Book Excerpt:

The air in the guest house tested safe on Friday, but it wasn’t until Saturday afternoon that Arial and Chris started to move his furniture and clothes back in.

“Do you have office hours every Saturday?” she asked, shuffling across the yard under the weight of her end of the sofa.

“No, but people call and . . .” He shrugged as he backed across to the front porch steps of the guest house.

“Probably was a lot easier to work weekends when you slept in the office,” Arial teased.

Chris threw her a warning look. “Shh.”

She grinned but relented. “Should we set this down so you can open the door?”
But Chris apparently had planned ahead.

“No need. I left the door ajar this morning before I went to the clinic to let out any residual killer toxins while I was away.” He gave the door a backward shove with the sole of his shoe.

It didn’t budge.

“Maybe the wind closed it,” Arial suggested. “Or the killer toxins wanted privacy.”

Chris groaned. “OK, let me set down my end.”

As Arial tried not to drop hers, Chris turned the knob and swung open the door into the living room before reclaiming his. “OK, in we go.”

“Where do you want to place it?” Arial asked, following him up the steps. “I was thinking—"

“Just here on this front wall,” Chris’ voice said from inside.

“But that’s where it was.” She made a face that she knew he couldn’t see. “Why don’t we create a conversation area with a couple of chairs? You know, shake things up a bit.”

“Nope. It has to be on this wall because it’s best for seeing the TV.” He was well into the living room now. “Just follow me in and then swing left when you clear the door so I can bring the end around.”

“This door jamb is a little tight,” Arial said, giving the couch a shove. “You sure this is the way you brought it out?”

“Yes, I’m sure. The termite guys helped me, though, and they’re—”

“Stronger than I am?” Arial asked as she cleared the door. “I agree. In fact, I’m losing my —Oops.” The couch hit the floor. “— grip. Sorry.”

“It’s your couch and your cottage,” Chris said, setting his end down a little more gently than she had. “But I think you might have cracked that floorboard.” He pointed.

“Oh, dear,” Arial said, shoving the couch a little further to one side so she could bend down and inspect the floor. “It is kind of dented, isn’t it? And you’re right; there’s a crack.” She straightened up. “The fumigation guys said the floor was mushy, but I thought he was exaggerating.”

“Mushy?” Chris repeated, coming over to check. “Do you think you might have mentioned that before we—”

CRACK. Chris stopped, one foot still in the air.

Arial’s eyes were wide. “Is there a basement under here?”

“Very few basements in California—not like in the Midwest.” Chris was whispering like his voice might crack the floor further. “But there is a crawl space. Maybe three or four feet high?”

High enough to break a leg if Chris fell through. Arial backed away from the now visibly bowed section of pine planks.

“You’re leaving me?” Chris squeaked.

“No, I’m just going to come around and help you,” she said, edging along the wall to Chris’ side of the room.

“Help me how?” His planted leg was starting to tremble. “I’m thinking if I put my other foot down gently and slide sideways.”

“Gotcha!” Arial grabbed his arm and pulled.

“Wait!” Chris’s other foot went down not so gently, but Arial’s yank combined with their weight took them down and away from the potential abyss.

“You OK?” Arial mumbled from under Chris’ body on the floor.

He pushed himself up on his palms to regard her. “I think my less aggressive plan would have worked, but probably not half as much fun.”

“Only fun for the guy on top,” Arial said, “Ouch.”

“OK, maybe not so much fun,” Chris said, rolling off her, “as . . . exciting?”

“That I’ll grant you.” Even as she said it, Arial pulled him back down.

Chris looked surprised. “I thought you didn’t—”

“I don’t,” She slid out from under him to sit up herself. “Look.”

He twisted to see the floorboards broken away and hanging not two feet from where they lay. “Mushy, huh?”

Arial shrugged. “I thought the guy was just trying to sell me his service. You know, he’s both the inspector who tells me there’s damage and also the one who can fix it.”

“You have trust issues.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

Still on his rump, Chris edged closer to the abyss pulling out his phone.

“That’s smart,” Arial said. “Take pictures to document this, and I can send them to—”

“The company you wouldn’t let fix the problem they informed you about,” Chris said. “Good idea.”

“The insurance company.” Happily, her Aunt Sarah, a real estate agent in Wisconsin, had made sure not only that the taxes were paid but that the property was fully insured before Arial had taken possession of it.

“Also, a good idea.” Chris was shining the light from his phone into the hole.

“But you may have something else to worry about.”

“What’s down there?” Arial scuttled closer. “Please don’t tell me some poor animal got asphyxiated during the tenting.”

“Logically, I’d say a hard no,” Chris said holding up his hand. “But you might not want to— ”

Arial ignored him, pushing forward to hang over the edge with him. “I can’t see—wow, it’s all sand under here. What is all that? Was somebody using the crawl space as storage? Why would you do that, with just a sand floor?” She glanced back at him.

“Don’t look at me,” Chris protested. “I don’t have enough to fill the house, much less overflow to the crawl space. But I think you’re missing the—”

“I might not miss it if you hold the light steady already.”

“I—”

“Well, I have to be able to see,” Arial persisted, taking the phone from his hand and angling the light through the opening. “There are clothes and a shoe . . . Oh.”

“Oh,” Chris echoed.

She sat up to face him, her face white. “There’s a foot in the shoe.”