
Figured he could get back in Cece’s good books,more like. The boy means well, but he’s thick as two planks when it comes to Cecelia. “Well, that’s kind of you, Davis. The more the merrier.”
“Yeah.” He pushes his hood back. “I’ve got someone else coming too.”
“Who?”
“Jake.”
I shoot him a glare sharp enough to skin a rabbit. If he thinks I’ll swallow that load of bollocks, he’s thicker than four planks. Stacked sideways. “That so? Well, you probably already know the girls aren’t here. But you should also know no one, including the girls, will be informed that you or the show pony pitched in at all. Got it?”
“Yes, Aggie,” Davis says meekly.
“You wanna ring Golden Boots and let him know?”
“Nah, he’ll still be keen. We might, uh, have a drink after. Commiserate and all that.”
