See No Evil. Gayle Roper

I said eloquently. “I have four brothers. I’m youngest.”

      “Oldest. And you can call purple aubergine until you’re blue in the face, but it’s still purple.”

      “Deep purple. Eggplant. In fact aubergine is the French word for eggplant.”

      “Semantics. And you need to pack up. I’m not leaving until everything is locked up tight. We’ve had some nighttime thieves recently, and I’m not taking a chance with this model home.”

      I stopped fussing with Tuscan Vine and its clusters of grapes. “You’ve had thieves?”

      “Storage shed broken into, tools taken, nails, lumber. Nothing has been vandalized, nor has anything of great value or quantity been taken. Still, I’ve hired a night guard to patrol the development.”

      I frowned. “I saw a man walking around one of the houses on the next street.” If he was the thief, that would explain his skulking air, and if he was the guard, I guess he was sneaking around trying to catch people.

      Gray stiffened. “The guard doesn’t come on until midnight. When did you see this man and at what house?”

      “I was watching him when you startled me. And that house.” I pointed out the back window.

      He walked over and looked. He immediately relaxed. “It’s all right. The Ryders bought that house, and Dorothy Ryder comes out practically every day to see how the work is progressing. Drives my men crazy. Ken must have decided to come with her today, so they came later, after work and dinner.”

      Relieved, I nodded. Thank goodness I hadn’t called anyone.

      Gray turned from the window and sat in one of the plump armchairs covered in Scalamandré’s plum Bali pattern, and began ticking mysterious things off the lists on his tablet. His cell rang, and he silenced it, checking the readout. He made another note on his pad.

      He looked good in the chair.

      Of course, that was solely because the chair looked good. The whole house was being done in fabulous fabrics from Scalamandré, the high-end company that did one-of-a-kind orders for clients like the White House and limited quantities of hand-loomed fabrics for the wealthy. I’d never cut and sewn such expensive material in my life and probably never would again. I calculated over and over to be certain of my measurements, and every time I cut, I hyperventilated. The thought of ruining material worth three to four hundred dollars a yard tended to do that to a person.

      While Gray checked things off on his list, I repositioned my ladder.

      He looked up suddenly. “Our first official Open House is Saturday.” He nodded toward the partially draped window. “You will be finished by Saturday?”

      “I will be finished by Saturday,” I agreed. “Absolutely.”

      “Today’s Tuesday. You only have three working days left.”

      “How convenient. I only have less than three days worth of work left,” I said, the very soul of reason. I didn’t mention that several pillows and the round table skirt, aubergine taffeta like the sofa, weren’t yet cut out, let alone sewn. Neither was the square table topper of Sinclair tartan in soft green, mauve and aubergine on cream.

      I put a foot on the first rung of my ladder.

      Gray jumped to his feet. “What are you doing? Don’t use that ladder!”

      I mentally rolled my eyes. “I have to use the ladder.” I climbed the first two steps. It swayed drunkenly. “How else can I hang the treatments?”

      “Look—” He halted. “By the way, what’s your name?” He actually appeared interested.

      “Anna Volente.”

      He nodded. “Look, Anna, get a decent ladder.”

      “I am not going to go buy myself another ladder. My father gave me this.”

      “Your father—” He stopped abruptly, wisely thinking better of saying whatever he was thinking. “This is a building site. We have plenty of ladders.”

      “And they would be where? Oops, not here.”

      He muttered under his breath. “I’ll get you a decent ladder. Just get off that thing before it collapses under you.” He stalked to me, grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me gently but decisively off. He indicated a point at my feet. “Stand there. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

      I raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like a cocker spaniel or something?”

      “No, though the hair’s about right for an Irish setter. Stay.” With a grin and a hand held up to emphasize the command, he left the room.

      I stared at the doorway through which he’d disappeared. I looked at the spot at my feet. With calm deliberation I took my first step. Then my second, and soon I was at the front windows where I had already hung Tuscan Vine. I worked with the folds of the heavy silk fabric, adjusting them to drape just so. I stepped back and eyed the overall effect. I nodded. They looked good, if I did say so myself. Apparently he wasn’t going to say so.

      Gray returned, lugging a stepladder that was taller than mine and obviously much sturdier.

      “Now you won’t have to stand on the top step, so you can lean into it to keep your balance. No more falls.” He folded my old standby and set up his ladder in its place. It looked strong enough to hold both of us, an unexpectedly cozy thought.

      “Now get up there and let me hand you this heavy thing.” He indicated the Tuscan Vine lying on the chair. “Or better yet, let me hang it.”

      “That’s all right,” I said as I climbed quickly. I recognized potential disaster when I saw it. “I know what I’m doing.”

      He didn’t say a word, merely gathered the fabric in his arms and stood there radiating energy and cooperative spirit. He handed me the top of the panel, and I began attaching it beneath the swag I’d hung earlier. I had to admit that the task was going to be easier now that I didn’t have to both hold the material and attach it.

      Movement outside caught my eye. I glanced again at the house kitty-corner from the one I was decorating. The man I’d seen earlier stood at the opening for what I guessed was one day to be the kitchen door. He jumped to the ground. I squinted. What was it about him that was so strange? As I watched, he unscrewed something and stuffed part of it in his pants pocket. The rest he stuck in his waistband at the small of his back, pulling his red shirt over it. After wiping the back of his wrist across his forehead, he peeled flesh-colored gloves from his hands, balled them, and stuffed them in his other pocket. I frowned.

      “Gray.” I motioned for him to come look. “The man’s back. He just took off some gloves like the ones doctors wear.”

      “Gloves? Why is he wearing gloves in August? And why that kind?”

      Like I knew. Shrugging, I moved as far to one side of the ladder as I could so he had room to climb. It vibrated under me as he took the first two steps, then stopped.

      “Move to the center,” he said. “I think it will be better if I put one foot on either side of you. Otherwise we’ll be unbalanced.”

      I nodded absently and slid to the center, concentrating on the man outside. I blinked in disbelief as he suddenly pulled what could only be a stocking from his head. His features leaped into focus.

      “No wonder he looked so funny. He was wearing a stocking over his head.”

      “What?” Gray stood on the step below me and tried to peer around me. “Can’t quite see yet.” He slid one foot beside mine, looking down to be sure of its placement. He began to raise himself to slide the other foot in place.

      I froze as the man in the yard swiveled his head and looked directly at me. I knew I was highly visible with the westering sun streaming over me, just as he was clearly visible to me, blond hair, hook nose, mustache