Free Meeting at Midnight by Eileen Wilks Page A

drool, but we can’t touch.”
    â€œSounds about right.” I gave a thoughtful nod. “Green, maybe. I could see a pale green in here. Or purple.”
    â€œUh…purple?”
    â€œSure. Put a little gilding on the crown moldings, too. It would really dress the place up.”
    She caught on. “Gilding the moldings! I never would have thought of that. But then, you really must use red for the walls. Chinese red. And maybe a little pagoda in the corner?”
    We spent the next few minutes turning my living room into a Chinese emperor’s nightmare, complete with bamboo, lacquered screens and dragons, all in the most garish cast of colors possible. Somehow that evolved into a discussion of building styles, remodeling and how to honor the architectural integrity of a building when creating an addition.
    Now, all this was right up my alley. I don’t often swing a hammer or hang drywall myself these days, but I’ve done it enough in the past. A good builder has to know a little about everything, from the right temperature to pour concrete to the current craze for paint glazes to how to shore up a damaged load-bearing wall. So it might seem like I was enjoying some shop talk and Seely was humoring me, but it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t about me at all. I would have talked about blueberry muffin recipes if that’s what got her this excited, just so I could watch her glow.
    This slow-moving woman came alive when she talked houses. Which was downright peculiar for a woman with no nesting urges.
    â€œYour den is an addition, isn’t it?” she said. She was snuggled into the corner of the couch, her shoes off and her feet tucked up. A strand of hair had worked loose to wiggle along her temple and cheekbone like a hyperactive question mark.
    I grimaced. “Sticks out like a sore thumb, doesn’t it? I’ve always meant to redo it. The roofline messes up the rear and side elevations. My father had it done, and I don’t think he gave a thought to how it fit with the rest of the house’s style.”
    â€œHe wasn’t interested in construction and architecture himself, then?”
    â€œSure, if it took place two or three thousand years ago.”
    â€œI’ve wondered about that,” she said slowly. “I would have thought there would be exotic mementos scattered aroundfrom all the time he spent abroad. Pot shards, maybe, or a scarab or two.”
    â€œI’ve got a pretty little Egyptian lady in my bedroom, on the dresser. Most of that stuff is boxed up, though. Never really knew what to do with it. Now what,” I demanded, “did I say to put that polite look on your face?”
    â€œWho, me? Polite?”
    â€œLike you’re thinking something you’re too nice to say.”
    â€œOh.” She flushed. “And here I’m trying to be tactful…it just seems like you have some issues with your parents. Maybe with the way they died and left you to raise the family they’d started.”
    My good mood evaporated. “I did what had to be done. That’s all.”
    â€œAnd that was a less-than-delicate hint to close the subject. Good enough.” She said that with perfect good humor, but rose to her feet. “I’d better go check on the roast.”
    â€œDon’t rush off. I didn’t mean to…dammit, you can’t get offended every time I’m an ass, or we won’t be able to talk at all.”
    She patted my shoulder. “No offense taken. I don’t blame you for getting testy when people make a fuss about the way you took on the responsibility for your brothers and sisters. It must seem sometimes as if you’re defined by what happened twenty years ago. As if nothing you’ve done since then matters, compared to that.”
    Having leveled me with a few words, she swayed gently toward the door. “Supper should be ready soon. You want to eat on a tray in here?”
    I