“Must have belonged to a demented kid,” he muttered, not for the first time. “Who else would do dark green and orange walls?”
Setting the buckets of paint, the tray, and rollers on an old table in the center of the room, he went to work. He didn’t know how much later, but he had two walls finished, when a voice behind him said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” startling him enough that he almost dropped the paint brush onto the hardwood floor.
Turning, he growled, “Painting, what does it look like?”
Stuart checked the doorframe before leaning against it, his face showing disapproval. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy, Van.”
A bit guiltily, Vance retrieved the sling from the ladder and put it on. “I’m not really using my arm, but wearing the damned thing while I’m working was driving me crazy.” Then he stopped, looking at Stuart. “How did you get in, anyway?”
“Through the front door. You left the alarm off, not as if it’s being on would have stopped me for long.”