Naughty Neighbor - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,12
the Avon Lady.”
“Get serious,” Louisa said. “I’m not going in there.”
“Does Maislin’s wife know you?”
“I don’t think so. They travel in higher circles.”
Pete pulled the Porsche into the drive and parked next to the Mercedes.
Louisa had her hand braced against the dash. “I’m not getting out.”
“Sure you are. We’re a team. Wither thou goest.”
“No!”
“C’mon, be a good girl and do this for Uncle Pete. I’ll buy you an ice-cream cone.”
“You’re certifiable.”
“Yeah, but I’m also lovable,” he said. He took a pair of sunglasses from the console and put them on. “Sexy, huh?”
She reluctantly followed him up the steps and lagged behind when he rang the bell. She couldn’t imagine what he was going to say when the door opened. She was sure it would be something outrageous. After all, he was from California. He was involved in movies.
“Listen,” she said, “I was born and raised in Chevy Chase, Maryland. I’m not good at breaking and entering.”
“This isn’t going to be breaking and entering. This is going to be lying and entering.”
“If I get arrested, my mother will have a heart attack.”
“You’re not going to get arrested. The worst that can happen is maybe this will be a little embarrassing.”
“Oh Lord,” she wailed. “I hate being embarrassed!” She wheeled around and headed for the car, but he grabbed her by the back of her jacket and pulled her to him. He firmly tucked her under his arm and rang the bell.
“Behave yourself,” he said. “All you have to do is follow me around and look adoring. I’ll do the talking.”
The Maislins’ front door cracked open, and a teenager peered out. Louisa guessed the girl to be fourteen or fifteen. She had a pouty cherub face, and she was wearing enough eye makeup to send the cosmetic company’s stock up two points. Her hair was dyed raspberry, pulled into a ponytail that sprouted high on the right side of her head. She was wearing long johns, army combat boots, and an oversized black sweatshirt with a stretched-out neck that drooped over one shoulder.
“Uh-huh?” the teenager said.
Pete flashed her his Hollywood smile. “Hi. I’m Pete Streeter, and this is my associate.” He made a vague hand gesture in Louisa’s direction, but his eyes never strayed from the young woman in front of him. “I’m scouting movie locations—”
“Ommigod. Ommigod,” the girl said. “Pete Streeter! I saw you on MTV. You were on the cover of Premiere. Ommigod, this is so awesome.”
He turned the wattage up on the smile. “I’m in Washington doing a new screenplay, and like I said, I’ve been out scouting locations. I wonder if we could come in for a minute?”
“Ommigod, you want to use this house in a movie? I can’t believe it. That would be like so excellent.”
“There might even be a small part in it for you,” Pete said.
Louisa made a gagging sound behind him.
“What’s wrong with her?” the girl asked. “Why is she making those megagross sounds?”
“She’s pregnant,” Pete told her. “She has morning sickness all day long. It’s really pretty disgusting. Try to ignore her.”
Louisa kicked him in the back of the leg, and he took a blind swipe at her, catching her on the shoulder, knocking her off balance.
“Whoa,” the teenager said. “Very alpha.”
Pete moved toward the back of the house. “You don’t mind if I look around, do you?” He walked through the dining room, into the kitchen. “What’s your name?”
“Amy Maislin.”
“Why aren’t you in school?”
“It’s the end of the grading period. It’s a teacher work day, and we get the day off. I was supposed to go to the mall, but the Mercedes is sick.”
“Bummer,” Pete said. He looked out the French doors. The yard was small for the size of the house. There was a flagstone patio with white wrought-iron furniture that looked cold and uninviting. Beyond the patio was a pool, protectively covered in blue vinyl. Some fancy shrubbery delineated the end of the property. He didn’t see any pigs.
“So what do you think?” Amy asked. “You think this will do?”
He turned from the doors and scanned the kitchen. It didn’t look any more promising than the yard—no bags of pig chow sitting around. “You have any pets?”
“A dog. He’s downstairs in the work-out room with my mom. She’s into this physical stuff.”
“That’s it? A dog?”
Amy looked worried. “Is that bad? Did you want a house with cats or something? I could get a cat.”
“Actually, I was looking for a house with a pig,” Pete said.
“Bad ass,” Amy said. “I could