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I step back and open the door wide. “I’ve already heard a lot about you.”
“Right back at you.” She smiles. “A psychic, huh? You and I are definitely going to be friends.” Mariana winks and hangs her purse in the coat closet. “Has Tristan given you the full tour?”
“No, just the kitchen and a few rooms upstairs.”
I fall into step next to her as she crosses the foyer. Her perfume tickles my nose, a strong scent of vanilla that reminds me of the scent of the home.
“Is he in his office?” she asks.
“Yes, I think.”
“Figured so. Tristan is a workaholic. He’ll work until three or four in the morning—so don’t be alarmed if you hear someone moving in the house late at night.”
“Tristan already warned me.”
“Did he? Good.”
I feel an inexplicable ease with Mariana, which makes me realize I’ve been uncomfortable since the moment I arrived. The house is beautiful, yes, but it carries an unsettling vibe that I can’t quite put my psychic finger on. An unease that seems to flow from room to room, like a fourth presence in the house.
Mariana and I step into the kitchen, where she retrieves a notebook from the pantry and scribbles a few notes. Her sign-in log, I assume. When she’s done, she turns to me and claps her hands together. “So. Want me to give you the tour now?”
“I’d love that, thanks.”
We fall into easy conversation as she takes me through the first floor. Like Tristan, Mariana has plenty of questions about my psychic ability, but I keep things short and simple with her because there are plenty of other things I’d like to talk about instead.
In addition to the living area and kitchen, the first floor consists of several bedrooms, a home gym, a wine cellar, and a laundry room the size of the apartment I was evicted from in LA. Tristan’s office is at the end of the house. The door is closed, so unfortunately, I don’t get to peek in there.
A patio extending the entire length of the home takes up most of the backyard. Half is screened in, and I find myself thinking if I were a writer, that’s where I would write. Mariana explains to me that beyond the trees is a cliff with, quote, killer views. I make a note to venture out later.
Though the storm has moved on, raindrops drip heavily from the trees and awning, splatting on the stone patio. The sky is still a dreary gray.
“The place is amazing, isn’t it?” Mariana rests her hands on her hips and gazes at the trees. “Tristan has done very well for himself.”
I note an undeniable mark of pride in her voice.
“When did they build it?” I ask.
“Three years ago.”
I frown.
“BeforeNina’s stroke, if that’s what you’re about to ask.” Mariana extends her finger, catching a raindrop on the tip. Her nails are long and red, unsuitable for a housekeeper. “You want to know the funny thing? She’s the one who chose this location and designed everything—I mean,everything.”
“Really?”
Mariana nods. “Tristan didn’t want to live all the way out here.”
I remember Tristan saying how perfect the location was for his writing.
Mariana continues. “Nina is a big outdoor nut. That’s why she chose this spot, as well as the log-cabin design for the home. The leather furniture, woven rugs, it’s all her.”
“How long have you worked for the Carringtons?”
“Oh, honey.” Mariana purses her lips. “Almost twenty years now.”
“Wow.”
“Yes, a long time.” She hesitates as if she wants to say something else, but then turns back to the house. “Have you met her?”
