made her way back to the front door, where she scooped a large gray parka from the wall hook and her boots from the mat. Only then did she speak, though she kept her eyelids lowered, focused at shoulder level.
“You don’t have to worry about paying me, Mr. Simon. Charlie already took care of that. I’ll make sure to reimburse her for the rest of the services she contracted us for. Two weeks’ worth of cleaning and the attic.”
“I… You don’t have to…” Cooper’s words died in his throat. Her eyes were the most unusual shade of green he’d ever seen. So pale they were almost colorless. Now that he got a good look at her, she was about as far away from middle age as he was from China.
“I don’t need your charity, so yes I do.”
Of course she’d heard everything he’d said to Charlie earlier. There was no anger in her words, but something about her tone bothered Cooper. Acceptance.
She grabbed her cleaning things, and he moved quickly to open the door for her.
“Thank you.” Polite and crisp, she didn’t look back. Stepping out onto the porch, she paused, looking straight ahead. “You might want to get a new plug for the tank on your toilet. The one upstairs. It’s running.” She shuffled her feet. “And…”
“And?” he prompted.
She turned slightly at his voice. “A neighbor stopped by. Mr. Leeds from down the road. Said he had your Godzilla.” She shrugged. “Whatever that means.”
Cooper watched her walk to her small car, steps slow and steady. She put away her cleaning tools, didn’t bother to look his way, and in less than a minute, her taillights disappeared down the lane.
He closed the door, inhaling that clean pine scent he’d first noticed when he’d come home, and then headed back to the kitchen feeling restless. Screw work. He wasn’t getting anything done—not tonight. Another beer, a steak on the barbecue, and Netflix was about all he could muster ambition for.
He flipped on the lights and glanced around his kitchen. The stainless steel gleamed, the granite shone, and he had to admit, the place looked pretty damn good. He got busy getting dinner prepared and told himself that the woman, Morgan, would find other work. Hell, he didn’t need her. He could keep up with things. Sure he used a service when he was in California or Florida, but out here, he liked being on his own.
Cooper cracked open a beer and gazed through the window at the now-darkened sky. He found himself thinking about her unusual eyes—odd, but at the moment, it was the only thing about her he could recall. She was hiding something—he felt it deep in his gut—and that made him curious.
“Leave it alone,” he muttered into the silence.
With a frown, Cooper collected his steak and headed out to the deck and his barbecue. He didn’t have time to worry about a woman he’d just met and her secrets. He needed to focus.
If he didn’t get his shit together, the reclusive, mysterious Lee Holloway might disappear from the minds of Americans forever. Considering Lee Holloway was pretty much the only real thing in Cooper Simon’s life, he wasn’t about to let that happen. It was an entirely different level of pathetic, but at the moment, it was all he had.
2
Morgan Campbell swept the last bits of crumbs from the counter and tossed them into the trash before pulling the blinds closed over the kitchen sink window. It was just after seven o’clock, and she shivered slightly, tugging her cardigan tighter as a gust of wind whistled against the windowpanes, shaking them. It was dark as sin outside, and winter was not letting go anytime soon.
It was one thing, on a list of many, that she hated about New England.
She folded the damp dishrag and laid it beside the sink before stepping away. Morgan and her father had just finished their evening meal. It had been a simple affair—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and steamed broccoli. She’d be the first to admit she wasn’t much of a cook, so the meatloaf had been dry and the mashed potatoes runny, but hey, the broccoli had been done to perfection. Something her dad had remarked on several times—not because he liked broccoli or anything, but because they didn’t have much else to talk about.
The television blared from the front of the house. She knew her father was already settled into his worn brown La-Z-Boy, and that his butt would stay there until he