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Caroline was trying hard to stay awake. She'd already been here two and a half hours, but with only thirty minutes to go, she was afraid she wouldn't make it without falling asleep from boredom.
She was on the verge of nodding off when a car pulled up at the curb and parked. A man got out and walked toward the house. Through the glass in the storm door, his silhouette showed up large, and she experienced a twinge of apprehension, as she always did when showing a house to a man alone.
He opened the door and stepped into the foyer.
When she recognized Dodge Hanley, her heart gave a bump of a different sort. The reaction startled and confused her. It had been two months since she'd told him not to interfere with her life and had warned him of serious consequences if he did. She'd thought she would never see him again. But here he was, and her involuntary excitement was unsettling.
She stood up.
He said, "Hi."
"Hi."
She'd been seated in a folding chair at a card table. Draped in a gold cloth, it served as a reception desk. Scattered across it were leaflets describing the house for sale and a goodly number of her business cards. She was unreasonably glad that the table was between her and the policeman, who was out of uniform, wearing a sport coat and slacks instead.
"What are you doing here?"
He raised the folded sheet of newspaper he'd carried in with him and pointed to an ad in the real estate section. "Open house. Sunday. Two till five. It's got a picture of this house, it gives the street address, and it's listed under your name as an agent for Jim Malone Realty."
"I know what the ad says. I proofread it before submitting it to the classifieds. That doesn't explain what you're doing here."
"It's an open house."
His obtuseness was irrationally disarming and made her want to smile. Instead, she folded her arms across her middle, where she was still experiencing a flutter, and asked loftily, "Are you in the market for a home, Mr. Hanley?"
"Maybe." He gave the foyer a slow survey. "What's to recommend this house? Please don't tell me this wallpaper is its best feature."
She managed to keep her smile in check, but barely. "It's got a nice backyard. Fenced."
"Wood fence?"
"Cyclone."
He frowned.
"Large, native trees," she continued. "Very shady. And with a little repair, the patio--"
"Repair?"
"Minimal repair would return it to being, uh, usable."
"Huh." He glanced into the adjacent living room at the turquoise brocade divan. "Ugly furniture."
"The furniture isn't included in the sale."
"Lucky us."
"With new paint, wallpaper, and furniture, the house would look entirely different. You have to have an imagination."
"A wild imagination."
Knowing it was a game, she continued playing along. "It has three bedrooms, one down, two up. Two fireplaces, one in the formal living area, and one in the den, which used to be the garage. The owners converted it into a room when the house underwent a total renovation."
He looked up at a crack in the ceiling. "When was that?"
"Nineteen fifty-two."
He raised his eyebrows, and she could no longer contain her self-deprecating laughter. "The place is a disaster. But it's my first listing."
