Page 3 of When in Rome

“Met a lot of murderers in your time?”

One point for Wilderness Ken.

I smile and try to sound as kind as possible. “Sorry but…can you just go away? Really, I don’t mean to be rude, but…you’re sort of making me nervous.”

“If I go away, will you get out?”

I laugh a stunted laugh. “Definitely not now! Where did you come from anyway?”

The man nods toward the other side of my car and doesn’t sound at all impressed when he says, “You’re in my front yard.”

Oh.

I turn, and sure enough, I’m pulled over in a front yard.Hisfront yard apparently. I can’t help but smile at the cute house. Small. White. Black shutters. Two lights beside the front door, and a hanging swing on the front porch. Large expansive land around it. It looks homey.

“I think I already know the answer,” he says, “but do you want to come in and call someone? I have a landline.”

I laugh so loud at his suggestion that he winces. Oh dear, that was rude. I clear my throat. “Sorry. No. Thank you…But no,” I say it solemnly this time.

“Fine. Suit yourself. If you need anything and decide I’m not a killer, I’ll just be in there.” He gestures toward the house and rises to his full height again. I watch as he crosses his long front yard and his shadow disappears into the house.

After he shuts his front door, I sigh with relief and sink into my seat, trying not to worry about the smoke still streaming from my car’s engine, or how freaking hot it is in here, or that I’m hungry, or that I really need to pee, or how disappointed Susan will be with me once she realizes I’m not showing up to that interview in the morning.

I’m not okay. Everything is definitelynotokay.

Chapter 2

Noah

She’s still out there. It’s been twenty minutes, and she’s yet to so much as crack her door. And, yes, I am watching her creepily from my window acting like the psychopath she thinks I am. I’m not, for the record—though I’m not sure my opinion really counts in this situation. I am a little worried she’s gonna die tonight, however. It’s 80 degrees outside and she’s not allowing any ventilation through her car. That woman is going to smother herself out there.

Whatever, not my problem.

I let the blinds snap closed and pace away from the window.

And then I pace right back and open them again.

Dammit, get out of the car, woman.

I look at the clock.11:30p.m.I shoot up a prayer to anyone listening above that Mabel won’t be too pissed at me when I call and wake her up. After dialing her number, I have to wait six rings before her scratchy forty-years-of-smoking-but-recently-quit voice answers. “Who isit?”

“Mabel, it’s Noah.”

She grunts a little. “What do you want, son? I was alreadydozing in my chair for the night, and you know I have insomnia so this better be good.”

I smile. “Believe me, Mabel, I wouldn’t be disturbing your beauty sleep unless it was an emergency.”

She acts tough but her heart is mush for me. Mabel and my grandma were best friends—more like sisters really. And since my grandma was the one who raised me and my sisters, Mabel always treated us like family, too. Lord knows we act related. We look different, Mabel is Black and I’m white, but we both share the same general dislike for people being up in our business. (And yet she’s always more than happy to be all up in mine.)

“Emergency? Noah, don’t string me along. Your house on fire, son?” She’s called me “son” since I was in diapers and continues to despite the fact that I’m thirty-two years old. I don’t mind. It’s comforting.

“No, ma’am. I need you to speak to a woman forme.”

She coughs with disbelief. “A woman? Honey, it’s good to hear you’re looking again, but just ’cause you’re lonely in the middle of the night doesn’t mean I have a list of ladies on speed dial readyto—”

“No,” I say firmly before she continues with what I’m sure would be a string of words I never want to hear exit her mouth. “The woman is in my front yard.”

I hear the squeak of a chair and imagine Mabel snapping her EZ Boy recliner shut, sitting bolt upright. “Noah, tell me now, are you drunk? It’s fine if you are, I’m not the judgy type, you know this. I’ve said many of my best prayers to the Good Lord after a night with Jack Daniel’s, but I need for you to call James or one of your sisters when you’re drunk, not—”

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