by Molly Greene
“Oh, pull the stick out, Gab, geez,” Gen said under her breath, then shot back, “I wonder how much bail is up here for misdemeanor trespass?”
Anna, Gen, and Madison skirted through the packed bar and entered the restaurant, then headed for the table where Gabi was seated.
“Ladies,” Anna said, “all you need to do is drive up to the house and call Madison’s cell. You’ll hear the ring.”
Madison rapped her knuckles on her forehead.
Gen burst into laughter, again turning heads. She raised her bourbon in a toast. “Here’s to Anna, the Queen of Practical Solutions. Thank goodness someone can use their brain.”
“We can’t drive in,” Madison said, “in case someone sees the headlights. A neighbor might get suspicious if we parked on the street. And Gabi is right, Gen, you can’t be part of it. But we do need a chauffeur to drop us off so we can have a look.”
“I’ll walk in with you,” Anna said. “My coloring is better for night work.” She winked.
“Oh come on,” Gen said, “I want to see the place.”
“You can see it after she buys it,” Anna replied. “That’s that.”
Madison smiled and slid into the booth. “Shall we leave at seven tomorrow evening?”
“You’re on,” Genevieve clinked her glass with Madison’s raised Corona, and they all opened menus and began to read.
From the corner of her eye, Madison saw a man hesitate as he walked past. She looked up from the evening’s specials to see a well-built guy in his early forties with his hand on the back of the banquette.
His loose curls, shot with gray and worn a little long, coiled sweetly over the back of his collar. The hair at his temples was beginning to silver. He was definitely too sexy for his blue button-down shirt.
Why do men get eyelashes longer and thicker than the bristles on a toothbrush? Not fair. Madison became acutely aware of her dress, faded from a million trips through the washing machine. She touched an earlobe, wondering if she’d remembered to wear earrings today.
No such luck.
“Anna,” he said. “I thought that was you.”
“Professor Welles.” Anna was clearly pleased at the surprise. “It’s great to see you. Everyone, this is Professor Coleman Welles.”
The man smiled. “Anna was my most enthusiastic Psych Diagnostic student last spring.”
Anna beamed. The other three women looked at each other wide-eyed, then burst into laughter.
The professor looked confused.
“She’s had a lot of practice,” Genevieve explained. “Anna’s been diagnosing us for years. I’m Gen Delacourt, and this is my sister, Gabi. Sit with us, we’d love to hear more. Then again, we were roommates at Berkeley, so I’ve got tales about Anna, too.”
“Not tonight, Gen,” Anna said. “I mean it.”
For the second time that day, Madison introduced herself to a good-looking man. Thank God this one looked pleased to make her acquaintance. “It’s nice to meet you, Professor Welles, I’m Madison Boone.”
“Cole.” He shook her hand.
His touch sent an odd charge through her arm, ending in her stomach with the tingly flutter of a hundred tiny wings. She nearly jerked free but held fast, curious if the electricity was real.
She wondered if he’d felt a jolt.
Cole held her eyes. “Anna is a natural. She can hear between the lines. She’ll be well paid someday for having practiced on you.”
Madison was first to break away, feeling her cheeks grow warm at his obvious curiosity. His eyes were too much of a magnet to stare at for long.
“Anna’s the ultimate optimist,” Gen said. “It’s kept her sane, hanging out with us all these years. Won’t you join us?”
“For a minute,” Cole replied. “If I’m not interrupting.”
He slipped into the seat beside Madison.
She slid over to avoid contact with his khaki-clad thigh.
“Gabi, you look familiar. Have we met?”
“Oh, no, I’d remember.” Gabi focused on the menu. “I have one of those faces. I probably look like someone you went to high school with.”
Cole shook his head. “Not unless you stuck your hair under a cap to pass at a Catholic boys’ school.”
Gabrielle looked up. “Pretty good disguise, don’t you think? Had the nuns fooled.”
The warmth in his laugh made them all smile. “Do you have your schedule yet, Anna?”
“Yes,” Anna grinned. “I’m in your Psychology of Happiness class.”
“Oh, come on,” Gabrielle snapped her menu closed. “I can’t believe I just heard those two words in the same sentence.” She blinked, then continued in a distinctly bitter voice. “Don’t psychology and unhappiness make better partners?”
Genevieve threw back the rest of her drink and thumped the tumbler down. “Waaaaay too serious for girl’s night out.”
Cole was quiet for two beats before he replied. His tone was soothing. “It’s a new movement. Studies suggest we have the ability to choose how we want to feel, that happiness to a certain extent is a personal decision.”
“Freud would rotate in his grave if he heard that,” Anna said.
“Probably,” Cole said. “It’s the opposite of psychoanalysis, really. It turns out we don’t always need to understand why we adopt a behavior or belief in order to change it. All it takes is to adjust our perception of the circumstances. Literally alter the way we think about things.”
Genevieve put her hand on Gabi’s forearm. “Sounds like Kool-Aid we should all be drinking.”
“It’s a great theory,” Cole continued. “Focus on what’s good. Conjure happy thoughts. Divert habitual thinking from blame or judgment or feelings of unworthiness to people or circumstances that make us feel joy.”
“Really,” Madison said.
“Ah,” Cole turned slightly in the booth to look at her. “You’re skeptical about our ability to create our own happiness.”
“No. But I question most people’s willingness to give up blaming others for their problems. Don’t you think judgment is an inherent part of human nature? We breathe, therefore we have an opinion about what everybody else should think and do? Isn’t it natural to be a little pissed off when life screws you over?”
“Gads, everybody, lighten up.” Gen laughed to break the mood. “Sorry, Cole, apparently we’re all a little bristly tonight. We can probably chalk Maddy’s attitude up to selling real estate for so many years. That and losing her cell phone after crawling in a win–”
Madison fixed Genevieve with a look so harsh that the attorney stopped mid-sentence. She smiled at her sour-faced friend, then continued in a conciliatory tone. “Let’s just say buying and selling can bring out the worst in folks.”
“Aha,” Cole said. “I understand being a real estate agent actually qualifies you to teach psychology.”
“Yeah,” Anna said. “She could show us a thing or two. She’s fixed up at least a half dozen different houses. By herself.”
Cole’s eyes cut to Madison. He started to reply, but his attention wavered when his name was called. He waved to a man in the lobby. “My dinner meeting has arrived. Anna, you’re a treasure. I look forward to seeing you in class again this year. It was a pleasure to meet you all. Enjoy your evening.”
Genny leaned out into the aisle to peek at his backside as he walked away. “Ummmm, ummm, ummmm. I’ll listen to your lectures any day, but you won’t catch me staring at the chalk board. Did you see those eyes? Man! Deep-end-of-the-pool blue. I wanted to rip off my clothes and dive in.”
“He could be in films.” Gabi giggled. “Preferably naked.”
“Shush,” Anna hissed. “He’s my teacher. I have to look at him all semester, and I don’t want to think about him without clothes.”
“Liar,” Gen said. “As if you didn’t all last year. You’ve been holding out. And Madison, what was that about? I swear I detected a sparky flash between the two of you. Did he make you a little hot un
der the collar?”
“You’re full of it, Gen,” Madison replied. “It’s the shrinkery thing. Pisses me off. Psychobabble your way out of any misery life may bring.” She drained the last three inches of her beer and signaled for another.
* * *
Two hours later, exhausted, Madison said goodnight and headed for the car. An old jade green 356 Porsche crunched gravel as it circled the parking lot, then stopped with its engine idling.
The window rolled down as she approached.
Coleman Welles’ face was framed by the perfectly restored classic. His handsome features were lit by a nearby lamp, and she drew a quick breath at sight of the deep shadows beneath his cheekbones. She wondered if his curls were as soft as they looked.
“Hello again, Madison,” he said. “I know it’s short notice, but do you have plans Sunday? I’d like to look at a house. I thought you might be able to help.”
Her breath caught. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I drive by this interesting place on my way to work. A sale sign went up a week ago, and I’ve been thinking about making an appointment to see the inside. Meeting a real estate agent is a sign of a different kind.”
“Oh, right. Sure. Of course. I’d love to. What’s the address?”
“3084 Lake Road. Just past the intersection with Talbot. The sage-colored ranch with white trim. You can’t miss it. Would two o’clock work? I could meet you there.”
“I’ll make a couple calls.” She fished a notepad and pen from her bag. “I need to be sure the property is available. If it is, I’ll ask the owners if that time works. May I have your number?”
He held out a business card. “My home phone is on the back.”
“All right.” Madison accepted the square of paper. “I’ll call you tomorrow to confirm.” She stepped away from the car. “Thanks. I’m, uh, looking forward to it.”
“So am I. Thanks for making yourself available. It was lovely to meet you.” He released the parking brake and shifted gears.
Madison nodded. The Porsche pulled away. She cleared her throat, wondering what the heck had happened to her voice, then slid the card into her bag. Her fingers were trembling like a teenager’s.
Such a crazy upside-down day.
What could possibly happen next?
She stood alone in the gravel and watched the brilliant taillights recede down the drive, then turned toward the Toyota and home.
Chapter Four
Jack leaped onto the bed and flung himself down beside Madison, wagging his stubby tail like a metronome. She pulled the little dog close and ruffled his fur.
“Morning, Jackie.”
Madison had adopted the now three-year-old Bichon-mix mutt from the local Humane Society shelter after seeing a picture of his littermates on Petfinder.com. Jack had been the only puppy awake when she arrived, standing patiently at the wire door. It was almost as if he knew she was coming for him.
“Let’s go, bud. We have a busy weekend.”
She freed herself from the twisted sheet and scooted her feet into waiting slippers, then grabbed a scrunchy and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Jack ran down the hall to the kitchen. Madison followed.
She turned on the coffeemaker, then picked up Jack’s bowl and added kibble and canned food. When the mix was right, she returned the dish to its customary position. Jack dove in.
Next, she pulled out a mug and filled it with fresh-brewed coffee. Madison savored the luscious smell, as delicious as chocolate and never boring. Cup in hand, she headed out back with the dog trailing two feet behind.
The early breeze was refreshing. The open grid of the covered patio would keep the air cool until mid-morning. She relaxed into a cushioned chair, admiring yet again the curtain of green that enclosed the yard and turned it into a private, secret place.
A tribe of finches swooped down to the feeder to peck at millet seed. Hummingbirds hung like tiny radio-controlled helicopters, sipping sugar water from a jar that dangled among the potted plants. Madison drained her cup, then rose to turn on the hose and douse the vines and shrubs covering the six-foot fence.
At nine o’clock, she poured a refill and went down the hall to the third bedroom, which had been converted into an office the year before. Madison flicked on the computer. The monitor glowed before it booted up and displayed a half dozen icons. She clicked on one. When the active listings database blinked and stabilized, she typed in the address the professor had given her.
A webpage with pictures and information about the house appeared. She used her land line to phone the listing office. Once she’d verified that the property was available, she left a message on the homeowner’s machine, saying she planned to show the property at two o’clock the next afternoon. She signed off with her phone number and a request that they contact her if the timing wasn’t right.
Coleman’s card was tacked to the memo board. She removed the pin and dialed the number printed neatly on the back.
“Hello.” His voice was deep and warm, like comfort food on a stormy day.
“Good morning, Cole. This is Madison Boone. I’m calling about our appointment tomorrow.”
“Hello again. Has anyone snatched it up yet? I have to admit I’m looking forward to seeing the inside.”
“It’s still available. They’ve had showings but no offers, which is typical in this market. Most buyers aren’t in much of a hurry. They want to make owners sweat, hoping they’ll be more willing to negotiate.”
Madison hesitated. “Speaking of negotiations, it’s listed at three hundred seventy-five thousand. Is that in your budget?”
“Yes. I haven’t owned for a few years, but I have a little nest egg. Four hundred thousand is about tops.”
“You’re not a first-time buyer, then. You know how much elbow grease it can take.”
“I’m ready. It’s time to unbox the books. Hang a few pieces of art. Give the clarinet a home. You know, have a life. But as far as making people sweat, I’m not good at that.”
Madison chuckled. “I bet you’re good at drawing them out, though. Isn’t mentioning your job an interesting way to start a chat?”
It was his turn to laugh. “On the contrary, my profession is a conversation-killer. Once someone knows I’m a psychologist, they visualize me peering over the top of my glasses and furiously taking notes about everything they say.”
“Well, now that I think about it, I can see how you might have that effect. Whoops, that didn’t come out right. That’s not really what I was thinking. Well, that might be a lie, it did occur to me last night–”
She stopped and took a deep breath.
“See what I mean?” he said.
“Let me start over. If I were completely self-absorbed, I might think you would assume everything I say has a deeper meaning. But good news, I’m only slightly obsessed with what others think of me. I’ll try not to scrutinize every word that comes out of my mouth tomorrow.”
“Ah.”
“Total avoidance of the whole clarinet comment.”
“Hmmm.”
“Taking notes?”
“Not at all. I’m thinking you sound like an educated woman who can handle herself.”
“Hardly.” Madison tapped a fingernail on the desktop. “I probably lean more toward street smarts. My parents were the scholars of the family.”
“Were?”
“Were.” Madison cleared her throat. “Still want to meet me at the house?”
“I’ll be waiting in front at five minutes before two.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
“Madison?”
“Yes?”
“I want to thank you again for making this work on such short notice. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Sure. I hope the house is everything you want it to be. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Chapter Five
The doorbell rang just before seven o’clock, followed by a series of staccato knocks
delivered in a sequence of long and short taps. Morse code.
Although the drumming announced friends to Madison, Jack jumped up and stood with his ears forward, worried and quivering. His eyes were glued to the entrance. He barked once and ran to sniff at the mail slot.
Madison opened the front door and stepped aside. Gen and Anna, decked out head-to-toe in black clothing and stocking masks, crabbed over the threshold with toy guns trained on Jack.
Jack growled and hid behind his mistress.
“I hope you didn’t pull up wearing that gear,” Madison said. “This is a classy-ass development, you know. The neighbors are probably calling the cops right now.” She yawned and raised her arms in a phony stretch. “How long did it take you to find your get-ups?”
Gen straightened and blew on the end of her camo water pistol, then shoved it into her waistband. “Walmart,” she said. “We got lucky, ski season right around the corner and all.”
“Nice,” Madison said. “What else did you get? Knives? Nunchucks?”
“Snacks,” Anna said, and jerked off her mask. Her ringlets bounced out like a thousand shiny springs, and Jack leaped against her leg in relief. She drew a sack of doggie treats from her vest and showed it to the now-happy mutt, then ripped open the package and told Jack to sit. It was a command he obediently performed. She bent to pet him and hand over the prize.
Gen removed her disguise and whistled. “Maddy, the living room is absolutely amazing. You must’ve been slogging away at this place around the clock since I was here last.”
The windows were open to catch the northwest breeze that typically cooled Santa Rosa’s hot summer nights. The linen curtains riffled as the evening’s gentle wind blew past. The space was decorated in a neutral palette of dark brown and white-on-white, with beige-toned walls, a taupe area rug, and simple eggshell couches. The ambience was cool sophistication even on sizzling days.
“You did good.” Genevieve whistled again, clearly taking in the subtle pattern of the off-white silk chaise with its perfectly-placed, hand-knitted chocolate throw, the floor-to-ceiling drapes that pooled on the dark wood floor, and the beige-matted botanist’s prints grouped on the wall above the fireplace. “How can you stand to sell? Don’t you want to stay and enjoy this?”