A Mysterious Man novel Chapter 4

"Put Kennedy on the phone," I demanded of my mom, sighing in sweet relief when she was kind enough to do as I asked.

"Why are you and Mom coming?"

"She worries about her youngest daughter," was the sarcastic response. Kennedy was the queen of sarcasm - it made for interesting days.

"And she doesn't worry about the other two?"

"She worries more about you."

"Tell her I said thanks," I groaned out. Kennedy interrupted with a question.

"So, who were you talking to?"

"None of your business," I responded like a sullen toddler. Kennedy's delicate laughter bubbled through my phone and I scowled.

"Come on," she giggled. "Tell me. It isn't like I'm going to tell Mom."

"You aren't going to tell me what?" that was my mom, her voice loud enough to be heard over the phone. The smirk showing on Grayson's face was telling me that he could hear everything as well. Where was a dead cell battery when I needed one?

"Nothing, Mom," Kennedy told her. To me, she said: "Please tell me Jonah."

"Fine," I said. "I was just talking to the handyman that keeps the property up. I noticed that he hasn't been doing a very good job and told him so."

Grayson tried to make an offended face, but his amused smile ruined the effect. My family tended to do that to people.

"Jonah!" My mom shouted. "That is rude!"

"When are you going to arrive?" I could help but asking. It was better to know than be surprised when they did arrive.

WHEN I had put my clothes into the giant oak dresser that was located on one of the walls of the bedroom, I opened the door again and decided to brave the house, hoping that Grayson had put, at the very least, some boxers on. Of course, my dirty, perverted mind was more than happy to whisper little thoughts about what I had seen earlier, making me want to drool and try to convince Grayson to never wear any article of clothing again.

That dirty little voice in the back of my head would be the death of me.

I mean, I didn't know Grayson at all! He could be some serial killer hiding out from the cops pretending to be the handyman while the real one was tied up in the basement of the house!

Crap. Now I needed to check the basement or I would be paranoid for like, forever.

I slowly meandered down the stairs, but I stopped when I heard a thumping sound around the area the kitchen was in. Cautiously, I peered around the corner and looked into the wide space. When I saw the evidence of the sounds, I gasped, my eyes popping open.

Somehow, the way he did it far beyond the faculties of my imagination, Edgar had been able to get one of the lower cabinets open, and in there he had found some white powder that I wanted to guess was flour. He had most likely dragged the bag with his teeth out of the cabinet and pulled it all across the floor, shown by the substance coating the tile and the mini kitty prints showcased in it. Edgar had then proceeded to jump up on the counter and walk all over the granite, leaving even more tiny footprints.

All I could do was sigh, because he had done things like this before, though never on this scale. He must be pretty upset about moving. That or the carrier I had put him in. With Edgar you were never able to tell what he was pissed about, just that he was.