But she knew what her priority needed to be. “How are you going to get up there?” The house was three stories tall.
“There’s ways.”
“Samson, I can’t pay you right now.”
“You don’t need to.”
His answer frustrated her. She didn’t like being beholden to people, and that seemed to be her life now. Worse, she hated Samson, of all people, seeing her at her absolute lowest.
“I do if you’re going to risk your life getting on the roof.”
“I’m going to look for a ladder in your garage? See what I can find?” He said it like he was asking permission.
“I really don’t know if I’m comfortable with you climbing up on the roof after a rainstorm.”
“Here’s the thing. We get a lot of rain here. The longer we wait, the worse it’s going to get. I’ll take a tarp up there with me.”
She shook her head. “No, you can’t do that by yourself. Do you—have a friend who can help?” Because if he didn’t, she was going to have to help. And she hated ladders. But she couldn’t send him up there on his own.
“I’ll be fine.” Once the last of the papers was stacked in the remains of the box, he rose. “I know how to do a thing or two around the house. I fixed up my parents’ cabin in the bayou to make it livable.”
“Is it three stories?” She knew it wasn’t. She’d been to the hunting cabin herself, back when she was young.
“Not even two.” He flashed a grin. “Is the garage locked?”
“I never even got that far to check. Let me look for the keys.” But where? Maybe in the desk.
“I saw some keys hanging in the kitchen the other day when I was here for the stove.”
That made sense. Together they walked into the kitchen. An extraordinary number of keys dangled on the hooks near the back door..
“What are all of them for?” she mused as Samson took one keyring after another down, inspecting them.
He held up two keys with an auto manufacturer imprint. “What do you want to bet there’s an old car in there?”
Her heart jumped. Her grandpa had driven a Buick when she was a kid. Not that she’d known anything about cars, but he always called it “the Buick.” What kind of shape would it be in after all this time? Too much time had passed since her grandfather had lived here.
“I bet one of those other keys is the key to the garage,” she said, and started out the back door.
He had to test a few keys before finding the right one and getting the side door open. Both of them stepped back, choking at the scent of decay mixed with oil and sawdust. Dust swirled as the wind blew in the open door, and he reached in to switch on the light. Erielle was surprised when it actually came on.
There, under a tarp, was a car. Still, she hesitated at the door, because, ugh, what had died in here?
Samson slipped along the narrow path between the car and the—yes, more—boxes to the old-fashioned garage door, unlocked it and lifted it, not without some effort, since it was all one piece. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t have been able to muscle it open. And once the door was open, the smell—and dust—dissipated. He stood with his back to the open garage door and made a face.
“Looks like you had a skunk sneak its way in here,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
She would have been more than happy to let him, but she was done feeling helpless for the day. Taking a deep breath of almost-fresh air, she charged into the garage and took the shovel from him.
“I’ll do it. You look for the ladder.”
He considered her a moment, then relinquished the handle and pointed.
Oh yeah. Poor animal had clearly been trying to get out. She pulled the neck of her t-shirt over her nose, squared her shoulders and scooped up the carcass, then carried it out to the edge of the woods and tossed it in among the trees and weeds.
“Sorry, little guy,” she muttered.
The grunts and thuds behind her drew her attention and she turned to see Samson muscling boxes out of the garage to drop on the cracked wet driveway. Her first thought was that whatever was in the boxes would be ruined by the wet ground, but they were probably already ruined by being in the garage with that horrible smell for who knew how long.
