One Night in Boston Read Online Free PDF Page A

come from nothing , he thought, you’ve got nothing to lose . He’d always loved working outdoors, always loved making green things sprout from the earth. Discovering that he had a talent for the business side of landscaping had just been a pleasant surprise.
    Dillon programmed the couple’s swanky Wellesley address into his navigation system. A few seconds later, the automated voice instructed him to turn left at the next light. He obliged, tapping along on the steering wheel to Lynyrd Skynyrd singing “Sweet Home Alabama.”
    His cell phone rang. Wresting it from its leather holster on his hip, he checked the ID screen.
    “Hey, J.J. How’s the kid?”
    “Sleeping, eating, and pooping, that’s about all.” The other partner of Spectacle ‘Scapes laughed. “Where you headed this morning?”
    “West side. Guy called for an estimate yesterday.”
    “Ellis Casterline?”
    Dillon stomped on the brake as some idiot in an Aston Martin tried to squeeze in front of his truck. “Yeah.” He swore in aggravation and tapped on the horn. As much as he loved Bostonians’ bottomless pockets, the congestion of downtown he could do without. “How’d you know?’
    “Heard the message come in.” J.J. made a hushing noise, a sound totally uncharacteristic of the swaggering, beer-drinking buddy Dillon knew. He bit down hard to keep from making a comment on J.J.’s balls taking a vacation since the baby had arrived.
    “Yeah, well, it sounds like a good job,” Dillon said. “He wants the entire backyard redesigned. Couple of acres of gardens, walkways, double-level patio for entertaining…”
    J.J. returned to the phone, tough-guy voice back in place. “You know who Casterline is, right?”
    “Wouldn’t know him if I ran over him. Why?”
    J.J. whistled, long and loud. “One of the top ten richest guys in the city, man. Stockbroker, I think. Has a private jet, couple of vacation homes. You get this contract wrapped up, you can count on it paying our bills for the next year. Better than that, though, he’ll tell all his friends about us. Easy Street, baby.” J.J. whooped, setting off a fresh spell of wailing from the newborn. “Shit. Anyway, good luck.”
    Dillon found the tree-lined street and turned at a wrought-iron gate that read “Regency Way.” He squinted at the numbers on the brick mansions in front of him. Jesus, J.J.’s not kidding . “Hey, I’ll talk to you later, man. You up for going out tonight?”
    “Thought you were goin’ to the Deveau Ball downtown.”
    “I’m gonna stop by for an hour or two, do a little networking.” Dillon slowed and flicked on his right turn signal, easing alongside the curb in front of number fifty-seven. It was one of the largest houses on the cul-de-sac. “I’ll be outta there by ten.”
    “All right, give me a call later on, then.”
    “See ya.” Dillon slipped the phone back onto his hip and reached for his clipboard. He spent another minute or two taking in number fifty-seven’s circular drive, the three-story house, gazebo, brick walkways curving around to the back. His practiced eye assessed the place at over three million, easy. Probably closer to four or five. A familiar shiver of excitement crept into his blood. Though Spectacular ’Scapes had several high-end accounts, the prospect of landing another made Dillon feel like a kid stealing candy from the corner store. He wasn’t sure he’d ever feel any different.
    Pushing open the door, he slid to the ground, long legs taking a stretch and size-twelve feet clad in leather work boots taking their time as they walked to the doorstep. He stopped halfway there to examine some white hydrangeas. Nice job , he thought, looking at the mature trees and bushes planted around him. Whoever did the original landscaping here knew his stuff .
    “Hello, there.” The lilting female voice jerked his attention back up again. Standing in the open door of the house stood a slender young woman. “Are you here to meet