I put my phone away as Bill shifted to face me. “I knew you’d like Oak Park. It’s the perfect distance. You’re still close to the city, and I can finally get a decent night’s rest.”
Jeanine pulled over and parked in front of a house. I braced myself for disappointment, but to my surprise, its spiked, triangular roof and jagged rock exterior was nothing like what we’d seen so far. Its enormity lay in the imposing structure rather than in square footage. It wasn’t turnkey like Bill had requested; it needed work. The run-down property, thick with overgrown brush, oozed with character. Hard angles, a stone path and chimney, and clean, jutting lines gave it a modern but rustic feel. Yet in an oasis of traditional homes, it somehow retained the neighborhood’s atmosphere.
It was quietlymagnificent.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped out to get a better look. Dead grass crunched under my shoes as I used my hand to shield my eyes against the lowering sun.
“Olivia?”
I glanced over my shoulder.
Jeanine gestured to me as she and Bill crossed the street. “This one. Over here.”
Ah. Behind her, a realtor’s sign sprouted from lush, green grass that belonged to a spacious, pretty home resembling every other house on the block. Except the one where I stood.
I should’ve known. And it was for the best. Neither Bill nor I had time for a DIY project.
I stepped off the curb and followed Jeanine into the house we were supposed to be seeing. We climbed the front steps to a large entryway, then an empty dining room that echoed with our footsteps, making our way through a kitchen with enough room that I’d actually be able to spread out. Upstairs, a sprawling master bedroom and en suite bathroom with double sinks would be the clincher for Bill. He often complained about our cramped one-bedroom and single bathroom, especially when we had guests over.
While he and Jeanine discussed amenities, I wandered down the hall into a smaller room that faced the street.
A cracked window allowed me to breathe in the fresh, spring breeze and absorb the sunshine that graced the home’s vivid lawn in all its brilliance. What was so scary about the suburbs?
From where I stood on the second floor, the home across the way seemed even more out of place. The lush backyard seemed as unkempt as the front, but what I could see looked as if it had once been a garden. With its rock exterior, contrasting rust-colored roof, and darkened windows, the house gave off a much less welcoming vibe than its neighbors. It was different. Unexpected. It didn’t belong. As it stood, it was an eyesore, but I could envision bringing it to life with a weed whacker, fixing the cracks in the stone walkway, adding a fresh coat of paint . . .
Before I could finish the thought, my phone rang in my handbag. I checked the screen but didn’t recognize the number. That wasn’t a surprise. The weekend receptionist occasionally forwarded me calls from the office.
“This is Olivia,” I answered.
“This is David.”
I froze, keeping my eyes out the window. He didn’t need to announce himself. I’d have easily identified David Dylan’s deep voice despite my will to forget him.
He didn’t need any more encouragement, though. “David who?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I suppose you know me better as Lucas.”
I glanced at the ground, smiling at the jab. I couldn’t blame him for teasing me when I should’ve done my homework. “Oh,thatDavid,” I said. “How’d you get this number?”
“Serena. I’m grateful for my sake she’s working over the weekend, but you should have a talk with her about giving out your personal info to charming strangers.”
“Apparently.” I could only imagine how David had sweet-talked the receptionist into passing him on to Serena so he could butter her up for my number.
“You never responded to my e-mail,” he said.
Your Safety. I bit my bottom lip. “It’s Saturday. I haven’t looked yet. What’d it say?”
“I’ve been worried since I last saw you. What’d your husband say about the encounter with . . .?”
“Mark Alvarez,” I supplied. “He was upset about his brother, Lou, who’s serving a life sentence.”
“For?”
I shifted on my feet. “First-degree murder.”
After a moment of silence, David said, “What about this guy Mark?”
“I guess he was also on trial, but he had a better defense attorney and served minimal time with early release.”
