Page 33 of Passion at the Lake
I jumped when Grace’s name lit up my phone. Maybe she’d found me work.
“Angela, I’m going to call in a super-big favor with my boss. He’s the one with all the connections in town.”
“Boone?” I asked. “He hates me.”
“Why? Oh, never mind. I don’t care. You want help? This is me helping you.”
I dreaded dealing with Boone, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Thank you, Grace. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“Don’t thank me. You thank him like you’ve never thanked anybody before, and work your ass off. I’m vouching for you. Don’t screw this up, because it’ll reflect on me.”
“Thank you, Grace,” I repeated.
“Just don’t make me regret this.”
“I’ll do you proud.”
After we hung up, I locked the dogs back inside and made my way to the big house. I had to help with dinner, and after that I could work on more of the applications I had to fill out for online work—the only work I was actually qualified to do.
Grace thought she could enlist Boone’s help on my behalf, but I wasn’t so sure. She didn’t understand our history. He'd been nice enough to help me at the bank, but even a mean dog didn’t growl constantly.
CHAPTER8
Angela
“Ah, there you are, dear,”Marge said when I walked into the big house. “You were gone a long time. I hope you didn’t have trouble finding your way back.”
“Not at all.”
“So, how was your day?”
“Pretty good,” I lied. “The people at the bank were very helpful.” The bank had been the only part of my day that had gone well.
She lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
Marge was too nice a lady to burden with the darkness of my truth. I had no money, and no access to anything that proved I was the dark lord.
I changed the subject. “I don’t seem to be getting a Wi-Fi signal in the cabin.”
“I’ll have Boone look into that for you. Grace hadn’t mentioned it was a problem.” She stood and headed for the kitchen. “Let’s see what we have to work with for dinner. Do you have any favorite recipes you’d like to start with?”
The joint cooking duties had slipped my mind. “Do you have any chicken?”
“Boone doesn’t like chicken. Once when he was little he got a bone stuck in his gullet, and well, that soured him on any bird smaller than a turkey.”
I followed her into the kitchen.
“He prefers beef, but I think we have an old package of chicken in the back of the freezer.”
I shook my head. “No chicken then. Does he have a favorite dish?” I would have loved to cook him chicken night after night, but I needed his help too much to give in to the temptation to torture him. If Grace thought he’d help me, I’d be extra nice for as long as it took to guarantee I didn’t have to go back to Kevin.
“You’re the cook. You pick,” Marge said. “Now tell me about your day…” She opened the fridge and stepped aside.
I started with a very generic description as I rooted around, surveying the possible ingredients.
Marge didn’t let me get by with that. She followed every tidbit I gave her with another question. “Oh, I think Zelda is so nice, don’t you? How did you like our little coffee shop? What did you order? Did you meet anyone there?”
When I explained that the cop from last night had stopped by, she shook her head.
