“Good. The place is amazing. You’re going to love it.”
“I bet. Have you started any work?”
“No. Tomorrow I plan on going into the cellar.”
Mace chuckled. “How come it’s a ‘cellar’ instead of an ordinary ‘basement’?”
“I guess because Dexter Larabee called it a cellar.” I grinned. “Beats me. How many homes in California have basements or cellars anyway? The basement is part of the foundation and usually smaller than a cellar. Anyway, I think it will be perfect as a wine cellar. I’ll check it out for sure tomorrow.”
“Great,” he said absently.
“Busy?” I took a sip of wine.
“Yeah, this case is turning into a bitch. Sorry. I probably should go. I’ll give you a call tomorrow when I get a chance.”
“Don’t work too hard, Mace. I don’t want you to have a heart attack before you retire and move up here with me.”
“No way. I can’t wait to be there, too. I love you, Jules.”
“Love you, too. Goodnight.”
I disconnected the call and set the phone on the kitchen island.