A week after moving into the house, dust drifted across the living room as Casey scooped up a pile of plaster and wallboard with the flat mouth shovel. He added it to a collection of refuse in the wheelbarrow. Resting the shovel against a bare stud, he slipped on dark sunglasses and wheeled the load across the hardwood floor and into the entryway. He steered through the open door onto the porch and across a wooden plank that sloped down to the driveway.
In the hot sun, he headed for a rented dumpster. Alongside the garage, Casey dumped the wheelbarrow into a stack of refuse beside the dumpster. He looked up when a woman drove a silver BMW into the driveway and parked behind his Jeep. Casey tried not to stare as a dignified woman swung long legs out the door and climbed out. With dark sunglasses and silver streaks in her blond hair, she was Grace Kelly approaching Cary Grant.
The woman struggled through the gravel in high-heeled shoes that matched a blue suit. A few years younger than Casey, perhaps forty, she stopped several feet down wind and glanced toward the house. "Excuse me, but could tell me whether Casey Bannister is home."
With a smile, Casey glanced down at the sweat-covered t-shirt that clung to his body. He clapped and dust flew from his hands and arms. Taking a step forward, he removed the leather gloves and offered his hand. "That would be me."
The woman took a step back and waved her hand in front of her face as the dust cloud drifted toward her. She brushed some of the residue from the dark suit then shook Casey's hand. "Perhaps I've come at a bad time Mr. Bannister, but might you have a few minutes?"
With a quick glance at her long legs, Casey smiled. "Well, unless you're here to talk about my spiritual well being, I could use a break." He motioned toward the porch. He enjoyed the woman's graceful walk as she practically glided across the parched lawn. When they reached the porch, Casey pointed to the two folding chairs. "Can I get you something to drink Ms...?"
"Davenport. Doctor Davenport. Call me Lilah." She tilted her head. "It's a bit warm for late March, isn't it? What do you have to offer, Mr. Bannister?"
Casey pictured the nearly empty refrigerator. "Beer and ... water."
"Perrier?"
"Domestic. Tap."
"10:30's a bit early for alcohol, for me, that is. Tap water will be fine. Ice?"
"But of course." A minute later, Casey returned and handed the woman a tall glass of ice water. Two cows watched from the farm next door as he popped the tab on a can of Budweiser and moved the empty chair to face her.
After a long swallow, Casey held the cold can to his forehead. He had been looking for a reason to take a break. Sitting with a pretty visitor seemed like a reasonable excuse. "What can I do for you, Doc?"
Doctor Davenport's face broke into a smile. "I heard you were a..." she covered her mouth, stifling a slight giggle, "pistol, Mr. Bannister. I'm the president of Adams College."
"Casey." He glanced again at her legs, held primly together at a proper angle.
"Excuse me, Mr. Bannister. I think we'll have a much better conversation if we maintain eye contact." She tugged the edge of her skirt to cover her knees.
Casey felt like a hound. He never recalled meeting a college president, especially a pretty one. "I'm sorry, Doctor Davenport. My experience with school administrators is pretty much limited to trips to the principal."
"Well, I see you're busy. More than busy. Let me get straight to the point. At Adams College, we constantly update our curriculum to offer students classes relevant to today's student body. I've completed some research and think you'd be perfect to teach a class on police science."
Casey took another swallow of beer. "Police work was never a science to me."
The woman cocked her head and smiled. "Like I said, I've been checking on your background. I know you completed your degree after you made detective and you taught night classes at a junior college for four years before you retired and moved to Greenberg."
"Maybe you should teach police science, Doctor Davenport. Seems your investigation has been thorough and accurate." Casey walked to the front steps. He finished the beer, and threw the can into a cardboard box beside the steps. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. "As you can see, I'm busy renovating this house and starting a private detective business, so..."
When she stood and approached, Casey detected the pleasant perfume that smelled like vanilla. There was something familiar about the fragrance. Something like what Rachel used to wear. Or was it Shannon?
"Mr. Bannister, your involvement last fall in solving the murder of Avery Harris, an Adams College student, and your exemplary record as a homicide detective is just the sort of thing that would be perfect for our college. I might add teaching at Adams would also look good on your resume."
Dust flew from his jeans as Casey slapped his thigh and laughed. "Resume? Doctor Davenport, I'm retired."
"I appreciate that, Mr. Bannister. We'd certainly accommodate your..." She looked around the scattered debris. "...lifestyle. One or two classes per week--say Tuesday-Thursday. Wouldn't begin until next fall, plenty of time to develop lesson plans. Perhaps by then your renovation project will be complete."
"I do plan to finish with this house in the fall. Just not sure what year yet."
The woman's face relaxed when she laughed.
Casey tugged the work gloves on, walked down the steps and grabbed the wheelbarrow. "I appreciate the offer, Doctor Davenport, but I can't imagine being a teacher."
"I was hoping you'd give it serious consideration."
Casey looked up at the big house. The renovation was overwhelming for one person. "Give me a couple of days, and I'll let you know."
"That's all I can ask." The college president pulled a card from her purse and laid it on the chair. "Do think it over, Mr. Bannister. Thanks for your time, and your water. Perhaps sometime we can drink something a little more substantial."
Now she was starting to make a connection. Casey watched her walk down the steps and head toward her BMW.
When she reached the car door, she slipped on her sunglasses. "Good luck with your renovation. I read once renovating an old house is like peeling an onion. You don't so much rebuild as you strip away the years." She climbed into the car, backed out of the driveway and sped off kicking up a trail of gravel.
While he pushed the wheelbarrow up the ramp and into the house, Casey laughed about the surprising offer. Professor Casey Bannister. He recalled the pretty college president's last remark. Casey looked around the room at all the work that remained and chuckled. "Peeling an onion."
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