In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(11)

“Good talk,” I say, lifting a brow. I reach to the back seat and pull my sunglasses from the pocket of my hoodie and slide them in place, looking at Houston one last time as I drive away. He gives me that older, wiser, big brother stare, and I do my best to ignore it. I have it mostly out of my mind by the time I make my way back to the house on the corner with the environmentally-friendly car. I turn into the driveway and kill the engine, then lower the seat a few notches for comfort so I can begin my wait.

After twenty minutes, I begin to see some activity inside, a head moving past the open window that overlooks the front of the house. It looks like it must be the kitchen window. A few minutes later, a couple walks through the front door, locking it behind them. They’re dressed for work; he’s in a suit, and she’s in a long skirt and red shirt. They’re young, too. Way too young to be the parents of someone my age, which means…

“Can I help you?” the man asks, opening his passenger door and dumping a briefcase in the back behind the seat.

“I think I might have the wrong house. I was looking for the Sullivan family? They used to live here?” I ask, hoping I’ll get some clue, or maybe I’m just one house off the mark.

“They moved four or five years ago,” he says.

Awesome.

“I see. Thank you. I’m sorry for being all creepy in your driveway,” I wince and chuckle uncomfortably. The man doesn’t laugh in return, which makes me feel like a total douche.

I turn the engine over and push the seat back into a good driving position before reaching for my belt. I’m about to leave when the woman speaks up, shoving her hand in front of me with a card pinched between her long, red fingernails.

“We rent from them, though. Here’s their business card,” she says.

A card. With a phone number.

“Thanks,” I grin, taking the card from her and rolling it in my fingers once or twice before sliding it into the cup holder.

I wave in acknowledgement and back out of their driveway. I pull over on the side of the road before the turnpike and wave once more when they pass me on their way to work. The sun is up now and practically blinding me; I head to Sally’s near campus to grab a breakfast burrito and some much-needed coffee before stopping at my apartment to take a shower and figure out my next move.

There’s no address on the card, and the only hint at the website is some clever email address about rental gods. I give up and finally dial the number, and am just about to end the call, and scrap this plan completely, when a woman answers.

“Hi, this is Jeanie,” she says in the most cheerful voice I think I’ve ever encountered. I smile at her first word, and I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I pass by the mirror in my bathroom. I try to scowl quickly, but it’s no use. She injected pep right through the phone, and I’m full on it now.

“Hi, Jeanie. My name’s…Eli,” I barely recover. “A friend gave me your card and said you might be able to help me find a new place. I’m…moving. For work.”

I’m the shittiest liar ever. I throw my hat from my head and run my fingers through my still damp hair. I’m sweating from this conversation.

“Oh, wonderful. Who recommended us?” she asks, same fairy godmother voice.

Shit.

“Uh…” I pause for a breath. I’ve got one shot at this. “Tom.”

In the millisecond it took to think of a name, about a dozen, completely typical names flew through my head. I almost went with Michael, but I had a feeling in my gut. Everyone knows a Tom. She has to know a Tom.

“How nice,” she practically sings. I collapse on the bed. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.

“Yeah, so I’m in a bit of a pinch. My lease is up here, and I need to find something ASAP, so…”

“I’ve got time this afternoon. I have three properties that are all near downtown. I’m not sure what area you need, but they’re great deals. How about we meet near the State campus?” Her business side is kicking in, which is good. But campus won’t get me close to Murphy.

“I’m getting dropped off, and my friend has to work early. Is there a restaurant or something near you I can meet you at and then just ride with you?” I bluff, pinching the bridge of my nose while I silently whisper please.

“That sounds fine. How about the bagel shop on Ninth and Wood on the north side? I’m in Archfield,” she says.

Archfield.

“Perfect. I’ll be waiting there,” I say, grabbing my keys and heading to the car before she has a chance to hang up.

I pass my roommate on my way out down the main walkway and wink at him, doing my best to embody his personality for the next hour. He looks at me like I’ve been taken over by an alien. Maybe I have. Or perhaps it’s the jolliness in Jeanie Sullivan’s voice infecting me. I hope her daughter’s just as nice as she seems to be on the phone.

It takes me almost an hour to get to Archfield. I spot the bagel shop on my first pass, pulling around the corner and parking in a far spot, then walking around the building once more to make it look like I was dropped off. When I enter the restaurant, I scan for anyone watching people walk through the front door. My eyes meet a woman’s with bright yellow-blond hair that falls down to her waist in loose curls, and she quickly offers me a short wave.

I approach her table and smile with the same enthusiasm I had on the phone an hour ago. I’m not sure what her deal is, but I’m starting to think she might be a witch.