15. Dallas
DALLAS
Greta opened her eyes, looked up at the cathedral ceiling, and remembered where she was.
She felt hemmed in somehow and sat up to find that the dogs had abandoned their armchairs and were asleep on what should have been Otto’s side of the bed.
And Otto? She hoped he wasn’t wandering through the neighborhood in search of his missing wife.
She got out of bed, wrapped the bath towel around herself, tucking one corner into her cleavage to make a strapless dress of sorts, and left the five-star bedroom with the dogs at her heels. There was no sign of Otto in the kitchen, but the song about Earl was still playing.
The house was even more impressive in daylight.
One of the kitchen walls was covered in a thick, gray, felt-like material and had children’s art thumbtacked onto it.
Lucy had not mentioned children, and Greta wondered how many she had and where they were.
Summer camp perhaps. There were also sketches of robots, sophisticated ones with annotations and mathematical formulas in the margins.
Greta looked out the window in the direction that Mr. Henley had walked last night, past the patio where several large round tables were set up in the grass, signs of a large backyard party.
A rectangular swimming pool sparkled in the sunlight, a pink flamingo raft floating in the middle and a fountain pouring water off a ledge at the far end.
Greta felt a little guilty then; maybe Lucy had gotten the worse end of this deal after all.
Greta’s apartment, however, did not come with the task of caring for multiple pets. The dogs were looking at her expectantly. One cat was on the counter, pacing back and forth and mewing, and the guinea pig squeaked from his cage.
She needed caffeine. There was a built-in Miele coffee maker in the wall, and she found an oversize mug that said “Boss Mom.” She put it on the shelf and pushed the button for a cappuccino.
While the machine whirred and ground the coffee beans, she waited, listening, and finally came to understand that Wanda and Mary Anne had murdered that no good Earl.
Greta adjusted her towel and walked through the house with her cappuccino.
In the dining room there were several framed black-and-white photographs of landscapes, all set in small towns, in fields, and on ranches.
There were horses and cows, fence posts and barbed wire, all impressive compositions.
She checked the signature and did a double take: Lucy’s father was the photographer.
Greta was fascinated; she wouldn’t have thought the man holding the guinea pig last night had an artistic side.
The dining room table had a deep scratch in the surface and the cane seat of one of the chairs was broken. Greta would snap a picture later for her “Damages” folder that she planned to send to Lucy for their records.
The dogs began barking at her, so she went back to the kitchen, unlocked the door, and stepped out onto the patio.
The flagstones were warm and rough on the soles of her feet.
She walked past the party tables to the edge of the pool and dipped her toes in the turquoise water.
It was so peaceful here; the only sound was birdsong and the splashing of the fountain, none of the city noise—garbage trucks and ambulances—she was accustomed to.
From here, the house, all concrete, sharp angles, and glass, showed itself to be exactly as Rex had described: a thoroughly modern, oddly shaped cruise ship.
Something brushed up against Greta’s foot, and she jumped back as a cat rolled on the grass beside her.
“ Oh Gott , oh no,” Greta said. She didn’t dare pick him up.
Instead she backed up toward the house, calling, “ Komm, K?tzchen .” The cat ignored her, so she tried again in English, making her voice high-pitched.
“Come, kitty, come here,” she said, but the cat ran in the opposite direction toward a little gate in the fence and ducked under a bush.
It was her first day there, and a cat had already escaped on her watch.
She rushed to the door and pulled it closed to prevent another from getting out.
When she turned back to the pool, she saw that the short-haired dog was taking a swim—was that even allowed?
—snapping at the water like a crocodile, while the other was eating grass.
And there was yet another cat under one of the tables, crouched low to the ground, its tail thrashing. This was very, very bad.
She would have to find treats inside, something she could use to lure them all in.
Greta went back to the house, only to find that the door handle wouldn’t budge.
She cleared her throat and spoke loudly to the doorknob: “Open the door, please.” Nothing happened.
She knocked on the door, calling, “Otto!” There was no sound in the house, no movement.
She looked at the windows of the upper story, knowing she could not possibly be heard through the space-rated insulation.
There was nothing to do but wait.
She sat on a lounge chair by the pool and put her feet up, wishing she had clothes on. Wishing she had her phone so she could call Otto. Wishing she hadn’t blundered so badly on her first morning.
Time passed, who knew how long. Greta had finished her coffee and was starting to sweat. Mosquitos bit her ankles and the nape of her neck, and she needed to go to the bathroom. A leaf blower was roaring from somewhere nearby. The dogs were asking to go inside, and the cats were nowhere to be seen.
She got up and knocked loudly on the kitchen door again. The third cat—striped like the others—was watching her resentfully from the kitchen counter.
There was a sound behind her, and she turned to see the gate open. A woman walked into the yard. She was wearing a smart-looking sheath dress with bright gold jewelry and pink lipstick. Her hair was in curlers. Both dogs, one dripping wet, ran over to meet her.
“Oh, no you don’t,” the woman said to the dogs. “Sit!” The dogs sat.
Greta tightened her towel and crossed her arms to cover her chest.
“Well, hello there!” the woman called out with a warm smile. “Look at you, enjoying the pool already.”
Greta preferred this interpretation of her outfit to the more accurate one. “Good morning,” she said.
“I’m Lucy’s mom, Irene.” And she opened her arms and hugged Greta as though they’d known each other for years, as though they were family.
Greta knew most Americans were huggers, but her mother was not, so hugging strangers was not something she was accustomed to. Irene gave one final squeeze and let her go.
“I heard from Rex y’all got in real late last night, so I figured you’d probably sleep in, but here you are, up and at ’em.”
Greta was up all right, and she was mortified to be practically naked. She smiled at Irene, who had the look of a woman who held strong opinions and got regular Botox treatments.
Irene handed Greta a tote bag. “Rex says the airline lost y’all’s luggage. We thought you might need some things to tide you over.”
“Thank you,” said Greta, looking in the bag to see folded T-shirts and travel toothbrushes.
“Now first things first,” she said. “A company is coming by at ten to pick up all these tables and chairs Lucy rented. They’ll carry them right out the side gate.”
“Was there a party?” Greta said.
“Not exactly,” said Irene, dropping her smile. “It’s a long story.”
“Speaking of long stories,” Greta said, “I’m afraid I’ve had a mishap.
” Her cheeks felt hot, and she wondered whether she’d already gotten sunburned.
“I came outside to see the pool, and I’m sorry to say, two of the cats escaped before I could stop them.
And then, I locked myself out of the house, and I don’t even have my phone to call my husband, who has never slept this late in his life.
” She forced a smile, feeling incredibly stupid.
Irene looked confused. “Why’s your English so darn good?”
This was not what Greta had expected her to say. “My mother’s American. She’s from New York.”
“Is that right?” said Irene. “I mean, I hear a slight accent, but…” And then she raised a finger. “First rule of Dallas: cats and air-conditioning stay inside.”
“Yes, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Henley,” said Greta, adjusting her towel.
“Irene,” Irene said, and she turned to survey the yard. “Don’t you worry. We’ll wrangle ’em.”
“Thank you,” said Greta, stepping away from the dog who was licking her bare knee. “What are the names of the dogs?”
“The big one’s Tank,” said Irene, pointing to where he was rolling in the grass. “And this here’s Bunny. They’re both rescues.” She patted the pale, fluffy dog on her head.
“Why Bunny?” said Greta.
“Zoe is obsessed with rabbits.”
“Who’s Zoe?”
“My granddaughter, of course. Lucy has eight-year-old twins. And a teenage son. Didn’t she tell you? They’re all living in your house.”
“Apartment,” said Greta. Lucy definitely needed to work on her German; in her email, she must have meant “twins,” not “onions.” The idea of Thing 1 and Thing 2 running loose in her beautiful home made Greta feel sick.
She should have hidden the Anna Katharina Block painting and the Kirchner woodcut in a closet.
She should have packed up the Lalique and the Nymphenburg.
“We rushed into this arrangement, and didn’t ask each other any of the right questions,” Greta said, scratching at a mosquito bite behind her ear.
“Or any questions at all, really. I knew nothing about pets. And my apartment is quite small.”
“Well, desperate times, I guess,” Irene said, taking Bunny by the collar. “At least you both got where you needed to go.”
Greta supposed that was true. “If you have a spare key, I’d like to get dressed.”
“You don’t need a key,” Irene said.