Wall-To-Wall Dead Read Online Free PDF

nodded.
    “Remember how I wouldn’t let you do any of it because we were renovating your aunt’s Victorian cottage and it just wouldn’t look right?”
    I remembered it vividly.
    “Here,” Derek said and threw out a hand to indicate the space we were standing in, “it would look great.”
    “Really?”
    “Sure. The ceilings are a little low for exposed ductwork, and besides, the ductwork is routed through the walls anyway, but we can give this place an industrial look if you want. It’s from the 1970s. Things were pretty streamlined back then.”
    Huh. I looked around with new appreciation, visions ofsteel beams and corrugated metal dancing in my head. “How do we go about it?”
    “I’m glad you asked,” Derek said. “New tile in the bathroom. Something sleek and modern. And a new vanity cabinet. Maybe a floating one.”
    “Floating?”
    “Without feet. Mounted to the wall.”
    Oooh. I nodded.
    “Sliding door on the bathroom to maximize space in the hallway. New kitchen cabinets…”
    “What kind of cabinets did you have in mind for here?”
    Derek hesitated. “We could go to the lumber depot and buy new oak cabinets and stain or paint them.”
    “With picture frame doors?” I could feel my nose wrinkling. “They’re so old-fashioned. How about we get the kind with smooth doors, if they have them, and then we give them a few coats of paint and a few coats of high-gloss polyurethane and make them look like they’re lacquered? I saw that once, in a DIY magazine. It looked great. Like high-end IKEA cabinets, but better quality.”
    “What color did you have in mind?” His voice was resigned, even as his eyes registered interest.
    “Turquoise?” I suggested, since that had been the color of the cabinets in the magazine article. “Concrete counter, like you suggested. Maybe a backsplash of those little clear glass tiles—or glossy subway tiles with just a band of glass tiles; it’d be cheaper—and we could even put those industrial floor tiles down, you know, the sort of hard plastic ones?”
    “With the speckles? Sure. It would fit the style of the place.” He looked around. “Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all.”
    “That’s the spirit. How about we go grab some dinner and celebrate? And plan what we’ll do tomorrow?”
    “What did you have in mind? The Waymouth Tavern?”
    “Guido’s Pizzeria,” I said, and watched his eyebrows rise. “It’s on the way home, and you can tell Candy thatyou’ll be working downstairs from her for a month. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
    “You can’t be jealous of Candy,” Derek said, leading me out and stopping to lock the door behind us.
    “Of course not.” The only person I’m ever jealous of, and that only on rare occasions, is Derek’s ex-wife. And I’m even getting over that, since Derek has told me repeatedly that there’s nothing in the world that would induce him to go back to her. “They have good pizza.”
    “Fine with me,” Derek said with a shrug, “I’m always up for pizza.” He headed down the stairs. I followed, only to bump into him when we got to the first floor. When I peered around him, I saw that he was facing Miss Hilda Shaw’s door, and that the door was open and Miss Shaw herself was standing there waiting for us.
    This was the first time I’d seen her, other than as a pair of disembodied eyes peering out from between the folds of the lace curtains moved apart by an equally disembodied hand. Up close and in the flesh, I saw that she was younger than I’d expected. I’d envisioned some small and wrinkled Miss Marple lookalike, frail and white-haired. What I got was a sturdy women in her late fifties or early sixties, with frizzy ginger hair shot through with gray, wearing a flowery, faded housedress and fuzzy slippers. Her arms were pudgy, her ankles thick, and her cheeks doughy. When she spoke, it was in a raspy voice that hinted at what was either a pack-a-day habit or laryngitis.
    “Hello,” she