Pop: Chapter 4a

     I walk around the Beretta, and it seems to be okay.  More than enough room to get it around Sam's car, small as it is.  I continue past the garage to the back yard.  I look at the covered deck and swimming pool.  I can barely see the new crack at the rear of the pool.  It may have gotten bigger since last week.  Well, it isn't really my problem right now, is it?

    The security system was still on as I unlock the back door.  At least Sam always remembers to check on the alarm.  I will have to contact the security company to set up extra help this week.  I really shouldn't have told everyone on national television that I'd be out of town.  Still, how can I promote without mentioning that.  

    I notice Sam's trunks on the rack in the laundry room on my right as I walk through the sunroom.  I'm about to enter the pantry on the left, when Sam literally pops up from behind a cabinet.  Right next to the hidden stash of blueberry bars.

    "Hi Chris.  I didn't hear you arrive.  Aren't you a little early?  Or is it late?" Sam paused sheepishly, probably trying to hide my bar behind his back.  Not going to help, as he's wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist and his usual flip flops.  The towel is a little lower than decorum allows, even among brothers.  Sam quickly hikes it up another inch.

    "Actually, I'm about on time.  On the other hand, why are you in the pantry, practically naked?"

    "Just grabbing an extra snack, just in case."  He hikes up the towel another inch.  "I'm naked because I took a shower after my morning swim.  I'm just air-drying before I finish getting ready."

    "Please tell me you didn't walk through the house that wet."  Water damages the wood stairs, as well as stains the carpeting.

    "Nope.  I used the downstairs. shower."  Up another inch.

    "At least you weren't running around the house naked.  Still, you should go now and finish getting ready.  Just make sure that you put the towel where it can dry."

    "Whatever."  Sam carefully scuttles past me, always facing me, until he gets to the sunroom.  "I'll be done soon."  And he walks away.

    I go to check on my bars when  a burst of white flies through the sunroom.  I rush out to the hall to see Sam's bare backside running to the rear stairs.  He must have tried a hook shot to aim the towel at the laundry room and missed, horribly.  For someone so tall, he has barely any skills at basketball.  Better than me though.  

    I go to pick up the towel and put in the hamper before checking on the bars.  Yep, two more are missing.  At least I have a second secret stash in the wine cellar downstairs.  There's also temperature-controlled storage units for the artwork, as well as Dad's old sculpture studio and a half bath.  The painting studio was upstairs, in his old bedroom from when he was a kid.  Not sure why there's a half bath though.  All the studio needed was a sink, really.  Most men I know would use the sink if they really needed to though.  Not me, usually.  Uses less water, at least.