As far as the rental situation, I'd done far too much snooping already. To continuenowwould be the worst kind of madness, especially with a renter likehim.
And yet, like a kitten to a ball of yarn, I returned a few days later anyway, only to find myself in yet another twisted tangle.
Chapter 4
Harper
From the driver's seat of the coffee truck, I stared in horrified silence.What on Earth was going on?
In front of the house –myhouse – I saw not just one, butthreewhite service vans. With growing dismay, I scanned the names emblazoned along the sides of the vehicles – Quality Plumbing, Sparky Electric, and Ace Masonry & Flooring.
I gave a confused shake of my head.Flooring? Like carpet and tile?
Our bungalow was nearly a hundred years old and had lovely oak floors. Sure, the floors could use a little touching up, but nothing that required a professional. And I sure as heck wouldn’t be covering the oak with carpet or tile.
As far as the renter, he shouldn't be doing anything at all. And besides, whywouldhe? His short-term lease ended in early January, which was less than two months away.
As I stared across the distance, I chewed on my bottom lip. Those vans – they must be there for a different reason.Right?
And yet, I couldn't stop myself from envisioning the worst.
It was Monday morning, just past nine o'clock, and I'd parked the coffee truck in my previous spot near the tennis courts.
I hadn'tplannedto return. Then again, I hadn't planned to slurp down that second mocha either.And don't get me started on the Christmas cookies.
Anyway, here I was, hyped on caffeine, sugar, and curiosity.
I shifted the coffee truck into park and cut the engine. Soon, I was manning the concession window as if I were here on regular business – and not spying on my own house.
As I stared out through the foggy glass, I saw no sign of the renter –orof the people who'd driven those vans.Was the whole crew inside the house right now, doing God-knows-what?
After ten stomach-churning minutes, I finally pulled out my cell phone and called Myra Tuttle, the real estate agent who'd brokered the rental agreement.
When she answered with a terse hello, I got straight to the point. "What's going on?"
"With what?" she asked.
"The guy who's renting our house. You know, the 'businessman.'"
"Nothing'sgoing on," she said. "Why do you ask?"
"Because there's a bunch of construction vehicles parked out front, and I need to make sure that he's not tearing up the place."
On the other end of the line, Myra gave a long, weary sigh that revealed nothing useful.
I told her, "Just so you know, I totally heard that."
"Good, because you were meant to."
Well, that was kind of rude.Still, I plunged onward. "And last week, I got a good look at the renter. He doesn't look like a businessman. He looks like…I dunno… an underwear model.Youmet him, right?"
"No. I rented it to a stranger with shoddy credit."
I gave a little gulp. "You did?"
"Oh, for God's sake," she muttered. "I was being sarcastic. Why do you always expect the worst?"
I'd known Myra since high school. We hadn't been close, and questions likethatweren't going to help us get any closer. "Oh come on!" I said. "That's totally unfair. You're telling me that I shouldn’t be concerned to see a bunch of construction trucks parked outside my own house?"
