The next couple said they were working with an agent across town, and that was a good sign — whoever it was hadn’t come up with what they wanted, but they were seriously interested in finding something to buy. Mark gave them a personal tour, pointing out every feature of the house and implying that there was enough interest in the place that they’d better run back to their guy within the hour with earnest money ready in their hands.
Just as he was about to lead them up to the second floor, a single man came through the front door. Mark called out a greeting to him, but knew this wasn’t a house for a single man, and that a married man would never buy a house without his wife seeing it. If this guy was previewing it for her, then he probably knew what he was doing, so Mark saw no point in wasting time on the latest arrival unless he came back with his wife. Then, as he was turning away, another man came in, and for a moment Mark reconsidered his appraisal — perhaps the two men were a couple, which was a whole nother kettle of fish. This could be the perfect house in a perfect neighborhood for two well-heeled, professional men. Most of the kids in the neighborhood were growing up, and soon it would be pretty much an adult community, just right for two men who were getting too old for the city.
Mark continued talking to the couple on the stairs while keeping an eye on the two men, but as they moved off in different directions, it was clear they weren’t together. His interest in both of them dropped to zero — even lower than was his interest in the neighbors. Refocusing on the couple he was escorting, he deftly moved them toward the bedrooms.
Then, at four o’clock, everything was suddenly over. The house emptied out quickly. The day had been a success, and he sat down on the couch to enjoy a few minutes of quiet, then opened the guest book and began making notes about as many of the people as he could remember. Already, he’d divided them into those who were prospects for this house, or another house, or just looky-loos to be forgotten, at least until he saw them again at his next open house. Then he began to mentally associate each person in the book with the faces he’d been seeing all day. For the most part it was easy — he’d always had a good memory for names and faces — and today it had mainly been couples, as usual, and only one single man.
No, that wasn’t right. He remembered two single men.
So one of them obviously hadn’t signed in.
The one who had — Rick Mancuso — had introduced himself when they’d run into each other in the master bedroom, and Mark had no trouble recalling what he looked like.
But what about the other man?
The one who hadn’t signed the book?
Apparently he’d merely come and gone, not staying more than a minute or two. Which was okay — it happened all the time.
But the funny thing was, he couldn’t remember anything about him.
Nothing.
Weird, given how good his memory for people had always been. Still, it had been a great day. Though no one had written an offer on the spot, Mark was sure that Ike North would bring something in tomorrow or the next day, and he had a couple of follow-up calls to make, one of which he was fairly certain would result in an offer. The Marshalls were going to be very happy that they’d given him the listing.
After a quick walk-through of the house to make certain everything was as it ought to be, he locked it up and headed for Fishburn's.
And didn’t give the man he couldn’t remember another thought.
Chapter Fifteen
Lindsay slammed her locker door, liking the sound as it echoed through the halls. She loved being at school when nobody else was there — somehow, it made her feel special. She couldn’t quite describe it even to herself, but that didn’t matter because even if she could, she’d never say anything about it to anybody. They’d just laugh at her for feeling anything but disgust at having to be at school at all.
But she liked the quiet of the huge, cavernous building that was usually throbbing with noise and activity, and she knew she was going to miss it next year as she walked down the polished floor of the hallway and pushed out through the front doors out into the chilly, overcast afternoon.
Dawn was waiting for her outside. “What are you doing tonight?” Lindsay asked as they began walking home. For the last hour she’d been trying to figure out how to get Dawn to invite her over for dinner — or even to spend the night — without revealing that she was afraid to go home, at least until her folks were back from the city.
Dawn groaned. “I have to go to my dad’s for dinner.” Dawn’s father and stepmother lived across town — not far, but not close enough to walk, either. “He’s been on the road for a week, and I haven’t seen him for a while, so he’s picking me up at our house at five.” She checked her watch. “I better hurry — I want to change before he gets there.”
“My parents are apartment hunting in the city,” Lindsay said, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk. “They won’t be home until late. They’re having dinner.”
“Cool!” Dawn said, oblivious to the gloom in Lindsay’s voice. “You’ll get the house to yourself. I love it when my mom takes off — I make popcorn for dinner and play my music as loud as I want.”
“Yeah,” Lindsay said. “Except I don’t feel much like that tonight.” She didn’t quite know how to invite herself to Dawn’s father's, but she didn’t want to go home alone. She glanced at Dawn, then decided to take the plunge directly. “Can I come with you to your dad's?”
“I wish,” Dawn said. “But it’s ‘quality’ time night.” Her voice took on a mocking singsong note as she said quality. “He’s always wanting more ‘quality’ time. ‘Quality time with my princess,’ is what he always says.”
“I think that’s nice,” Lindsay said, cocking her head.
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right! If he really wanted ‘quality time,’ maybe he shouldn’t have left us in the first place. Sorry, but I think he and his new wife are total dorks. And she’d pitch a hissy if I brought someone over with less than two weeks’ notice.” At Lindsay’s crestfallen look, Dawn touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
Dawn stopped walking and reached for Lindsay’s arm, but Lindsay kept walking to avoid looking her friend in the eye. The problem was, she didn’t want to go home to an empty house, but didn’t want to tell Dawn that she was afraid, given how stupid she felt about the whole thing.
What happened the other night was only a bad dream — nothing had actually happened.
But still, she didn’t want to go home alone to a house where people had been roaming and poking around, going through her things all day long.
And she didn’t want Dawn to ask her what was wrong, because she was afraid she’d start to cry.
“You okay?” Dawn finally asked, catching up to her.
“Yeah, I’m all right,” Lindsay answered. “I’m just depressed, I guess.”
“Depressed? You think you're depressed? I have to spend the whole evening with Anthony and Sheeela and their little brat.”
Lindsay glanced at Dawn, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation away from herself. “Come on — you like Robert. What is he, two? How can you not like a two-year-old?”
“Yeah, actually, I do. I like having a little brother. He’s the only good thing about going over there. I can relate to him. Sheila is beyond me. And what Dad sees in her…”
Lindsay tuned out Dawn’s rant about her stepmother, wishing she could unburden herself about how scared she was to go home to the empty house, but she couldn’t figure out how to approach it without having Dawn think she was being stupid. She began casting around in her mind for somewhere else she could go.