“Like we’re beating the bush to flush out snakes?”
Nadine looked concerned. “Why would you want to do that? The snakes are minding their own business.”
“Hypothetically.”
“Doesn’t matter. Leave the snakes alone.” She went to sit down on the same chair he’d checked for dirt, but Wes stopped her.
“It’s filthy,” he said. “The snakes are not our focus. Is that your last option?”
“Yes.” She examined the chair he’d warned her off. “We need to do some cleaning so we don’t need hazmat suits.”
“Agreed, and also it’s time for my idea. I call it the scan and pile.”
Nadine tilted her head. “You want to do a lightning assessment of everything, put all the promising stuff in a pile, and then go through it in more detail.”
“Yes.” He was only a little surprised at how accurate her interpretation was.
“Normally, I’d say that’s not the worst idea, but we don’t have enough time.”
Wes poked around a rack of clothes. She was probably right, and he wasn’t too obstinate to admit it. “You win. I vote for the beating of the snakes.”
She grimaced. “Please don’t call it that.” Nadine walked over to the windows, and he tried to ignore the way her hips caused her skirt to sway. “It’s stifling in here. Do these open?”
“They’re painted over.”
Nadine, stubborn as always, had to check for herself, struggling valiantly with the lock before admitting he was right.
“We’ll bring a fan so we don’t die of heatstroke,” said Wes. “It’s early. Want to start now?”
“Hell yes.” Nadine was already halfway across the room.
He watched her go. Of all the people to be stuck with on this job, being with Nadine had a load of downsides. But he’d never have to worry about her work ethic, and that was a bonus. Back in school,they’d worked well together. He hoped time hadn’t changed that.
***
If those first hours of searching were an indication of how the next three weeks were going to go, Wes was in for a rough time. His skin felt gritty, and his pants had fingerprints from where he’d unthinkingly wiped his hands on his thighs. Nadine groaned and stretched, and he looked over to see her shirt riding up to show a thin line of pale stomach that he did his best not to stare at.
“You have a handprint on your shirt,” Nadine informed him from her side of the room. Her dark hair was a mess of waves from the heat, and her face flushed so red it almost obscured her freckles. “Did you bring water?”
“Was that my job?” He felt defensive, as if she’d found him lacking.
She didn’t seem to notice the tone. “Nah, I didn’t either.”
Wes waited for the blame, but all she did was yawn and make her way to the entrance.
As they passed Octavia curled up on one of the chairs in the reading nook, she opened one golden eye and gave a half-hearted swipe at Wes’s leg, which he dodged with expert timing. In the kitchen, they took turns washing, then drank a good liter of water before they were in any mood for conversation. Wes pulled his shirt away from his skin. A pro bodybuilder prepping for a competition couldn’t have sweat more.
“I assume you didn’t find anything good?” asked Nadine as she poured her fourth glass. She’d slicked her hair back with water, making her look like she was at the beach. Or fresh from the shower.
Wes focused on the conversation. “Old grocery bills from 1995. It’s shocking how cheap everything was.”
She put down her glass. “I found some clothes. Nothing in the pockets, but it looks like she went through a real camouflage phase before she became a devotee of the caftan.”
“Like army camo?” He tried to picture Dot in fatigues and failed miserably. She had been more about the bedazzled life.
“No, like the clothes you wear when you want to blend in and not be noticed. Navy dresses and nude pumps and beige turtlenecks. Office stuff.”
“I can’t picture her in that. It must be from another woman.”
