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would explain the tracking of mud. “I’m Leslie Petruso. Let me guess, the guys grab a cup of coffee in here.” And then she took his hand in greeting.
    “Especially when it’s cold. When it’s nice out, they’re more likely to take a break sitting on the back of their trucks or something. It looks a little worse than usual, what with the rain. I hope you’re not completely disgusted.”
    She laughed. “I’ve been working for a construction company for ten years now, so every now and then I did have to visit a job site. Nice to meet you, Dan.”
    He indicated her cup with a jut of his chin. “Can I warm that up for you?”
    “Thanks,” she said, handing it to him. “So, did Paul say what he’d like me to do?”
    Dan gave the cup back, refreshed. “He said you’d know what to do. He carries his laptop around in the truck with him, but there’s a paper schedule on his desk. I’m waiting for a crew to work on interiors on these two houses and Paul will get here when he gets here. Will you be all right if I get to work?”
    “You bet. Don’t worry about me.”
    He smiled at her. “Welcome aboard, Leslie. We’ll all be happy if Paul has a little help organizing the paperwork.”
    “Gets a little behind on that, does he?” she asked on a laugh.
    “He’s a builder,” Dan said with a grin. “It’s hard to keep him in the office. I’ll be in the house on the left, if you need me.”
    “Not to worry. I’m going to poke around Paul’s desk and see if I can make sense of anything.”
    “Go for it,” Dan said with a salute.
    Leslie took her time looking around after Dan left. She didn’t concentrate on Paul’s desk or even on his office—there was plenty of time for that. She opened every cupboard and closet in the trailer before she attempted Paul’s desk. And it happened spontaneously—she wiped out the sink, which led to scrubbing the countertop, which led to first sweeping, then mopping the kitchen floor. She filled the sink with soapy water, and, with rag or mop in hand, she moved through the place with a vengeance.
    By the time Paul showed up at around ten, the muddy tracks and finger smears had disappeared. Even the stainless-steel thirty-cup coffeemaker was shining. And the coffee in it was fresh. “Whoa,” he said.
    She straightened her spine and blew a curl of hair off her forehead. “Prepare your crews for intensive training—they’re going to learn to keep things clean around here.”
    “Oh, they know how,” he said. “When we turn over a house, you could eat off the floor....”
    “Yeah? Really?” she asked. “Because if you ate off that bathroom floor, you’d be dead in ten seconds. I’m not cleaning it. It’s vile. The next man who comes in here with a need for it is getting the job. And then they’re going to keep it clean because I can’t even think about putting my—” she cleared her throat in lieu of a key word and added “—on it.”
    The door opened and a man looked in with blue eyes that almost knocked her out. “Oh. Excuse me. I should’ve knocked....”
    Paul laughed and kind of rocked back on his heels. “Not a problem, come on in. The new secretary was instructing me in keeping a clean shop.”
    “New?” he asked.
    Paul didn’t respond to the question but stuck out a hand. “Paul Haggerty. How can I help you?”
    “Conner Danson,” he said, accepting the handshake. “A friend of mine said you might have some work....”
    “Would that be Brie?” he asked.
    “That’s her. Old friend of mine. My last boss shut down....”
    “She said something about that. And you’re friends from college?”
    Conner smiled. “I took a few classes after high school, but I’m not a college man. I quit, joined the army for a couple of years, then apprenticed with a carpenter. Custom kitchens and bathrooms.”
    Paul gestured to an album Conner held under one arm. “I bet you have some sample photos I can look at.”
    “You bet,” he said, handing over the