Medium Well (9781101599648) Read Free Page A

potential.” Even to his own ears that sounded a bit overly optimistic. But potential was always there, even if you had to dig for it.
    Biddy gazed around the grimy room. “It’s not that.” She grimaced. “Well, not just that. It’s like there’s something off here. Don’t you feel it? Bad karma or something. To tell you the truth, that’s why I waited outside.”
    Danny narrowed his eyes. “Okay, you can say that to me and maybe to your sister, but don’t ever say that to a client.”
    â€œOf course not!” She raised her chin commandingly. “I’m not that dim.”
    Danny fought back a totally inappropriate grin. No way was he finding his assistant cute. He moved around the room, telling himself he didn’t feel anything like unease. He’d seen worse. Hell, he’d sold worse.
    An alcove opened off the room at the back. “Looks like the bedroom. Does the place have electricity?”
    â€œIt’s supposed to. There’s a switch box over there,” she gestured toward the far wall, “but I don’t see any overhead lights.”
    He checked the baseboards for outlets. One. In the corner. “Probably needs some rewiring.”
    Biddy pulled open another door at the side. “Eew. This we do
not
want people to see until it’s been cleaned up or something.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œBathroom. Theoretically.” She backed out quickly, then leaned into the bedroom alcove, surveying the walls. “No closets.”
    â€œThere wouldn’t be. Closets are a modern invention.” He nodded toward a door on the far wall. “Did you check in there?”
    â€œNot yet. Maybe it’s the kitchen.”
    Danny took hold of the doorknob and turned. “Locked.”
    â€œWhy would they lock the kitchen? I don’t know if we have a key. Maybe the front door key works here, too.” She started toward him.
    Danny rattled the knob again. “Probably just stuck. I don’t see a keyhole.” After a moment, he put his shoulder against the door and pushed, gritting his teeth at the thought of his recently cleaned Hugo Boss jacket. The door opened with a tooth-jarring creak.
    He stood in the doorway staring at another filthy room. A utility sink stood against one wall, an ancient wood-burning stove on the other. “At least it’s got plumbing. Not all these places do.”
    Biddy peeped in the door over his shoulder. “Do you think the stove is worth anything? Maybe it’s an antique.”
    He glanced at the stove—black metal with a steel top, covered with a half inch of filth. It looked like it weighed a ton. “Could be valuable. Assuming you could actually get it out of here. You’d have to use a crane or something.”
    He walked across the dusty floor, stepping over the occasional piece of trash, then ran his fingers across the scalloped edge at the top corner of the stove.
    And suddenly his hand was on fire.
    Electric sparks seemed to flow up from his fingertips to his shoulder. The surface of his palm throbbed with heat, as if the stove were flaming. “What the hell?” Danny gasped, snatching his hand away.
    His shoulders ached, his back, his neck. Danny grabbed hold of his burning hand and the sparks flowed to the other side of his body. “Jesus Christ!”
    â€œMr. Ramos?” Beside him, Biddy frowned. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œChrist!” He shook both hands, trying to cool them. Slowly, the heat began to recede.
    â€œDon’t touch the stove,” he gasped. “It’s got some kind of electric charge or something.”
    â€œThe stove?” She gave him an incredulous glance, reaching her hand toward the stove top.
    â€œBiddy, no!” Danny grabbed for her, missing her hand, so that his palm landed on the burner again.
    His hand rested upon cool metal.
    Biddy stared at him with real concern. “Mr. Ramos?