Page 2 of Housesitter

She lifted both eyebrows in surprise as she checked the denomination.

“The coffee is only four dollars,” she said. “Directions are free. Like the napkins.”

“I like to make a good impression,” Shepherd said with an easy grin. “And get to where I’m going.”

Emily leaned over the counter, elbows braced and fingers laced together.

“And where is that?” she asked.

Shepherd patted himself down until he found the pocket that rustled. He dipped his hand in and came up with a folded-over bit of hotel notepaper. Renfield’s usually managed a slightly more detailed onboarding packet—little flourishes like ‘an address the satnav recognized’—but that was probably still with the contractor who’d let the company down. Shepherd was just filling in on this one, and pinch-hitters got an address over the phone.

The client manager had assured him that he’d find a full briefing and run sheet already on site.

He unfolded the note, laid it flat on the counter, and pushed it over toward Emily.

“Here,” he said.

She was ready to say something flirty—Shepherd could see it on her face—but she changed her mind when she read the address. Her expression turned sour as she folded the paper back up, set the crease with her thumbnail, and handed it back toward him.

“What are you?” she asked. “One of those paranormal investigators? Because trust me, my boss gets wind of that and you won’t be welcome back here for any more coffee.”

Shepherd laughed. “With the night vision goggles and the EMP meters?”

“EMF.”

Shepherd ignored the correction. He wriggled the coffee out of the tray and took a drink. It wasn’t bad. He wiped his thumb over his mouth and shook his head.

“I don’t believe in that sort of thing,” he said. “I’m just here to do some house-sitting.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“At Marble House?” she said. “You’re house-sitting for the Maddens?”

Just Dio Madden. No ‘s’ involved. At least, that was the information that Shepherd had been provided. They could have been left out, though. As previously mentioned, he’d not gotten the usual in-depth rundown on the job.

Shepherd shrugged at Emily.

“I’m staying at this address,” he said and picked the bit of paper up. It went back into his pocket. “If I ever find it?”

Emily picked up a cloth and busy-work wiped down the counter in front of her. She focused on fastidiously collecting crumbs and drops of foam into a tidy pile instead of on Shepherd.

“No one goes there,” she said stiffly.

“The mailman skips it?”

“No! Obviously not,” Emily snapped. She looked up long enough to glare at Shepherd from under her bangs. “No one wants to go there. It’s a bad place, like cursed bad. It was this, like, mental hospital or—”

“That’s OK,” Shepherd cut her off. “I just need directions, not to give my bad dreams any ideas.”

She sucked her cheeks in and then rolled her eyes.

“You’re going to regret it,” she warned him. “Everybody hates that place. Before Mr. Madden came back and renovated it, kids used to spend the night there as a dare. Some of them never came out. Plus, there's this contractor guy who’s on the HOA, and he’s convinced the house is a code violation. He’s been trying to get it condemned before someone else dies.”

Her voice dropped portentously on the last line as she made eye contact with Shepherd. He scratched his jaw, stubble noisy as he scraped his nails over it.

“If you don’t know, I can ask someone else.”

Emily sighed heavily but grabbed a napkin and a pen from the till.