Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [34]
Josie looked over her shoulder. There was nothing to be seen on either side of the house except thick, lush shrubbery pruned to perfection. With a shaking hand she started to fit the key into the lock and then changed her mind. She turned to leave when a light breeze rustled the trees overhead, bringing the scent of lily of the valley to her nostrils. A moment later, the trees were quiet. A dog barked in the distance. A tree frog leaped in front of her. She clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the squeal that was about to rush past her lips.
There were no squeaks, no groans, no sound at all when the lock turned and the door opened. Josie stepped into an immaculate dining room. In an instant she knew the house was professionally decorated. A bachelor pad done in earth tones. No real color anywhere. She thought it depressing as she walked from room to room. It didn’t look like anyone lived in the house. Where were the treasures, the mementos, the family pictures? She eyed the expensive silk plants with a jaundiced eye. She hated silk plants. She decided she also hated the faceless decorator who had taken such modern liberties with the beautiful old house.
Josie peeked into the kitchen. Kitty would love the sterile, stainless-steel area. She wouldn’t like the wrought-iron table and chairs, though. There was no centerpiece on the table, no colorful place mats or napkins, no cushions on the hard, iron chairs. She shuddered. How could Paul Brouillette live in such a cold, impersonal house? Maybe he didn’t really live here; maybe he just came back and forth. Tentatively she opened the huge refrigerator. Her jaw dropped at the shelves full of food.
Where were Zip’s things, his bed, his toys? Maybe Zip was just a dog to Paul. A dog he fed and walked. She felt a frown building between her eyebrows. A dog was a commitment, a responsibility, a member of the family.
The frown stayed with Josie as she made her way to the second floor. She told herself going to the second floor was simply to look for Zip’s things. Certainly not to check out Paul’s bedroom. She’d never do something like that. Kitty would, but she wouldn’t. Kitty would want to know if he wore boxers or jockeys.
The doors to three of the bedrooms stood open. Josie peeked into each room. Clean, neat, professionally decorated like the downstairs. The bathrooms were done in pastel shades with matching towels and rugs. Even the soap matched. Josie winced. Were these rooms ever used? Did Paul entertain or have guests? She wondered if there was anything feminine in his room or bathroom. Someone who stayed over and left things behind.
Josie had to coax herself to open the door to what she assumed was Paul’s bedroom. Three times her hand reached out to turn the knob and three times she pulled it back. Checking out the rest of the house was one thing, but if she went into this room, she was invading Paul’s privacy.
On the fourth try she allowed her hand to close over the knob. She turned it slowly, sucking in her breath as she did so. It was dim and cool inside and she had to squint to see the dim shapes of the furniture. She had the impression of a large, square room with equally large furniture. She squeezed her eyes shut and then reopened them in hopes of a better look. Here there were photographs, four in all on top of the long dresser. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness in the room she allowed her gaze to sweep past the open bathroom door, the pile of clothes outside the door, to the night tables and the long king-size bed, where someone was sleeping.
Josie thought her blood froze in her veins in that one second. Someone sleeping. She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from calling out. You bastard! You smart-ass bastard. You’re here sleeping while I stew and fret about why you didn’t call me. Kitty was right. All you wanted was someone