Chapter One

"Well, what do you say, Mr. Parker?"

Darrin Parker looked at the woman and smiled. These real estate agents always seemed so exited about the houses they showed their clients. Ms. Hanover was no exception, but she was better looking than the last agent. Mr. Albert John Brown. Mr. Always Unshaven Albert John Brown. Under the false assumption, it impressed women. What an absolute idiot! Parker shook his head, thinking about him.

"Well, Mr. Parker?" Ms. Hanover peered at him out of her baby-blue eyes. "Do you like the house?"

"It has character." Parker admitted and grinned. "Lots of character."

Ms. Hanover raised her pretty shoulders. "I know, the house is old, but it does have a certain charm. It just needs some cleaning up. I know a couple who do that kind of work. They'll have it spic and span in no time." She smiled sweetly. "The price is right. And it is available for immediate possession."

Parker studied the old house and had to admit it held a certain attraction for him. The windows needed replacing. A new front door would be the first thing if he wanted to lock the place securely. A paint job on the old siding might do wonders to its appearance and trimming the old fruit trees and cedars certainly would improve the look of the yard. Cutting the grass would help tremendously.

"How long did you say this house has been vacant?"

The woman shrugged again. "Fifteen years. I'm not quite sure. I'd have to check and find out when Mrs. Applebee passed away. The house was occupied for a few months after her death by a couple I never met. A middle aged man and his daughter, who rented the house for awhile from the agency who owns it now."

She lowered her voice, sounding conspiratorial. "Just between you and me. They want to get rid of the place. The sooner the better. You might be able to pick it up for a song."

Parker laughed. "I'm not a good singer."

She slapped him on the arm. "You're such a charmer, Darrin. You don't mind if I call you Darrin?"

"Darrin's fine. I've been called a lot worse."

Her pearly laughter rang through the yard. "I like you, Darrin. You're as refreshing as a lime wedge in a gin and tonic. This town needs someone like you. New blood. It's becoming stagnant." She threw him a sidelong glance. "I notice you don't wear a ring, which means absolutely nothing, I know. Is there a Mrs. Parker?"

He shook his head. "Not anymore." His eyes clouded over. "She divorced me a couple of years ago."

"Sorry to hear that. Children?"

"No. She was too busy chasing her career." And her boss.

"You hear that a lot these days." She chuckled. "That's why I never married. I'm on call seven days a week. No time left for socializing or a husband. Never mind kids."

"A shame, actually." He smiled at her. "A beautiful woman like you. Wasted like that."

"Now, now, Mr. Parker. Darrin, I mean. Don't be a chauvinist. Are you saying a beautiful woman should stay home, mopping and dusting all day long, and maybe raise a dozen children?"

He grinned. "Not a bad idea. And always be there for her husband. All soft and cuddly."

She punched him hard.

"Ouch!" He rubbed his shoulder. "I guess you're not soft and cuddly."

Laughing, she pulled back her fist, ready to punch him, again. "No, I'm not. I play rough."

"I'll say. One of those!"

"Not really." She leaned up against him. "I can be soft and cuddly. Sometimes. Maybe you and I should discuss this deal over a glass of wine. How about dinner tonight? I know this cozy little place." Her fingers dug into his arm, and her perfect teeth flashed white between red lips. "Actually it is the only place in town."

"I thought you had no time for socializing. You know, busy seven days a week."

She stabbed him in the chest with her manicured fingernails and laughed. "In this town? You must be kidding. You're my first client in four weeks. Come on and let's have a look inside your new home."

Parker followed her as she gingerly walked across the overgrown sidewalk, careful not step into the cracks with her high-heeled red shoes. The wooden steps creaked dangerously when they climbed them. While Ms. Hanover fiddled with the rusted lock, Parker studied the veranda, which ran along the front of the whole house. The boards looked rotten, also in need of repair, as did the railing.

The rusty hinges of the entrance door screamed in protest when Ms. Hanover pushed it open.

"Nothing a few drops of WD40 can't fix," she said and stepped across the threshold into the vestibule.

A tepid odor assaulted Parker's nose, and even Ms. Hanover held her breath.

"When was the last time a living being set foot into this place?" Parker asked.