I felt things when I looked at him.
Not on my schedule right now.
I have enough to worry about than feeling things.
“Those opossums don’t like to be messed with,” he said.
I stopped, mid-flick of the trash can liner, and stared at him. “What did you say?”
“It’s an opossum. Not a rat.”
“Are you sure? Possums are black and white.”
He glared at me. “Young ones are pinker. Like this little guy. And their eyes are on the front of their faces. Rats have eyes on either side of their head.”
I wasn’t sure how to process this new information—should I be relieved or more disgusted? “Okay. So what do I do now? I don’t want any more in here.”
“I can spray around outside, I have some stuff. Likely, though, this guy was just foraging for food. He’s pretty young. I bet they can smell the food in here.”
“It doesn’t smell like food in here,” I said.
He raised his eyebrow. “I betcha outside in the cold, it smells pretty good in here.”
That was it. I was totally creeped out.
And he wasn’t done. “Come here, take a look at this.”
I followed his gaze, and he moved the washer and dryer more.
What the hell?” I crossed to the machines.
He pointed at the big silver line that led outside to vent the dryer.
“You all need to get some kind of caulking or insulation around that line. I’ll bet anything that’s how the critter got in here.”
I nodded. “I’ll check the outside vent line.” And call the building leasing company. Their property manager was pretty decent about getting things taken care of as soon as possible. I glanced back at the now covered cage. “So what do I owe you for this?”
He smiled.
I didn’t like that smile at all.
I crossed back to the door and pulled it open a crack. I could hear Autumn talking to the inspector across the hall in the waxing room.
“I just need to see the laundry, and I’ll be done,” the inspector said.
“It’ll be ready in just a minute,” Autumn said.
“What’s wrong with it that it needs to be readied?” The inspector accused. “The purpose of these unannounced inspections is to make sure we catch the salon in its natural state, so that…” The inspector—I recognized the voice, it was Marla—went into her tirade about cleanliness and proper standard procedures and all the things.
Fuck. It may be time for Autumn to die.
Seriously. I may kill her.
But that tirade—I’d heard it before—gave me at least two minutes to get Shaun and the friggin’ pest out of the shop.
I turned back to Shaun and jumped because he’d come up behind me, and was much closer to me than he was a few moments ago. “Gah! Don’t do that.”
“Sorry.”
