Scarlet Wills paced the empty living room of the moderately priced two-story home on Wentworth Drive, hands clutched before her, heart rate on the rise. Thanks to a recent overhaul of the outdated Coulter Realty website, house hunters could now request a walk-through of any available property by completing an online request form. Scarlet had assumed this new feature would lead to an increase in appointments, showings, clients and sales. She hadn’t, however, considered the lack of personal interaction meant never really knowing who was on the other side of the requests.
The contact form required only a name, phone number or email address, and the home a buyer wanted to see. Half the time, Scarlet didn’t know who she was meeting until they’d arrived. Other times, like this one, no one arrived at all.
She rolled her tight shoulders and leaned her head side to side, hoping to alleviate the painful tension gathered there. This was beginning to look like Scarlet’s third no-show in the five weeks since Coulter Realty’s website changes went live.
And, like the other times, she felt distinctly as if she was being watched.
She’d breathed easier when she’d first arrived, glad to see another agent already at the home with a couple of potential buyers. Evan’s familiar face and ready smile had been a welcome surprise. He’d even complimented her short-sleeved navy blouse and the way she’d worn her pale blond hair in a tight chignon. But now, he and his clients were leaving, and she would be alone.
According to her watch, it was nearing six o’clock. Hardly late, but the sky was already dark when she’d pulled her compact SUV into the long driveway. Autumn in her small coastal town of Marshal’s Bluff, North Carolina, meant eating dinner after dark for more than a few months of the year. And Wentworth Drive was heavily lined with trees, the homes cloaked in shadows.
Ideally, Scarlet’s potential client would’ve shown up before Evan left, but that, apparently, wasn’t meant to be.
Now, she paced alone inside the eerily quiet structure, watching helplessly as gooseflesh climbed the exposed skin of her arms and Evan said goodbye to his clients on the lawn outside the dining room’s bay window.
He waved a hand as his clients drove away, and Scarlet willed him to return inside. But he dropped into his car without another look in her, or the home’s, direction.
A heavy, shuddered sigh escaped her as she checked her watch again. Pat Cranston, the contact who’d reached out to her, was officially more than fifteen minutes late, and her nerves were beginning to fray.
She refocused on the scene outside the window. October was once her favorite month of the year. The beauty that came with changing leaves and blooming mums was unparalleled. And her small coastal town thrived on harvest festivals, pumpkins patches and gratuitous, multicolored gourds on every doorstep.
Currently, however, it was hard to see past the early sunsets and shorter days. There was too much darkness and there were too many shadows.
Too much paranoia, she thought, chastising herself for the continued fixation on something unseen. Something that likely wasn’t even real.
Moving to Marshal’s Bluff four years ago had been an easy decision. She’d grown up in a neighboring county, where her mother, Trina, was a successful real estate agent. And in small-town North Carolina, one Wills woman selling homes was enough. In Marshal’s Bluff, she didn’t have to compete with her mother for home sales, and no one referred to her as Trina’s daughter. Two big bonuses of setting up shop an hour away.
She stared at her SUV for long minutes, debating on when she could reasonably call it a night.
Soon the grandfather clock in the foyer gonged, and Scarlet’s green eyes widened in the reflection of the glass. It was definitely time to give up and head home. Pat hadn’t responded to any of Scarlet’s texts attempting to confirm the appointment, and twenty minutes was more than enough grace time on Scarlet’s part. Besides, she had a bottle of merlot, an excellent book and set of new satin pajamas just waiting for her at home.
She began the process of shutting off lights at the back of the home and moving forward, careful not to leave any unnecessarily on, extra grateful Evan had turned off the upstairs and basement lights before he’d left. Scarlet double-checked the locks on all exterior doors, then paused to collect her business cards and flyers she’d printed with details on the home and local market.
It really was a pretty home. Only three years old and full of modern charm. High ceilings. White woodwork and trim. Fancy, geometric-shaped light fixtures and marble everywhere marble was acceptable. Not her style, but lovely nonetheless.
The rooms, though flawlessly designed, were mostly empty now, thanks to a relocation that had taken the family to another state more than a week prior. Another similarity, she realized, in the homes where she’d been stood up. The appointments were always made online. Always for a home with limited neighbors and a family no longer in the area.
Her phone buzzed, and she flinched before rolling her eyes belatedly at the overreaction. The name of another client living out of state appeared on her caller ID.
“Good evening, Mr. Perez,” she said sweetly, thankful for the bit of normal in her current situation. “How are you tonight?”
“Not good,” he griped. “You assured me you could sell my house in a week, and it’s been a month.”
Scarlet headed into the foyer, tugging her purse onto one shoulder. “No, Mr. Perez,” she corrected pleasantly. “I said I could sell your house in a week at the listing price I suggested. I told you I would do my best to sell your home at the price you insisted upon.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
She highly doubted that. He was a businessman after all. And she’d explained the difference to him more than once. Still, she reasoned, it would be nice to keep him on the phone a little longer. “Your price is significantly higher than I recommended, which limits the number of prospective buyers. That’s not to say the property won’t sell at your price. I’m confident you can get the amount you’re asking, but it won’t happen as quickly. We’re going to have to wait for the right buyer.”
She stepped into the night and locked the door behind her. A cool breeze whipped the fabric of her blouse, sending a sharp chill down her spine. “If you can be patient a little longer, I’ll brainstorm new ideas for spreading the word on a larger scale.”
He grunted. Not happy, but not angry. With Mr. Perez, she’d call that a win.
Scarlet stilled as motion caught her eyes in the reaching shadows along the roadside. She stared and squinted into the darkness, begging the vague, sweeping movement to grow into something recognizable and harmless. A neighbor walking a dog, or a few wandering deer.
“I don’t have forever on this,” Mr. Perez complained. “My family’s move was expensive, and we can’t afford to pay two mortgages long term.”
Scarlet made a break for her little SUV, racing down the steps and across the black asphalt driveway toward her vehicle. The lights flashed when she pressed the unlock button on her key fob. “Give me two more weeks to find a buyer at this price,” she suggested. “Then we can revisit the subject of pricing.”
“All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “Two more weeks. But I want it sold. At my price.”
“Understood.”
She slid behind the wheel and dropped the phone into her cup holder, enjoying the satisfying snap of her power locks as the door closed. A few frantic heartbeats later, she reversed carefully away from the dark, empty home.
She queued up an audiobook at the nearest intersection, obeying a stop sign. A pair of headlights flashed on behind her, pulling her attention to the blinding reflection in her rearview mirror. Unfounded tension coiled through her limbs. “It’s just a car,” she whispered, pressing the gas pedal once more.
It didn’t make any sense to assume the car was intentionally following her, so she motored on, shaking away the nonsensical thoughts. For good measure, she pressed the gas pedal with purpose, putting extra space between the vehicles.
Her company’s online request form for house showings popped back into her mind. As did her three no-shows. Was it ridiculous to wonder if those requests had been made by the same person? Even if the names and contact numbers were different?
Above her an abundance of stars twinkled in an inky sky. Behind her, the glow of headlights grew until she had to look away. The other vehicle erased the distance she’d gained then crept uncomfortably closer before matching her speed.
Scarlet’s grip on the wheel tightened, and she worked a little harder to convince herself the car wasn’t following her and the driver wasn’t trying to unsettle her. Whoever was back there probably always drove like a jerk, too close and too fast. It had nothing to do with her. She accelerated anyway, reaching nearly sixty miles per hour in the stretch of road marked forty-five. She’d cheerfully accept the speeding ticket if it meant seeing a cop anytime soon. At least then the car behind her would be gone, and if she played her cards right, the officer might willingly follow her home for good measure.
She decided to drive into town to be safe instead of heading straight home. As the downtown lights came into view on the horizon, she made a mental plan. She’d drive into the busiest parking lot and call a friend. If the car followed, she’d call the police. If the car went away, she’d wait five minutes, then take a roundabout and convoluted path home to be sure no one else was behind her when she arrived.
Paranoid? Maybe. But at least she had a plan.
She pulled her phone into her lap for good measure. If anything else happened, if the car hit her or the driver got out at the upcoming stoplight and moved in her direction, she would dial 911.
Her attention fixed on the rearview mirror as she slowed. The car picked up speed, and she braced for impact, until it suddenly peeled away, taking the exit ramp for the highway instead of stopping at the light.
Breath whooshed from her lungs, and a ragged laugh burst from her trembling lips. “Good grief,” she whispered. “I’m losing it.”
The other driver had simply been a jerk in a hurry to get somewhere, and she’d been prepared to call emergency services. For what? Tailgating? Clearly she needed a good night’s sleep more than she’d thought.
When the light turned green, she drove straight home.
SCARLET SLID INTO bed that night with a glass of red wine and her favorite novel. A long, hot shower had washed the fear from her mind. “Just one chapter,” she vowed. “Then it’s bedtime.”
She lifted the glass to her lips, and her cell phone vibrated, announcing an incoming message before she’d taken a single sip.
She didn’t recognize the name, but that wasn’t unusual. She’d printed her cell phone number on her business cards and shared it on the company website. Also, the new contact form pushed requests for home showings to their assigned agents via text.
She set her wine aside and raised the device reluctantly, hoping it was someone interested in the Perez property and willing to pay his asking price. She accessed the message with a swipe of her thumb.
Unknown: Nice seeing you again tonight
Not an offer on the Perez place, but at least it was a wrong number.
The phone buzzed a second time before she could return it to the nightstand.
Scarlet stilled, eyes fixed on the four little words.
Unknown: Thanks for the showing
Breath caught in her throat. Was it possible this too was a coincidence? A message meant for another agent? A confused buyer texting the wrong number from the website?
Or was this the point where she could no longer tell herself there wasn’t anything to worry about?
A final text made her decision clear.
Unknown: CU soon
Copyright © 2023 by Julie Anne Lindsey