“Oh, a small town outside Fayetteville. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
She chews at her bottom lip. “Fayetteville. That’s kind of in the middle of the state, right?”
He nods.
“Yeah, I’ve been to the mountains—Asheville. I love, love the Biltmore. And the beaches, of course, but the middle? Not so much. Did you go to school there? UNC?”
“No. Like I said, I came up to DC for school.” He doesn’t mention American University, on the off chance that she knows that’s where Autumn attended. He never knows with these suburban moms. Some seem to flit about their days oblivious to the news, while others are obsessed with true crime. He doesn’t know which category Jo fits into. “I graduated a few years ago.”
“Huh, even with UNC as an option? Where did you go?”
“American,” he says as casually as possible. “I got a full ride.” When he was applying to colleges, he knew little to nothing of national rankings. Almost everyone in his high school who was going on to college—and that was two-thirds of the students at most—chose in-state schools. North Carolina had plenty to offer. It was his guidance counselor, Mr. Perkins, who not only let him eat lunch in his office during the worst parts of high school but had also taken the time to explain that with his high grades and the fact that he was the first in his family to attend college, he might qualify for generous aid.
“Well, good for you! Both my kids are heading off to Stanford in the fall.”
“Congrats. Both of them, huh?”
“I know. It’ll be wonderful to have them at the same school. Some of my friends with kids at Yale, Princeton, Stanford.” She waves her hand. “It’s too much. Parents’ weekend is a nightmare. We just had a big party for Eloïse last night.” She gestures to the yard. “That’s why it’s still a mess.”
Jo walks around the island, pointing out Muffinhead’s bowls, where the food and treats are kept, and explaining that he likes his food warmed upjust a tad. “Ten seconds in the microwave will do it. Easy peasy. Oh, and only filtered water for him.”
“Of course,” Finn says.
She laughs. “I know. Obvious. But some people…” She shakes her head. “Follow me, I’ll show you where the leash is and give you the code to the door.”
He follows her into a narrow room off the kitchen that boasts four full-length cubbies on one side, painted black, with metal letters spelling out names above—eloïse,VAN,JO,DANIEL. The leash hangs nearby from a hook on the wall.
Jo opens the back door and tells him the code to her house as nonchalantly as if informing a stranger of the time of day.
“I use the same code for everything,” she says. “My son’s birthday. I should probably be more creative.”
He tries it once with success, amazed at the ease with which she’s handed over the virtual keys to her house to someone she’s just met.
“How did you hear about me?” Finn asks once they are back inside.
She frowns. “Somebody, I don’t remember. I’ll have to check my texts. I posted something on the neighborhood Facebook group and someone responded.”
As they walk back to the kitchen, she pauses beneath a large black-and-white portrait. It’s a picture of her, a man, a boy, and a girl on the beach, wind whipping their hair. They are all so tan that their crisp white shirts seem to glow. The beach is empty, a private backdrop provided by nature just for them. “Oh, that was taken at Southern Shores. It was our Christmas card picture when the kids were little, years ago.”
A sadness tints her voice, as if she’s talking about something lost to the mists of time. For a split second, her mask falls and Finn glimpses a deep pain written on her face. Just as quickly, she recovers, clapping her hands together.
“So! What we need is someone to come in Monday and Thursday, midmorning. Does that work?”
“Perfect. My shifts change every week, but I never have to be in at work before eleven, so I could come in around ten, ten fifteen.”
“Would you ever be willing to house-sit? Muffinhead’s traveling days are behind him, I’m afraid.”
“Happy to.” Happier than he wants her to know. His heart thrills at the thought of uninterrupted time in this house. Time to investigate. Could she or her husband be “the neighbor” that Autumn referred to? It’s not the kind of question he can just come out and ask.
“I remember now,” she says, snapping her fingers. “You live with Paula Dunker, right?”
He nods.
“She’s the one who told me about you.”
Finn cocks his head. Funny, his landlady hadn’t mentioned that to him.
A cell phone trills from inside the house. “I’ve got to get that,” Jo says as she rushes out of the mudroom. “Just let yourself out the back door. Pull it tight! And thanks, Finn!”