Asshole.
I go back to Redactible to check on the latest Surf Rats game. My stupid phone buzzes again—this time with a text from Damiano.
I left something on your door.
Cursing under my breath, I get out of bed and stomp to my door. When I open it, something falls to the floor in front of me.
A black, lacy thong.
Motherfucker.
MADISON
Moving day. I checked with my cousin, and he’s already out of Great-Aunt Vivienne’s house. Not only that, but he’s offered to help me haul things inside.
I pull up to the driveway and feel my jaw drop. I knew there was a gate with a keypad, because the access code is in my documents from the attorney’s office. But this tall, wrought-iron structure lodged into a menacing rock wall looks like something out of a gothic series, like a school for wayward supernaturals. Academy of Ghosts. Perhaps I can pause my current zombie series and do a rewatch.
Once I get through the intimidating gate, I have a good fifty yards of driveway to travel before I reach the house. Large oaks, their leaves just beginning to turn, tower over the paved drive, covering it in dappled shade.
This is insane. I can’t believe I’m here, that this is my property.
The house is a large Victorian, but according to my documents, Vivienne kept it current with its heating and air conditioning. I hope the kitchen is modern.
An older-model SUV is in the drive, and a man sits on the front porch. His flannel shirt tells me it’s Ford, before I can even see his face clearly. He stands and waves as I drive up.
I get out of the car. “Hey, Ford!”
“Hey!” He squints at my car, with the passenger and back seats full of boxes. “Is this everything?”
“Yeah. There are a couple boxes in the trunk, too.” I left my furniture behind—what little I had. My bed at the apartment was an old twin, with a lumpy mattress I’d gotten off a freecycling site. My dresser had been left behind by a previous tenant. And the couch—well, I’d bought that, but after Hugo and Felix dropping mac-n-cheese noodles all over it for several months, I didn’t want it to come with me, either.
Ford brightens. “Well, this should be easy, then. And I guess you don’t really need much—the house is already furnished with Vivienne’s things.”
We start unloading the car. I take out my key to open the front door, but Ford hefts a box against his hip and turns the handle. The door swings open. “Hope you don’t mind—I unlocked when I got here. I needed to use the facilities.”
“Oh, uh, no problem at all.” I’d built up the moment of unlocking my door with my own key, as sort of a big step in my new life as a homeowner. But it’s fine—I’ll have plenty of other opportunities to unlock my own front door.
As we go in and out of the house, carrying in boxes before returning to the car for more, Ford and I don’t talk much. He gives me a commiserating smile every now and then. I find I like the quiet companionship. No forced small talk, no need for banal pleasantries.
All too soon, though, the car is empty. Everything I own is in the large, wood-floored entryway. Ford and I face each other.
“Thanks so much for your help,” I tell him.
“Of course.” He glances toward the staircase. “Do you want a hand bringing anything upstairs?”
“Oh, no, there’s absolutely no organization to this. I’ll peck away at it over the next few days.”
“You’re sure? I don’t mind. I thought I’d be here hauling beds, dressers, and coffee tables.”
“Well, I didn’t have much.” I shrug. “I really do appreciate the help, though.”
I’m ready for him to leave. Maybe it isn’t that charitable of me, after he gave me all this help, but this is my new house, and I want to explore without the awkwardness of the previous tenant hanging around.
He offers me a smile. “You’re welcome. Maybe Vivienne’s death will bring us all closer, in the end.”
I have huge doubts. “Tell that to Derick and Crane.”
“Yeah, well. I best get going.”
