Page 13 of Sleigh Bells and Snowstorms
“This address can’t be right.”
“Why?”
“I’m in a neighborhood, and this is someone’s house.”
“That’s right.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look for the garage. There’s a flat above. It was the only thing I could find on short notice.”
“Doesn’t this town have any hotels?”
“They do, actually. A beautiful one called the Grand Peak.”
“Then why am I not staying there?”
“Half of it is closed for renovations, and the other half is booked.”
“So I’m to stay in someone’s flat?”
“There’s an outside entrance, and you have the entire place to yourself. The owners live in the main house, but you’ll have all the privacy you need.”
“Hmm. Privacy, but no room service.”
She laughed. “I’m sure you’ll survive. You’ve lived in more primitive conditions than someone’s spare flat.”
“True.” I let out a breath. “And I suppose I won’t be here long. I’ll make do.”
“There’s a good boy.”
“Good boy? You know I’m nothing of the sort. Too bad you can’t travel with me.”
“You know how Mr. Exton would feel about that, Jensen.”
“It’s such a pity you’re married.”
“Hardly a pity. Now go get settled. You have a thief to catch.”
“Indeed, I do. Good night, Maple.”
She ended the call. With an eight-hour time difference, I wondered if she was in bed, rolling over into Mr. Exton’s arms. Marriage. It was a bit like Christmas. I didn’t understand people’s fascination with it.
I left my car parked on the street and turned off the engine. Snow covered the yard, but unlike the shops in town, my host hadn’t put up any Christmas decorations. Not outside, at least.
I eyed the place with skepticism. The house itself looked a bit sad—worn and outdated. The garage had probably been added later. It looked newer and didn’t quite match.
Maple sent me the code to unlock the door, so I went up the staircase on the side of the garage that led to the second floor. Inside, I shut the door behind me and took stock of my lodgings.
It was surprisingly nice, considering the outside of the building hadn’t been anything to write home about. I’d been half expecting something old and musty, but the flat was bright and well decorated. Homey in a way a hotel couldn’t be.
Even without room service, I could make do.
I took a quick tour. Two bedrooms, one with an attached bath. A small kitchen. Laundry in a closet. The living room had a TV and a shelf with games and books. It was clean. Perfectly acceptable.
My bags were still in my car, so I went down to retrieve them. I opened the passenger door when an accusatory voice behind me caught my attention.
“Who are you?”
