One
Nathan
Myknuckleswhitenonthe steering wheel as I make the final turn into Eggplant Canyon. Why is there a car parked at our house?
My roommate, Carson, is also my half-brother and business partner. We cut the single day of vacation we planned off the end of our business trip when the client asked if we could cut two weeks off the end of the remaining four weeks of the project.
I’m not in the mood to deal with whoever owns the older model, convertible BMW.
“You expecting someone?” I ask Carson.
He looks up from his phone, furrowing his brow at me before following my gaze. “We’re not supposed to be home, why would I be expecting anyone?”
“Thought you might have invited a friend over to help blow off some steam.”
“All we do is work. Which friend would that be?”
“I’ll assume that’s rhetorical. The more immediate question is why someone thinks they can park in our driveway?”
I scan the upper and lower decks, not seeing anyone. Surely our meticulous neighbor, Lincoln, would have noticed. He likes things tidy, thus he’s aware of everyone’s comings and goings, but it’s the middle of the day so he’s probably at work.
Pulling between the thick columns in front of our garage, I park next to the intruder and note the car’s faded paint job that’s more of a gray than the original silver offered on that model.
Not a car that would have escaped our neighbor’s attention.
“Could it be the maid?” I wonder out loud.
“I scheduled her for the day after we left,” Carson confirms what I already knew.
We get out of the car and while I retrieve our bags from the trunk, Carson checks behind the house.
“There’s no one here,” he says from the corner.
With only six houses in the canyon, we all watch out for anything suspicious, but some neighbors are more attentive than others. The lawyer three doors down is second most likely to take notice since he’s into details, but I glance at his house and there’s no sign that he’s home.
Carson loosens his tie and slides it from his collar before unbuttoning the top couple of buttons and yanking the bottom of his shirt out of his slacks.
“Here are my few seconds of fun in the sun before we buckle down and deal with our new deadline. I was tempted to tell the homeowners to go fuck themselves,” he grumbles as we head for the front door.
“If designing this house wasn’t guaranteed exposure in Engineering Marvels Digest, I would have beat you to it. The waterfall feature in the master bedroom is too hard to pass up.” I slide the house key into the lock and the soft scent of coconut catches my attention. Not like actual coconut but a fragrance.
“You smell that?”
Carson’s gaze narrows. “Yeah, where’s it coming from?”
We glance around but the owner of the car, who I’m assuming must be a woman, is nowhere to be seen. The light breeze must have carried the scent. There’s something intoxicating about it, beyond simple coconut, but it’s gone with the wind’s shift.
I unlock the front door and step inside.
“I’m going to grab a shower before we get—” Carson crashes into my back when I come to an abrupt halt.
Stepping to the side, I motion to the large purse on the kitchen table. A woman. Okay. This can’t be good. I call out, “Who’s here?”
Carson raises a brow when we’re met with silence. “Suppose Goldilocks took a liking to one of our beds?” A grin breaks out on his face. “I call dibs if she chose mine.”
The moment of humor doesn’t diminish the fact that somebody broke into our house and is still here. Was it a break-in? The door was locked and doesn’t appear to be tampered with.
“Sight unseen? Are you that desperate?” Continuing inside, we close the door and call out again. Still no answer.