Текст книги "Home Improvement: Undead Edition"

Автор книги: Сьюзан Маклеод

Соавторы: Seanan McGuire,Rochelle Krich,Toni Kelner,Simon R. Green,E. e. Knight,S. J. Rozan,Charlaine Harris,Melissa Marr,Stacia Kane
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

She ducked her head. “Vampires don’t have to kill people,” she told him. “Especially once we are older, more in control of ourselves. I try not to. But . . . it doesn’t bother me very much, not when they are”—she looked him in the eye and gave him an ironic smile—“evil.”

“In my business,” Peter said slowly, “you come into the job seeing the world in black and white. Most of us who survive, the good cops, learn to work in shades of gray.” He smiled slowly at her. “So, Ms. Gray. What have you decided about the lighting fixtures in the kitchen?”

The brass lights are nice, but I think the bronze will look better,Jack whispered, his lips brushing the edge of her ear.

“I think I like the bronze,” she told Peter.

Squatters’ Rights
ROCHELLE KRICH

In the beginning she heard them inside the bedroom wall.

The sounds originated above Eve’s head and had kept her awake for countless hours every night since she and Joe had moved into the house three weeks ago.

Scratch, scratch, scratch . . .

Mice, Eve had thought the first night, but she hadn’t found droppings in the bedroom or anywhere else in the house, where speckled beige tarps had formed hills over their furniture and the stacks upon stacks of boxes filled with their belongings.

Joe hadn’t heard a thing.

“It’s all in your head, babe,” he told her, his sympathy thinned the third time she woke him—at two in the morning, so she couldn’t blame him. “The house was just fumigated, right? Even if something wasin the walls, it isn’t there now.”

Unless it was a ghost.

The thought was ridiculous, and Eve was pretty sure believing in ghosts didn’t fit with Judaism, although hadn’t King Saul asked a witch to summon the spirit of the prophet Samuel?

Eve wouldn’t have thought about ghosts at all if the broker hadn’t told them the previous owner had killed her husband and herself, in the house.

“By law I have to inform you,” the broker had said, his shrug and rolling of eyes inviting Eve and Joe to share his opinion of said law. He was a tall, wiry man with silver hair and a restless habit of bouncing from foot to foot that made Eve think of a Slinky. “It’s morbid, I’ll give you that, but a lucky break for you guys. This place is selling way below what it’s worth. I’m sure you’ve seen the comps, so you know.”

Bad mazel, both sets of parents had said. Eve and Joe had dismissed their forebodings, swayed by the potential in the three-bedroom, two-bath fixer-upper on Bellaire Avenue in Valley Village, and by the price. They had the down payment, most of it money Eve had inherited from her grandmother, but even with two incomes—Joe was a nursing home administrator, and Eve taught kindergarten at a private Jewish school—it was unlikely that they could afford another house in the foreseeable future, if ever, unless they were willing to leave Los Angeles, which they weren’t. Their jobs were here, their friends, family. Eve’s parents lived in Beverlywood, a thirty-minute drive from Valley Village. Joe’s parents lived in San Francisco, where housing was even more out of reach.

To save rent, Eve and Joe planned to renovate the house after they took occupancy. It had made sense to have the hardwood floors refinished while the house was empty, and they painted the master bedroom themselves the Sunday before they moved in.

That first evening, while Joe and his cousin Marty were returning the U-Haul in the city, Eve stood inside the bedroom. It looked just as she had imagined—beautiful, serene, a haven where she and Joe could retreat during the many months the house would be undergoing work. She would have placed the full-size beds on the wider east wall, but two closet doors made that impossible. So the beds were on the south wall. Eve had chosen the bed near the windows that looked out on the yard even though it was farther from the closets and connecting bathroom.

The bathroom was their first project. The chipped porcelain finish on the tub and sink was ringed with rusty Rorschachs, and a leaking shower pan had caused dry rot in the floor joists and mud sill. Earlier that day Eve had yanked off half a panel of blistered, peeling wallpaper but stopped when she saw ominous Technicolor patches of mold and an accompanying cloud of dust.

Eve made numerous trips hauling armfuls of clothing to the bedroom closets, dresser, and armoire, the furniture’s matte espresso stain rich against the Benjamin Moore Kennebunkport Green, which looked gray in the fading light. She considered moving some of the dry and canned goods into the kitchen, but she didn’t have the energy to line the pantry and cabinet shelves. She took a box of Raisin Bran for Joe and instant oatmeal packets for herself. She gave up looking for the coffeemaker. She’d ask Joe to do it.

Even with the windows open, the house was warm. Eve felt sticky and grimy. Project number two, she decided: air-conditioning. After a quick shower in the guest bathroom (she made a mental note to tell the plumber about the weak water pressure), she put on coral capri pants and a white tank top and unearthed a tablecloth and two place settings, including goblets for the wine chilling in the fridge next to a bottle of Fresca and lunch leftovers from a nearby kosher pizza shop. Humming Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s “Our House,” she arranged everything on the small drop-leaf faux butcher block table in the dark ocher breakfast nook, which would look cheery and cozy when it was painted, maybe a buttery yellow.

Joe surprised her with sunflowers.

“You are so, so sweet,” Eve said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his lips and nuzzle his cheeks, a little rough and darkened by two days’ growth of beard and smudges of dirt, but she didn’t care.

“You smell great,” he said, his strong hands on her hips. “You look great, too.” His smile was intimate, inviting. “You showered, huh? Guess I’ll do the same.”

Before Joe, Eve had felt self-conscious about her body, which fluctuated between a size ten and twelve, huge by L.A. standards. Joe made her feel beautiful, sexy. He loved her curves, he told her, and wide hips were great for having babies.

“How was the shower, by the way?” he asked.

She told him about the water pressure. “It’s fine for now.”

While Joe showered, she found a vase, a wedding gift from her best friend Gina, who had posted Eve’s profile on J-Date. Eve had sworn off J-Date and other Jewish online dating sites after thirty-plus dates ranging from painfully boring to disastrous. She had initially declined to answer Joe’s post, but she didn’t want him to think she was rude, and (she hadn’t admitted this to Gina) she was taken by his humor and his photo, even though photos usually lied. She and Joe, as it turned out, had much in common. They were twenty-nine years old, both only children committed to modern Orthodoxy, family, and sushi. They enjoyed hiking, word games, and Curb Your Enthusiasm. From their phone calls she discerned that he was smart and funny and self-deprecating. He had been married briefly at twenty-two—“We were both too young,” he’d told Eve—and was ready for a serious relationship. Two weeks after their first post they met in the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on Larchmont. She caught her breath when she saw him coming toward her, six foot three and good-looking with wavy thick dark brown hair and okay, a small paunch, but his smile! His smile made her palms sweat and her stomach muscles curl. Pilates for the heart, she thought.

The sunflowers brightened the ocher walls. Over dinner, salmon fillets and tomato-and-basil angel hair pasta that Joe had picked up from the Fish Grill on Ventura, Joe uncorked the Asti. They toasted Gina and their good fortune in having found each other and the house. They drank a second glass of wine. They joked about the house’s many defects and, after a third glass that made them giddy, about its macabre history. Joe said, “Promise you won’t kill me, babe?” and Eve said, “Not tonight, I have a headache,” and they groaned with laughter until tears streamed from their eyes. When the meal was over and the bottle empty, they were suddenly mellow. They held hands across the table. Joe fingered her wedding band and said, “I can’t imagine life without you,” and Eve was so happy she almost cried.

Later, when Joe was asleep, she stood in front of the window, the newly varnished dark walnut floors cool and smooth under her feet. The moon was kinder than daylight to the yard, a field of shaggy yellowed grass and weeds and bald patches of parched earth. She envisioned a dark velvety green lawn, tall trees hiding the cinder block wall, perennial shrubs and annuals—petunias, lobelia, pansies in the fall. Maybe a hammock where she could stretch her legs and brush her fingers against the blades of sweet-smelling grass while she read a book and, God willing, one day soon, would stroke the downy hair of a baby in the jasmine-perfumed air.

The noises started as soon as she slipped back into bed.

JOE HAD TOprepare for a health department inspection at work, so he was long gone when the contractor, Ken Brasso, arrived at seven thirty in the morning with two Latino workers, Fernando and William. Eve would have offered coffee and had a cup herself—God knew she needed caffeine after having had almost no sleep—but Joe had forgotten to dig up the coffeemaker and the fresh-ground dark roast she’d bought last Friday at Whole Foods, was that too much to ask? She apologized about the coffee, finishing with a little laugh that left her feeling awkward. She did have the Fresca, which all three men politely declined.

Eve had been anxious about the floors and was gratified to see Fernando and William working with care as they laid tarps in the hall and master bedroom. After covering the beds, dresser, and armoire, they taped thick plastic over the frame of the door connecting the bedroom and bath, leaving one flap open.

“There’s gonna be dust when you’re smashing tile,” Ken had told Eve. “But my guys will clean everything up.”

Ken, short and compact and in his late forties, had come highly recommended by her parents’ friends, the Bergers, for whom he had recently done a kitchen remodel. The Bergers had left Ken and his crew alone in their house for months and trusted them without reservation. Eve could, too. She would have liked to watch the demolition, but the drive to the school on West Pico would take at least twenty-five minutes. She did hear the first thunks as she was leaving and felt a rush of excitement as she pictured hammers attacking the godawful wallpaper and cracked tiles.

At work she made Memorial Day projects with the fourteen children in her class. She loved her kids, each one adorable and inquisitive. She loved sharing stories about them with Joe, who was a great listener and would be a great father. Once or twice her mind slipped to the house on Bellaire, and she wondered how the work was progressing. Throughout the day she found herself yawning. During nap time she was tempted to lie down on one of the tiny cots, just for a few minutes. Of course, she couldn’t.

When Eve returned home, she was pleased to see the Dumpster in the driveway filled with debris. Stepping into the house, she was greeted by a lively Hispanic tune that she traced to the boom box on the floor of the master bath, now an empty shell. Fernando and William were removing the tarps from the beds and furniture. The music was loud, and they didn’t notice her arrival. When they did, they smiled at her. A coating of dust had whitened both men’s hair and eyebrows, and William’s moustache.

Eve smiled back and patted her head. “Mucho polvo.”A lot of dust.

Fernando nodded and stooped his shoulders. “Sí, sí. Somos bien viejos.”We are very old.

Both men laughed, and Eve joined in, brimming with goodwill and happiness.

Ken took pride in giving Eve an update. They had replaced the warped plywood and joists. They had installed the drain assembly in the shower and poured mortar onto the wire mesh layered over the tar paper.

“See that?” Ken pointed to the grayish-brown mud on the shower bottom. “No dips, no humps. The slope is perfect. Water will flow right down to the drain. That’s what you want.”

“Wonderful,” Eve said, thinking Joe would be more interested in the details than she was. The moist, earthy smell of the mortar was making her a little nauseated.

“Tomorrow we frame the window and put in cement backer board for the wall tiles. Moisture won’t affect it, so it’s great for bathrooms. Then the floor tiles. Cabinets, countertop, and faucets are last. And you’ve got yourself a beautiful new bathroom.”

Eve smiled. “I can’t wait.”

She and Joe had enjoyed selecting the materials: white marble for the walls and floors with accents of one-inch green glass tiles above the sink; polished chrome trim for the sink, Jacuzzi tub, and shower faucets; dark brown cabinets; white marble for the countertop. A spa in their own home.

“One thing.” A note of warning had entered Ken’s voice. “That mortar’s solid, but don’t step on it, not even tomorrow. It’ll be hardened, but still soft enough to be easily chipped or gouged with just about anything hard enough to do damage.”

“The shower is off-limits,” Eve promised.

“Thursday, we put in the shower pan liner and the second layer of mud. When that’s dry, we install the marble. You ordered extra, right? Like I said, you have to allow for breakage.”

TUESDAY NIGHT THEscratching was more persistent. Eve hated waking Joe. He was still tired from lugging furniture and boxes and a long day at work, where a patient had been missing for hours, right in the middle of inspection. After fifteen minutes she couldn’t stand one more second of the noise. “Poor baby,” Joe murmured, “try to get some sleep.” Which pissed her off, because it wasn’t as though she weren’t trying, for God’s sake. Minutes later he was snoring, his arm still around her, his breath a little rank as it tickled her cheek. She loosened his arm and nudged him until he was lying on his back. Turning onto her stomach, she pressed her pillow against her ears. No relief. In the living room, she rummaged through several boxes before she found cotton balls that she fashioned into earplugs. Months earlier, planning a trip to Israel, she’d filled a prescription for Ambien. In the end she hadn’t taken the pills. She took half a tablet now, and with the cotton crammed into her ears, she lay down and shut her eyes. Silence. She exhaled slowly and felt her body relax.

The noises came back.

The scratching had been replaced by a whooshed exhalation that formed a word, heave, whispery at first, then gaining in volume. Heave, heave, heave, heave.And something was hovering over her face, pressing against her body, solid and warm and—

Eve.That was what she heard, Eve. Joe calling her name, Eve, dear Joe, he felt bad for her, or maybe he wanted her, which was fine, she couldn’t sleep anyway. Smiling, she raised her arms and embraced air. She opened her eyes. He was lying on his back, fast asleep. Thanks for the concern, Joe.

The voices were louder now, sharper. Not Eve, she realized with a start, not heave.

Leave.

That was it. Leave. Leave. Leave.

Oh God, Eve thought, lying rigid with fear on the bed, what was happening? Ohgodohgodohgod.

At some point, when the first hint of daylight began tinting the gray walls green, the noises stopped. Eve slept. At five forty-five her alarm rang. She slammed the snooze button. Fifteen minutes later the alarm rang again. She slammed the button again. Joe, running his electric shaver over his chin, said, “Ken’ll be here by seven, babe, so you may want to get up.” She wanted to smack him. She crawled out of bed.

When she entered the breakfast nook a half hour later, Joe was sitting at the table reading the Times, a large mug in his hand. He put down the mug and pulled out a chair for her.

“Hey.” He smiled. “I picked up doughnuts for Ken and his guys, like you asked, babe. They’re on the counter. I found the coffeemaker andthe coffee. Plus two mugs, hot cups, plastic spoons, and paper plates. I think you’re set.”

“Congratulations. I’ll submit your name to the Nobel committee.”

He ignored her sarcasm and patted the chair. “Sit. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. You’ll feel better, I promise. The coffee’s pretty good, I have to say.” He rose and took a step toward the kitchen.

“I’m glad you’re all sunshine and joy. I slept an hour. One hour.Coffee isn’t going to fix that.”

“I’m so sorry, babe.”

“I could pack all our stuff in the bags under my eyes. I look like crap, Joe. I feellike crap. There was almost no water coming out of the damn showerhead, and what did tinkle out was lukewarm.”

He took her hand. “Eve, honey—”

She yanked her hand away. “Don’t ‘Eve honey’ me. The shower in the guest bathroom sucks, Joe. I’m sure it was hot when you showered, so of course you don’t have a problem with it. The shower sucks. This house sucks.” She started to cry.

In a flash he was at her side, his muscled arms hugging her to his chest. “I feel terrible, Eve. I wish I could help.”

“Something’s in the wall, Joe. Something alive.”

Joe sighed. “Eve—”

She pulled away and glared at him, her blue eyes intense. She clenched her hands. “I heard it, Joe. Over and over and over, so many times I stopped counting. So don’t you daretell me I’m imagining things. Because I. Will. Scream.”

Joe placed a hand on her shoulder. “I hear you, Eve. I’ll call an exterminator.”

“I don’t know if an exterminator can help.”

Joe frowned. “You want to ask Ken to open the wall, see what’s in there? Whatever it takes.”

She took his hand. “Promise you won’t think I’m crazy.”

“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word, his tone wary.

“The voices I’ve been hearing?” She tightened her grip on his hand. “Last night they whispered what sounded like ‘Leave.’ And I felt something breathing on my face, Joe.”

Joe covered his mouth with his free hand and forced a cough. Eve knew he was struggling not to laugh. She felt a twinge of anger but couldn’t blame him.

He dropped his hand to his side. “What are you saying, Eve? That there are ghosts in the house?”

“The people who owned it before us . . . The woman killed her husband, Joe. She killed herself. What if their troubled spirits are here? I know we’re not supposed to practice witchcraft, but that doesn’t mean spirits don’t exist. It’s possible, isn’t it?”

Joe drew her close. “You know what I think, honey? I think you and I had way too much wine the other night, and we were talking about the people who owned the house, being disrespectful. So that’s on your mind. Plus our parents scared us with all that talk about bad mazel.”

“I heard the voices, Joe. I felt them breathing on me.”

“Maybe you did, Eve,” he said, his voice soft as cotton. “And maybe you had a nightmare that seemed incredibly real. Isn’t that possible? Hasn’t that ever happened to you? It has to me.”

She’d had those kinds of dreams, more than once. “You’re right. I’m being silly.”

“You’re not silly. I’d be frightened, too.” He released her and cupped her face in his hands. “Look, if it happens tonight, wake me right away. I’ll stay up with you.”

The bands around her chest loosened. “I love you, Joe.”

“I love you, too, babe.”

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch.”

“You? Never.” He smiled. “Gotta go, babe.”

Fernando and William arrived on time. They thanked Eve for the coffee and doughnuts, which they hurried to finish when Ken showed up minutes later. Eve ate a glazed doughnut with her coffee and slipped a cruller into a plastic bag to take to work. She was walking to her Corolla when Ken called her name. She turned around.

“Show you something?” He looked stern.

“Is there a problem?”

“You tell me.”

She followed him down the hall into the bathroom. He pointed to the shower floor.

“I thought I made myself clear,” Ken said.

She stepped closer. The gray-brown mortar with its perfect slope showed markings and cracks in several areas.

“I have no idea how that happened,” Eve said. “We didn’t go nearthe shower, Ken.”

Ken harrumphed.

She peered closely at the markings. “Doesn’t that look like a bird’s feet? We left the windows open all night, because it was so warm. Maybe a bird flew in.”

“Through the screens?”

She sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ken.”

“We lay tile on that surface, you’ll have cracks, that’s a guarantee. We’ll have to redo the mud. That’s half a day’s work, and it’s not coming out of mypocket.” Ken was scowling.

“Of course not.” Eve wondered how much a half day’s work would cost. Not that they had a choice. “So when will you be able to install the marble?”

“You’re looking at Tuesday at the earliest—unless you have more birds visiting.”

EVE SHOWED JOEthe marks on the mortar.

“That isstrange,” he said. “You’re right. The marks dolook like they were made by a bird. Or maybe a chicken. Bock, bock, bock.” Joe flapped his arms. “Is that the noise you’ve been hearing?”

She stared at him, wounded. “I can’t believe you’re making fun of me. I haven’t slept in two days, Joe.”

His handsome face turned red. “I’m really sorry, Eve. I was trying to get you to see the humor in this.”

“The shower’s going to cost us hundreds more, Joe. Where’s the humor in that?”

Wednesday night Eve took a whole Ambien instead of a half and fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed she was at a grave site where she saw somber-faced people, most of whom she knew. Gina, the staff and teachers from her school. Her mother and father, Joe, Joe’s parents. Everyone was crying. She didn’t see herself, and it took a few seconds before she realized that it was herfuneral. Her chest ballooned with sadness. She wanted to cry, too, but the voices were back, leave, leave, leave, leave, leave, and she couldn’t wake Joe, couldn’t move because something was pressing against her chest, breathing on her face, its odor foul and musty.

In the morning Joe said, “I watched you, babe. You were sound asleep. Feeling better?”

“A little,” she lied. She’d had another nightmare. That was the only rational explanation, so why worry Joe? There was nothing he could do.

She was sluggish at work, but the kids didn’t notice. An hour after she returned home her mother, Ruth, arrived with bags of fruits and vegetables. She had brought dinner—a large pan of eggplant parmesan—and homebaked chocolate cake, Joe’s favorite.

“You’re the best,” Eve said, and kissed her mother’s cheek.

Ruth smiled. “I try.” She noted the dark circles under Eve’s eyes. “You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone, honey. You’re not sleeping well, right?” She nodded. “It takes time to get used to a new house.”

“It’s not that.” Eve told her mother about the dream, but not about the voices. She braced for a comment about the house’s bad mazel, but Ruth said, “Your own funeral? Chas v’sholom”—God forbid—and shuddered. Eve’s grandmother, Rivka, would have spit on the floor.

“It’s just a bad dream, honey,” her mother said. “Try chamomile tea before you go to sleep. Or a glass of red wine.”

Eve’s eyes teared. “You warned us, Mom. You all said the house has bad mazel. I should have listened.”

“Evie.” Ruth hugged her daughter tight. “Don’t let a nightmare ruin your happiness.” She moved back and lifted Eve’s chin. “You loved the house, right? You bought it. You’ll make your own mazel. Okay?”

Eve tried a smile. “Okay.” Her mother always made her feel better.

“So, show me what they’ve done. This is veryexciting.”

“They finished demolishing the bathroom.” Eve led the way and was surprised to find her spirits and enthusiasm reviving with each step. “They’re working on the shower, and they installed a moistureproof backing on the walls for the marble. It’s going to be so beautiful, Mom.”

“I’m sure it will.”

In the bedroom doorway Ruth came to an abrupt stop. She tsked.

Eve turned to face her. “What?”

Ruth was frowning. “That’s your bed?” She pointed to the bed close to the windows that looked out on the yard.

“Yes. Why?”

“That explains the dream, Eve. Your bed is directly across from the doorway. Your feet are pointing to the door.”

Eve crinkled her forehead. “So?”

“It’s bad mazel, honey. When a person dies, he or she is carried out feet first. You probably heard it before and forgot, and your dream is reminding you.”

Jewish feng shui. That explained the sounds Eve had been hearing. Leave.It was her subconscious nudging her into protecting herself. The feeling that something had been breathing on her, pressing against her—that had been a nightmare, like Joe said.

That night after Eve and Joe enjoyed the eggplant and two servings each of the cake, she helped him move the beds closer to the closets. The beds were off center now. That bothered Eve, but off center was better than bad mazel. Eve debated and took an Ambien. She lay in her off-center bed with a light heart and fell asleep within minutes.

She was at her funeral again. Her heart ached for her parents and Joe’s, all of them weeping as her casket was being lowered into the grave. She was most concerned for Joe. He had stepped back from the grave and was standing with his head bowed, his shoulders heaving. How she wished she could comfort him. He turned around and looked up, as though he sensed she was watching him. She saw him lock eyes with a tall, brown-haired young woman prettier and slimmer than Eve would ever be. Then Joe, her Joe, I-love-you-more-than-life-babe-I-can’t-live-without-you Joe, gave the woman the lazy smile that had won Eve’s heart. He winked at the woman, and Eve had no choice but to watch that lying bastard flirt at her own funeral. The voices started again: Leave, leave, leave, leave, leave . . .

Not the house—no, the house was fine, the house was not the danger.

Leave Joe.

FRIDAY MORNING SHEwoke up with a migraine and nausea. Joe notified the school that she wouldn’t be coming in and offered to cancel Ken. Eve reminded him that Ken and his crew wouldn’t return until Tuesday.

“That’s good, then.” Joe arranged a cool damp washcloth on Eve’s forehead and kissed her cheek softly. “I don’t want to wake you if you’re sleeping, so call me when you can, okay, babe? If you need me, I’ll come home.”

She nodded, her eyes shut to block out the soft filtered light that, with her migraine, felt like an assault. Joe was so tender, so solicitous. She could tell he wasn’t faking. She felt guilty having harbored hateful thoughts because of a nightmare that seemed ludicrous when she was awake.

“Don’t worry about cooking for Shabbos,” Joe said. “Your mom is taking care of everything.” He kissed her again before he left.

She lay in bed until the migraine’s accompanying zigzagging aura stopped and the ferocious pain receded to a dull ache. She made her way gingerly to the kitchen and saw that Joe had filled the hot-water urn and set out tea bags and dry crackers. And a note:

If you’re up, that means you’re feeling a little better. Call me. I love you, babe.

The tea and crackers settled her stomach. She showered in the guest bathroom and washed her hair, careful to avoid sudden movements that made her feel as though loose parts were rattling around in her skull.

She craved fresh air. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and sunglasses to protect her still-sensitive eyes, Eve walked out the front door. A thirtysomething woman with curly red hair was in front of Eve’s walkway, pushing a stroller back and forth while she kept her eyes on a redheaded boy furiously pedaling a tricycle up the street.

The woman smiled at Eve. “You’re the new neighbor. I’m Sandy Komin.”

“Eve Stollman.”

“Nice to meet you, Eve. I planned to introduce myself before, but with three kids under eight, my intentions rarely pan out. If I can take a shower, I consider it a good day.” Sandy smiled again.

Eve smiled back. “How old is your baby?”

“Lily is eight months.” Sandy beamed at the infant asleep in the stroller. She pointed to the toddler on the bike. “Michael’s two and a half. Our oldest, Geneva, is seven. She’s in school, thank God. Do you have kids?”

Eve shook her head. “We want to start a family. That’s one of the reasons we bought the house.”

“Well, if you want to practice, you can borrow mine whenever you want.” Sandy laughed. “Seriously, let me know if I can help with anything. Dry cleaners, markets, carpet cleaners, plumbers, gardener—I have tons of numbers.”

Eve thought, What about ghost busters?“Thanks, I’ll take you up on that. I hope the noise from the remodeling isn’t bothering you too much.”

“Not at all. We’re up early. And I’d rather hear hammering and drilling than Barney. Barney the purple dinosaur?” she said when Eve looked puzzled.

“I’ve never watched it.”

“Lucky you.” Sandy adjusted Lily’s blanket. “The couple who owned the house before you, Nancy and Brian Goodrich? They did some minor remodeling. They were planning to put in a new kitchen, but then . . .” Sandy’s voice trailed off, and her expression had turned somber. “You know what happened, right?”

Eve nodded. “The broker told us.”

“God, what a tragedy.” Sandy sighed. “We were all shocked. Nancy and Brian seemed happy, and I never heard them arguing.” Her eyes narrowed. “Michael, turn around and come back!” she called. “You’re too far!”

Eve waited until the boy obeyed. “What happened, exactly?”

“The police think Nancy woke up when she heard someone entering the bedroom and thought Brian was an intruder. She must have been disoriented, maybe because she was on antianxiety medication.” The baby whimpered. Sandy resumed the back-and-forth motion of the stroller. “Nancy shot him. When she realized she’d killed Brian, she killed herself.” Tears welled in Sandy’s eyes. She wiped them with her hand. “It’s heartbreaking. It’s . . .” She shook her head.

“Why was Nancy on medication?”

“I heard she had a nervous breakdown. She seemed stressed the month or so before she died. I didn’t see her in the final weeks.” For a moment Sandy was quiet, lost in thought. Then she looked at Eve and her face brightened. “Hey, I hope you don’t let the house’s history bother you. What happened to Nancy and Brian has nothing to do with you and your husband. What’s his name?”

“Joe.”

“I saw him. He’s a hottie, Eve, a keeper.” Sandy winked. “How’d you meet?”