Page 9 of The Sound of Harmony

ChapterThree

Emma stared at her phone, trying to make sense of a cryptic text from her friend Brooke. What am I supposed to do with three printers?

Emma already had her bag over her shoulder and her keys in her hand. She was on her way to the hardware store, but maybe she could deal with this quickly before she left home. That’s two printers too many.

I know! Brooke’s text came back immediately, with the next one on its heels. My old one died and then I got that used one but it only lasted three months so I finally got a new one but they’re all stacked up on my dining table and…

Emma could see the dots that meant Brooke was typing another message but she got there first. Take the old ones to Staples. They’ll recycle them for you.

Does it cost anything?

Free. Chuck it in a shopping cart and drop it at the service desk.

It can’t be that easy.

It is. Gotta go, I’m on my way out the door.

Can I call you?

Sure.

Emma locked up and was two steps from her apartment door when her phone rang. She swept it to her ear without looking at it. “I know you think I just make this stuff up, but I swear I know what I’m talking about.”

“I should hope so,” said a deep, smooth voice. “That’s why I called you.”

Emma stopped in her tracks. “Who is this?”

“Kendrick Bell. You gave me this number, said I could call?”

Emma dug into her bag for her legal pad and flipped to her page of notes. Right. Another house on Cricket Lane. They wanted an entire clear-out and refurnishing. And she’d blown it already by running her mouth. Wonderful.

But Kendrick didn’t seem to care. “I inherited a house from my grandmother,” he said. “I’ll be living in it for a short while, possibly as long as six months. I’ll need her things taken out and new furniture brought in. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just livable.”

Emma could barely process the meaning of his words because he had the sexiest voice she’d ever heard. It was a low bass with a sort of rumble to it that seemed to flow directly through her ears and settle between her legs. And did she detect the trace of an accent?

One of her neighbors tried to move past her on the narrow walkway. She realized she hadn’t moved since Kendrick had started speaking. She was supposed to be on her way somewhere. Where? Did it matter? She just wanted to stand here and let Kendrick’s voice melt over her like butter. The silence grew awkward and she rushed to fill it.

“If you’re only staying a few months and the house is already furnished…”

“I know, I know,” he said. “But I need a fresh start.”

Emma was already thinking about quick and temporary furniture. IKEA, perhaps, or other flatpack like Sauder. She retraced her steps to her apartment. Her key stuck in the lock, but she forced it open. She strode to her computer and woke it up.

“My cousin says you can empty the house?” Kendrick asked, his voice a mixture of hope and skepticism.

“Of course.” Emma opened her online calendar. “We’ll set a date for the estate sale and get everything out at once.”

“Perfect. I’m bringing a few things from DC. And a piano if I can find one, but there are specialty movers for that.”

“Do your kids take lessons?” Emma asked.

“I don’t have children. The piano is for me.”

“You’re a musician?” Emma didn’t like the sound of that. Musicians were trouble.

“Not a loud one,” he said. “I won’t disturb the neighbors.”

Emma hit Google. Kendrick Bell. Musician. Washington, DC.