His Temporary Live-in Wife

Eric started whistling after they hung up, then he found music on the satellite radio that he could sing along with. He was beginning to feel more than a little hopeful about his fresh start. He even had a matchmaker willing to help.

He rolled down his window and flew down the Interstate singing at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t wait to get to California and see who she had in mind.

Chapter Two

Early Friday morning, Marcy dragged herself out of her sleeping bag and stumbled into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She stared at her haggard reflection.

“One more night to go,” she reminded herself. It had been a very long week, but Eric was making good time on the road and thought he would arrive sometime tomorrow afternoon. In some ways she was ready to move on, but since her house-sitting job had been canceled, she didn’t have anywhere to go the following week. Usually she stayed at her back-up home, her friend Lori’s apartment, but she had out-of-town company, leaving no room for Marcy. She’d checked with two other friends, but they both had live-in boyfriends, a surprise to her, so that wouldn’t work.

For the first time in ages, she would have to get a motel room.

But whichever way it worked out, a full night’s sleep was in sight for her, for which she was grateful. Eric’s house made noise all night, sounds she couldn’t identify, creaks and groans and clunks. Tree branches scraped against windows. A couple of times she thought she’d heard footsteps, but in the morning there were no signs of anyone having been inside.

She knew she was being ridiculous. Paranoid, probably. In her sane moments, she chalked it up to being in an empty building. Furniture, drapes and carpets absorbed sound, but empty houses echoed, magnifying even a hum into a clatter.

She’d placed her cot and sleeping bag against the locked bedroom door, and had never gotten out of bed to check out a noise.

One more night …

After the quickest shower on record, Marcy opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked out. She listened. A minute later she left the room and tiptoed downstairs, going from room to room, finding nothing out of place. Daylight vanquished ghosts and lessened fears. She’d relaxed by the time she opened the refrigerator. She’d already stocked it with the items on Eric’s list but had bought things for herself, too, like individual-size bottles of orange juice. She grabbed one, then noticed it was the last.

She’d bought five bottles. This was day four.

Marcy moved food around, not finding another bottle. Had one of the workmen taken one?

She searched a little more but didn’t notice anything else missing. From a cabinet she grabbed a loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter, at least a half of which was missing. She’d only made one sandwich.

Marcy dropped the jar to the counter. Half the loaf of bread was gone, too. It wasn’t her imagination.

She shoved both items into a grocery bag then washed her hands. Who could’ve taken the food? What else had they handled? It had to be someone who’d been in the house during the past two days. Who had she left unsupervised?

The drywall repairer had worked on Tuesday and part of yesterday, so it could have been him. And she’d left him alone when the washer and dryer were delivered yesterday. But the laundry room was just off the kitchen, so she would’ve seen him sneak into the kitchen. Several boxes of window treatments had arrived later in the day. The deliveryman hadn’t gone beyond the living room.

That left the painters. No one else had been in the house for long.

What could she do about it? She could call and complain to their boss, but anyone bold enough to steal would also lie. She had no proof, either. Now she would have to do an inventory and replace whatever else was missing.

Plus deal with the creepiness of the whole thing.

She carried the trash outside to put in the bin, but the bin was gone. Two bins, actually, trash and recycling. Then she noticed that the old drywall the workman had tossed outside was also gone.

Marcy followed the driveway to the front yard and spotted the bins. Next to them were the appliance cartons, broken down and stacked on the sidewalk, ready to be picked up. The trash container was filled with drywall scraps.

“We have so much trash today, don’t we, Lucy?” a woman said nearby.

Marcy saw the next-door neighbor try to muscle her trash bin to the curb and carry a toddler at the same time. Marcy rushed over.

“May I help?” she asked.

“Thank you.” She followed Marcy to the sidewalk. “Are you my new neighbor?”

“No, I’m just helping to get the house in order before the owner comes.” She put out her hand. “My name’s Marcy.”

“I’m Annie and this is Lucy. She’s two. Say hi, Luce.” The woman was tall and slender, probably in her early thirties, with straight blond hair to her shoulders. And no wedding ring.

The little girl lowered her chin but looked up flirtatiously, making Marcy laugh. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lucy, and Lucy’s mommy.”

“We’ve been looking forward to having the house occupied.” She glanced toward it. Her own place was more Victorian in design, as true to the era as Eric’s.

“I would feel the same. By any chance, did you haul my trash to the street? I got up this morning and found it done.”

“Wasn’t me, but we’ve got a block full of helpful neighbors. You’ll probably find out who did it sometime today. We’ll, we’re on our way to mommy-and-me swim class. I’ll talk to you later.”

Check, check, check, Marcy thought. Annie might be slightly on the young side, but she was the best candidate so far for Eric. Marcy would try to get more info on her later today. Of course, being next-door neighbors could be too complicated, especially if they dated then it didn’t work out.

When Marcy got back to the kitchen she stopped and stared. She hadn’t noticed earlier that the dishes had been done. There hadn’t been many, but the counter was clean. It shouldn’t have been.

Which meant someone had been inside the house. During the night. While she slept.

The doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of the window washers, who planned to be there for hours, as would the painters, finishing up two upstairs rooms. She welcomed the distraction. The moving company had called yesterday to say she could expect the van to arrive around ten. Marcy had contacted the interior designer, passing along that news.

Everyone should be gone by the time she headed to her regular weekend waitress job. Even being on her feet all night would seem like a vacation after this week.

On the other hand, her checkbook was going to be very happy, especially her tuition fund.

A couple hours later, one of the window washers pointed out a broken lock on a dining room window, not the one she’d had repaired, but the window next to it. She’d never noticed. It appeared locked, but actually wasn’t latching into anything, a section of the latch having been broken or cut away. The window slid up and down with little effort.

One more item for her to-do list. One more thing to worry about on her last day and night.

She examined the dining-room floor, looking for evidence that someone had broken in. Since she’d been watering the yard every day, it was muddy outside the window now. Anyone who climbed through the window would’ve had mud on their shoes. She found nothing, however.

How could she possibly come back here after her shift tonight? It would be well past midnight, and the house dark and empty, and easy to break into. Apparently had already been broken into. Would Eric be angry if she didn’t spend the night?

Probably, especially now that his personal belongings would be delivered.

Okay then. She would just have to stay awake. She had a cell phone and a can of pepper spray.

She could handle anything.

Eric had come to appreciate his GPS more than ever on his trip across America. Not only did he know where he was going and how to get there, he also easily found hotels, gas stations and restaurants.

But also because of the unit’s efficiency, he knew exactly how many hours of driving he had ahead of him. Which tonight prompted a big decision. It was ten o’clock. He was three hours out of Davis, California, his ultimate destination. He’d been on the road most of the day. Usually by now he was settled into a hotel room and asleep.

It’s only three hours. You could sleep in your own bed tonight.

But could he stay awake? Was it worth the exhaustion?

Yes. He would be home. He would be too restless if he went to a hotel now, anyway.