She quizzed me like a border guard — did I smoke, did I have loud friends, did I expect to be cooked for, could I drive, was I “the sort who leaves dishes.” I answered plainly, too tired to perform, and I think the tiredness is what got me the room, because at the end she looked at me a long moment and said, “You’re not a talker.

Good.

The last thing I need in my own house is company that wants managing.” That was the closest thing to a welcome I would get for a month.

Chapter 3 — House Rules

There was a printed list.

Of course there was a printed list.

It was taped inside the kitchen cabinet where the mugs lived, in a firm slanted hand, and it was titled HOUSE RULES and it was long.

Quiet after nine.