She thought of all the pretty faces that had passed through the house since her father's death. Every man had been a slick con artist who'd been with her mother for no other reason than what she could provide.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry that so many of these men are total shitbags. Maybe you should join a dating site, but I have to believe that joining a discreet high-end matchmaking service might be the better way to go."
Her mother sighed and took another sip. "Are you sure I can't convince you to join me for dinner at the Hansens' house tonight? I know they would love to see you."
A night with the Hansens was absolutely the last thing she wanted. Especially if their newly divorced quantum physicist son was home. As much as she loved science, after hours of listening to him go on and on about the superposition of states and quantum decoherence and their effect on reality as we perceived it, she'd be ready to poke her own eyes out with one of the ridiculous wooden toothpicks he insisted on chewing after dinner.
Louisa stood and took another deep breath. There was something about the ocean that just did her soul good. "I have a date with some work and some great horror from the fifties," she lied. Well, apart from the horror, which was her usual Thursday-night routine.
"When are we going to talk about you and dating? We should talk about that handsome young man who came to my aid," her mother said good-naturedly.
"I have plenty of time to worry about dating," Louisa said, her usual stock response. Not ready to talk about her messy feelings toward Six, she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She stayed a little while longer, listened to her mother's endless gossip, then kissed her good-bye and jumped into her car.
Her phone vibrated as she started the engine, and she checked her message.
Where do you live? Do you mind if I swing by later? 6
Six. Even though she was still embarrassed that she'd thrown herself at his mercy two days earlier, she quickly typed her response.
Why are you swinging by?
Wanted to discuss a couple of things with you.
Well, that told her the sum total of nothing, but she texted her address before she changed her mind.
He responded immediately. It'll be late. Don't wait up if you get tired-just text me and let me know.
With traffic in her favor, it only took her half an hour to get to her Mission Hills home. The first time she'd seen it, she'd known it was the one for her, even though her father had offered to buy her a significantly larger home in La Jolla, purely because he could afford it. He'd invested heavily in the dot-com bubble, having gotten in early on companies like Google, Amazon, and eBay, and while he'd suffered some losses when the bubble had burst, he'd been smart and dumped most of his stock before it happened, making the family well over a hundred million dollars. But the ultra-rich lifestyle wasn't really her. She had no desire to sit on the boards of charities or attend society weddings. There were days when she could only just stand her own company, let alone anybody else's.
She pulled up in the driveway of her half-brick, half-blue-sided home, which had white windows and wooden doors. Under the front window was a wooden bench with two pretty blue-and-white cushions she'd bought from one of her favorite online stores, and a terra-cotta planter filled with lavender stood next to the door. Odor-evoked autobiographical memory was a proven fact, and every time she smelled lavender, it reminded her of entering into the safety of her home.
Louisa stopped the engine, grabbed her bags, and stepped out of the car. She let herself into the house, switched off the alarm, and walked straight upstairs to her office. Unpacking her bag was a ritual. It symbolized being home. She pulled out her notebook and phone, set her purse in its spot on the bookshelf, and then turned to walk toward the bedroom. Two wooden sculptures that sat on top of her filing cabinet caught her eye. They were abstract, but in Louisa's mind, there was a back and a front to them. And one faced the wrong way. The thudding of her heart and the rush of blood whooshing through her temples sounded horribly loud.
Quickly, she hurried over to the filing cabinet and looked around for signs of entry, but the lock was still tightly sealed and there were no other signs of disturbance. Louisa scanned the room thoroughly, looking for the slightest sign of movement. She searched the pile of the soft cream carpet for footprints, but couldn't see any other than her own. Silently, she slipped her shoes off and made her way through her home, checking the windows, looking in cupboards, and even peering under beds.