Revealing Annie - Freya Barker Page 0,34
dry. From the corner of my eye, I catch the guy glancing my way every so often making me feel a little uncomfortable. We’d exchanged hellos in the past month since he moved in, but we haven’t really talked.
He’s mid-to-late thirties, if I had to venture a guess. I never really looked too close at him otherwise, although I did notice him come home around the same time I get back from the shelter, just after five. I’m pretty sure he works construction, judging from the tools and junk in the bed of his pickup. As far as I know it’s just him, I’ve never seen anyone else around. Mind you, I try to keep a low profile myself, so who knows what I may have missed.
“I apologize for staring,” he finally says walking up to me, and my back stiffens as I meet his eyes. He’s squinting like he’s trying to place me and I feel my palms go clammy. “Have we met? I could swear we’ve bumped into each other before.”
I clear my throat and swallow, darting a glance at the large window open to the parking lot, before answering.
“Well, we do live across from each other.”
A quick grin turns his somewhat menacing face unexpectedly pleasant.
“That we do,” he holds out a hand. “We just never properly introduced ourselves. I’m Will.”
I look down at the proffered hand and shake it, quickly pulling back when he holds it a little too long for comfort.
“Annie. Good to meet you.”
“Annie,” he repeats. “I mean it, though, I swear we’ve met before.” He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Did you go to school with my sister? Trish Parsons? She went to Animas High School? You were on the cheer team with her, weren’t you?”
“I’m sorry, no. I went to school in Kansas.”
He seems to be genuinely surprised.
“Could’a sworn.” He rubs a hand over his short beard.
“I must have one of those faces.”
“Must have,” he repeats.
I smile at him and start loading up Edward’s basket, even though I’m not done folding yet. I’m relieved when the loud ping announces my load is dry as well. It takes me a minute to dump it in the empty basket and carrying both baskets stacked on top of each other, I head for the door.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Will.”
“You too. Here, let me get that.”
He hurries to open the door for me and I slip by him with a friendly nod. I don’t relax until I close my own door behind me.
For all I know, I really do look like one his of sister’s high school friends, or maybe he was simply coming on to me, but after yesterday’s revelations I can’t help feel a little unnerved.
I finish Edward’s folding, and leaving my basket for after, I bring him his laundry. He’s alone, sitting in his recliner, watching some game on TV. He barely looks up when I enter.
“Is it okay if I put your laundry in your bedroom?”
He grunts, which I take to be approval, so I walk through his kitchen to the bedroom in the back. I leave the basket on his bed; putting his own laundry away will be good exercise.
“Have you had something to eat yet?” I ask when I return to the living room.
“No.”
“Did Hattie not come by?”
His head swivels around and he pins me with his glare.
“Blasted woman left in a huff.”
Oh, good grief. I’m starting to feel like a monitor at school recess, telling the kids to play nice.
“Why did she leave in a huff?”
He squirms in his seat, his eyes shifting back to the flat-screen TV, but he doesn’t answer. That probably means he’s guilty of something. Without apologizing I step in front of him, blocking the screen.
“Hey! I was watching that.”
“It can wait. What happened with Hattie this morning?”
He looks at me, a stubborn lift to his chin.
“My hands weren’t working this mornin’. She said she’d help me shave.”
He pauses as his gaze drifts out the window. When it looks like nothing more is forthcoming, I prompt him.
“So far that doesn’t explain why she’d be upset.”
“I mighta told her there weren’t any way she’d fit in my bathroom. Doggone woman went and took it the wrong way. I meant the two of us together in there. Besides, I like my women with a bit of meat on ‘em. No offense,” he quickly adds.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. Neither of my neighbors are what you’d call svelte.
“None taken,”