Part 61 (1/2)
”Scrambled?”
”Fine.”
”With garlic and mushrooms?”
”Whatever.”
Dean frowned. ”You all right?”
”Fine.”
He leaned left.
She shuffled just enough to cut down his line of sight. ”Was there anything else?”
”Uh, no. I guess not.”
”Good. You go ahead.” Her right arm started forward to wave him away but she stopped it in time. ”Go on. I'll be there in a minute.”
Shaking his head, Dean disappeared down the hall.
Twenty years old, Claire reminded herself whacking the back of her skull against the door.
The hollow boom of the impact echoed throughout the first floor.
”Boss!”
”It's nothing,” she called. Rubbing the rising b.u.mp, she contemplated doing it again. She'd had the perfect opportunity to prove the existence of the imp. There could be no other explanation for the underwear delivered to her door. So why, she wondered, had she acted like such an idiot?
”It's this place; it's messing with my head.” Opening the door, she tossed the underwear into the sitting room. She'd figure out a way to get them back into Dean's laundry, later.
”Souvenir?” Austin asked as the briefs sailed by and landed on Elvis.
”Thang you, thang you vera much.”
”You can both just shut up.”
”They put over the top, how do you say... plaster board?” Jacques announced, pulling his head back out of the wall. ”But the works for the elevator, they are all here.”
”Should I start uncovering it?” Dean asked eagerly.
Claire shrugged. ”Why not.”
”Great, I'll go get my hammer.”
”And what will you be doing, cherie,” Jacques asked as Dean ran off, ”while he bangs out his frustrations on the wall?”
”I don't think Dean has frustrations.” She ducked under the counter flap, heading for the phone. ”But to answer your question, I'm going to finish packing Augustus Smythe's knick-knacks away.”
”To make the place your own, yes?”