PROLOGUE
Cowan pausedthe video footage on his monitor—small, as befitted a lowly intern at the Home and Away Television Network—and turned to Irene. “This dude’s definitely a serial killer.”
She glanced up from her tablet, where she’d been answering texts and messages from various HATV staff. “He looks normal enough to me.”
As he’d discovered over the past weeks, her standards for applicants to Tiny House Trackers were simultaneously more and less stringent than this. When they screened submissions, she weeded out anyone she considered boring, even people he considered acceptable options. Accountants, data entry clerks, lawyers: all dismissed with a flick of her wrist.
Potential murderers, however, did not appear to constitute a problem for her.
“He was very insistent that his tiny house have large storage areas with sturdy locks on the outside and no knobs on the inside. Also room on the walls for his meat hooks.” Cowan shuddered. “God help any census taker who stops by during fava bean season.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Maybe he hunts wild boar or sasquatches or something.”
“Sasquatches don’t exist.”
“I’m a city girl.” She shrugged. “All wildlife seems mythical and exotic to me.”
“I don’t think the greater ease of Sasquatch hunting is the reason he wants to live alone in the woods.” He leaned forward, ready to click to the next interview. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s a no.”
Her stylus tapped against the edge of her tablet as she considered the matter. “Not so fast. Featuring him might help goose our ratings. Maybe we could even propose filming a follow-up special,Tiny House of Terror.”
She might have begun her internship with HATV only a few months before him, but that time had clearly jaded her.
“Forget it.” He typed NO into his applicant spreadsheet, letting the rare all-caps refusal express his strong feelings on the matter. “I’m not going to be responsible for any tiny house carnage.”
“Suit yourself.” She turned back to her messages. “But don’t blame me when we end up featuring yet another cash-strapped single with four enormous dogs who wants full-size appliances, a bathtub, and a king bed in less than a hundred square feet for a budget of about twenty bucks.”
He cringed at the mere thought of it.
Right now, the two of them were sitting in a forgotten corner of the HATV studios, occupying a room of approximately that same size. Only a couple of chipped desks, two computers, and stained tan carpeting filled the space. Yet even without a single refrigerator, bathtub, or mattress, the force of Irene’s presence made the room feel tight.
He couldn’t imagine trying to fit an entire household into such a tiny footprint. But that’s what people had been clamoring to do, and they wanted to broadcast their tiny housesearch via HATV. Which meant interns like he and Irene spent way too many hours sorting through applicants.
With a sigh, he clicked on the next possibility, a thirty-something woman named Lucy Finch. “Better a boring participant than someone who hunts villagers for sport.”
She snorted. “After another month of this, you’ll think differently. Trust me.”
When Lucy Finch filled his monitor, he groaned. “Oh, Jesus. Another latter-day hippie type.”
“Told you,” Irene said.
He began to take stock of the woman. White. Blond hair. Brown eyes. Tortoise-shell frames for her glasses. Long, frizzy curls that tangled with her dangling peace-sign earrings. No makeup. A nose stud and a wide, tentative smile. Some kind of flowy tie-dyed top, and if he wasn’t mistaken…
He looked closer, squinting as she wiggled in the chair to get herself settled.
Yup. No bra. Certain viewers would definitely appreciatethat.
“Tell us about yourself,” urged Martha, the woman who conducted all the interviews for Tiny House Trackers. “Your name, your job, and why you need a tiny house.”
“I’m Lucy Finch.” The woman was fiddling with something in her palm, rubbing her thumb in circles against it again and again. “I’m a licensed and Board-Certified massage therapist in Marysburg, Virginia. I used to manage our local Massage Mania, but I was just promoted. Now I’m going to help open new locations around the country and train their managers and employees.”
It seemed Ms. Finch possessed a certain amount of professional ambition, which he duly noted in his spreadsheet.
With her free hand, she tucked a hank of curls behind her ear. “I’ll be moving frequently. I decided living in a tiny housethat could move with me made more sense than month-by-month rentals or hotel rooms. And I liked the idea of paring my belongings down to the minimum and leaving a smaller carbon footprint.”
“Why did you choose to apply to Tiny House Trackers?” Martha’s warm voice came from behind the camera. “What factors played into your decision?”
The woman winced. “Well, to be honest, it wasn’t really my idea. My friend Allie convinced me.”
