Chapter 10: The Man in Scrubs

I got to Larch Street at two on Sunday, four hours before the party.

I carried a laptop bag over one shoulder, and June parked at the curb in her flatbed.

The lawn was full of folding chairs.

Eighty of them stood in rows facing the porch, with a small stage built across the front steps and a banner hung from the railing.

A florist's van sat in the driveway.

There was no Holbrook truck.

No Neil.

No white car.

The chair had told me by email that the owner would be at a salon until five and that the house would be open for staging.

I walked up the steps and rang the bell, because I had never in my life walked into that house uninvited.

Nobody came.

I tried the handle.

It was unlocked, and I opened the door.

The living room was empty except for flowers.

The center arrangement stood in front of the walnut wall, a tall cone of white roses.

A small white velvet ring box was tucked into the middle of it.

I stood and looked at it for a moment.

Then I heard water running upstairs.

It stopped.

Footsteps crossed the floor above me, bare feet on boards.