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  THE HOUSE IN THE HILLS

  THE HOUSE IN THE HILLS

  Rowan Hanlon

  REVERBERATOR BOOKS

  The House in the Hills. Copyright © 2018 by Rowan Hanlon.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher. For more information, email [email protected].

  Published by Reverberator Books.

  eBook ISBN–13: 978-1-938107-71-9

  eBook ISBN–10: 1-938107-71-3

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  Harmony and Marc: An Introduction to the House

  Moving Day

  Fifteen Minutes of Fun

  Sun Time

  Party Hard

  Pie

  Big News

  Cut to Black

  HARMONY AND MARC: AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HOUSE

  The house was so impressive, how could anyone not fall in love with it? How could anyone not beg it for just a glance in their direction? It didn’t have to reciprocate your feelings and it didn’t have to ever tell you it loved you back; it just had to acknowledge your presence. That’s all you needed for it to provide you with much, much validation. You would be cool just by association. And that would be good enough. It was that kind of house. It was the stuff dreams were made of and then, more than likely, crushed.

  It was a vintage, classic mid-century modern masterpiece, sprawling in its brilliance like a lazy cat. Oh, yes. It was a gray one-story with customary post and beam construction, giving it the classic lines of the iconic style. The two slopes of the roofline met in the middle and formed the perfect butterfly roof, which was impressive and so distinctive to this style of architecture. The landscaping was perfect—simple and unobtrusive and yet very green and very lush—and the house seemed tranquil and subdued amongst its neighboring houses, as they were all of the garden variety Spanish Revival, Craftsman bungalow or contemporary modern. The house, in fact, was the rock star of the neighborhood. It was there and it was cool but it didn’t beg for attention. The house stood out but it didn’t brag. It stood back from the street and wowed the passersby with its unintentional difference but didn’t necessarily invite them in. While not standoffish, it didn’t really care one way or another if you liked it or not. And that only added to its allure. But one couldn’t help but gape at the sprawling iconic design before them, just as they would if they happened upon a real-life rock star at a coffee shop. It made people wonder who lived there and what their lives were like. It made people want to go in and see if the inside was as spectacular as the outside. But it didn’t solicit anyone to like it; in fact, it would rather you just left it alone.

  Again, it was the stuff dreams were made of. And this dream was going to be costly. And Harmony knew that. She knew that the moment they’d pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the three-car garage. The house was huge, it was breathtaking and, of course, it was way out of their price range. Still, she couldn’t help but gape at the completely renovated beauty and her pulse quickened as soon as she laid eyes on all the modern fixtures like the all-glass pivot door and the lush plants along the front wall.

  But for all its beauty, Harmony knew she and her husband, Marc, could not afford this house. There was no way they could ever make this work. This fact gave her a sense of impending doom and made her want to run, but not before telling her husband that he had to stop driving her crazy. He knew they couldn’t afford this house. And, in a way, she felt he was being a little cruel just by showing it to her. The asking price had to be upwards of one million, easily. Probably more. Probably a lot more. It sat on an oversized corner lot in the Hollywood Hills and its neighbors were wealthy people in the film and tech industries. Or trust fund babies. She and Marc didn’t have this kind of money and it pissed her off that they didn’t. This house was something she’d only dreamed of and now her dreams were going to crush her soul as this dream had zero chance of being fulfilled.

  “Are you trying to torment me, Marc?” Harmony asked, not taking her eyes off the house for a second.

  They were standing in front of the house, looking at it from the walkway, which meandered all the way from the front door down to the street and stopped beside the mailbox. If one passed by on the street not only would the house give them pause, but Harmony and Marc would, as well. They were a very good looking couple in their early thirties; she was a pretty brunette who stood almost a foot shorter than her tall, dark and handsome blue-eyed husband. Not only were they attractive but they were both intelligent, hard-working and relatively nice people. They were the cool couple everyone wanted to hang out with. Or, at least, they strived to be. They dressed in the usual hip style indicative of their age group and they had cool jobs. They also had cool clothes and cool friends. And they had a cool car—a black ’65 Ford Mustang fastback. Well, that was Marc’s car, which was the car they’d driven over in. Harmony drove an older but well kept Volvo that, while still cool, was a bit more subdued.

  What they didn’t have that was cool was a house like this. In fact, their apartment, which was on the other side of the city, was so far from cool, it made both of them cringe, almost on a daily basis. In addition to looking like something of the 1990s with its builder-basic cabinetry and slightly dingy looking off-white carpet, the apartment was small. It was also cramped and it was driving both of them crazy, as did their neighbors who were mostly comprised of wannabe actors who never slept and partied non-stop at the communal pool. And, of course, the communal pool just happened to be right outside their front door. But it was cheap and they’d lived there since they’d arrived in the city five years before. They’d lived there so they could save as much money as possible for their dream home. Their dream was standing in front of them now, beckoning them to enter and fall in love. Why not give it a chance? Why not give it a try?

  “Seriously, Marc,” Harmony said. “You’re trying to torment me, aren’t you?” However, she already knew the answer to that. While Marc wasn’t necessarily trying to torment her, she did know he wanted this house. He was into having cool and expensive things, always had been. He thought getting a house like this would be good for his image as a successful real estate agent. It would certainly make him a look a lot cooler than living in their apartment.

  But Harmony wasn’t having it. She knew if she entered the house there would be no turning back. She knew there would be an outrageous mortgage payment she’d have to worry about for the rest of her life. She knew Marc would find a way to talk her into it. And he’d find a way because, deep down, she really wanted the house. She couldn’t ever remember wanting something this badly before, save for wanting to get out of her parents’ house and onto college. While she loved her parents dearly, they had always been hard on her to make good grades and to clean her room and all that other stuff that parents are overly concerned with. So, as soon as she turned eighteen, she left home for college and never looked back. Once she was out of college, it was on to working for a bank for a few years and then, one day, a very handsome and somewhat debonair young man walked in, introduced himself as Marc Franklin and she fell in love. They’d been together ever since. He was the one who convinced her to leave their small, Southern town for the glitz and glamour of Los Angles, California. She could get out of banking and go to culinary school to become a chef and he could make a fortune in real estate. And this, more or less, had been what happened, though they were still not in
the “fortune” phase yet. But that was coming, Marc assured her. And each and every day he made strides in that direction.

  Harmony checked her husband to see if he’d been paying attention to her reaction. He had been. He just didn’t reply. He was taking a soft approach to all this, she knew. He did this all the time. Harmony was the “no” person in the relationship. If Marc wanted something—like the cool Indian motorcycle he’d begged for just a year or so ago—Harmony would say no and would then tell him all the reasons why he couldn’t have what he wanted. First of all, a motorcycle was dangerous—very dangerous. Secondly, the one he wanted was very expensive. Why did he have to have something so cool? Wouldn’t he just worry about someone stealing it or how much the repairs might be? And how, exactly, was she supposed to enjoy the motorcycle? She had no desire to ride a motorcycle and she certainly couldn’t justify spending money on something like that. While Harmony was rational, she was a bit dictatorial.

  So, it was a no on the motorcycle.

  But now he wanted the house. Harmony knew this was a different matter for him. She knew he was of the mindset of winning this one, come hell or high water. She could tell he was already envisioning them buying the house and she knew his thoughts, from the moment she said “Yes!” to the moment they moved in. He glanced sideways at her, then back at the house and she noticed the slow, slightly self-congratulatory smile about to play on his lips. She knew he was dying to ask her what she thought of the house and she knew he wanted her to ask all the details of how he’d found it. He wanted her to jump up and down with excitement that this could be the one for them. But, out of fear, he didn’t do or say anything. She knew he was afraid if he showed too much interest, she would back away and declare, as per usual, that they couldn’t afford it, that they’d have to go back to the drawing board and more open houses. She’d tell him they’d just have to stay in their small, cramped apartment a while longer, even if was driving both of them crazy. She’d tell him it was cheap and they could afford it. She knew he shuddered at the thought of staying in that apartment.

  But, just like the motorcycle, this would be a “no,” too.

  Harmony finally turned to Marc and shook her head in dismay, still pissed at him for wasting her time. She wanted to rip into him and tell him that she was tired, so very tired of seeing houses they couldn’t afford.

  Marc broke the silence, “Don’t you just love it, though?”

  “I know what you’re doing, Marc,” Harmony told him. “And you know that I know what you’re doing. And, just so you’ll know, I really, really hate you for this.”

  “Shh,” he said and gently steered her elbow until she turned back towards the house. “Just look at it.”

  Harmony turned back to the house. She sighed heavily with want and desire. She loved the house and it showed. But, no. This was a big no and Marc would just have to get over it. She shook her head suddenly as if she’d made up her mind to become good and angry and threw up her hands in frustration. “No, no. I can’t do this! It’s too much money!”

  She felt him watching her as she walked/stomped back over to the car and started to get in. It was locked. She turned and gave him a look of complete and total consternation, becoming almost enraged at him.

  “Why is the door locked?” she snapped, glaring at him.

  He just stared at her.

  Harmony stared back and shook her head, getting angrier by the minute. She knew him so well, like the back of her hand. She knew he’d locked the car on purpose because he didn’t want her to leave just yet. But he didn’t say that, oh, no. He was stalling her, thusly giving himself more time to convince her to go inside the house for a look, which, he hoped, would convince her that they should buy it. She knew he knew how she’d react to this house—with awe then inevitable disappointment over the price. He’d planned all this out to the last detail, hadn’t he? While she almost admired him for all the thought he’d put into this, it did irritate her beyond words. It was a dance, really, that he was initiating. And she knew he was performing it just right. Harmony knew she hadn’t given him much choice, but it was a bit manipulative.

  And she’d heard the argument before: They were getting older and if they never actually moved forward with something like buying a house, how would they ever start a family? Plan a decent vacation? Increase their retirement accounts? Build equity? Become real adults? Marc was very practical and he had told her that the longer they waited to actually buy a place to live, the further away the dream of home ownership became. And the rest of their lives would also be hindered as a result. Buying a house was a step they needed to take and a step in the right direction. The last house they’d looked at, he’d told her, “You just need to get onboard with this.” She hadn’t and the house sold to another couple. Now here they were.

  Without speaking, he walked over and took her by the arm and turned her back towards the house once again. “Give me a minute to explain.”

  “Explain what? That we’ve been at this for, like, three years and it gets harder and harder each and every day? Come on, Marc! We’re in the Hills! The Hills! We can’t even afford a fixer in the Valley and you brought me to this house in the Hills? This is cruel and unusual.”

  “It’s also a pocket listing,” he told her.

  “You know I don’t speak real estate lingo.”

  “Seriously?” he asked, pulling back to study her. “Surely, you’ve heard me mention pocket listings.”

  Harmony shrugged.

  Marc gave a barely audible groan and said, “That means it’s not listed on the MLS. That means I’m pretty much the only agent who knows about it. It’s kind of like a secret only I know about. For now, at least.”

  “And this helps us… How?” she asked with one raised eyebrow.

  “That means the seller wants a quick, easy sell. And since we are in the market for our first home, and we obviously love mid-century modern, I think this is the house for us.”

  “You’re overlooking the obvious here, Marc,” she said.

  “And what is the obvious?”

  “We both know we still can’t afford this. I’m not about to be house poor. We know people that are house poor. They can’t even buy wine at Trader Joe’s. And their houses aren’t half as nice as this one.”

  He sighed with impatience. “Listen,” he said. “You have to say yes and we have to move on this one quickly. If we don’t and if someone else finds out about it, it will be snatched out of our hands and given to someone much less deserving. And we deserve this house. It’s our house and we’re buying it.”

  “Are we now?” she asked, not skipping a beat.

  He took a deep breath, exhaled, then said, “You’re not listening. Now listen. They are selling this house for under market value just to unload it.”

  Harmony just stared at him. This just didn’t compute. No one—no one ever—would sell a house under market value in this neighborhood. She wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t about to believe that. And, even if she wasn’t a real estate agent like her husband, she knew a house like this wasn’t going to go for cheap. It didn’t have to. It had too much value. The land alone was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. It still boggled her mind that real estate in Southern California was so expensive, especially being from a small town in the South where a person could buy a McMansion for a fraction of what a dump cost here. To her it was crazy what people would pay for a house out here and they would pay because the weather was always so nice. So, in a way, they weren’t just buying a house, they were buying the California lifestyle, which included all the wonderful sunshine. And that’s why they were willing to pay top-dollar.

  “Did you hear me?” Marc asked.

  “I heard you,” Harmony said and groaned a little. “But why would they do that? This is LA. They could get loads of money for this house.”

  Marc started to say something, then paused, as if he was trying to figure out a way to explain it withou
t putting his foot in his mouth.

  Harmony narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, okay. Give it to me. What’s the catch?”

  Marc, still thinking, didn’t respond.

  “Marc?” Harmony said. “Tell me why this house is so cheap.”

  “Uh…” he began, then paused again. “Uh… How can I put this?” He glanced at her then muttered, “Delicately.” He nodded as if that was the right way to do it, then he shook his head as if he suddenly realized that would not do and said, “Well, no matter how I say this it will sound bad.”

  “Oh, God, no,” Harmony groaned.

  He blurted, “Someone may have died in it.”

  “What?!” Harmony shrieked. She couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Someone “may” have died in the house? Was he kidding her? She stared at him. He was dead serious. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. She turned and tried to get in the car again. “Unlock the door, Marc!”

  Marc intercepted her. “Come on, stop that,” he said. “People… You know… All the time.”

  “I can’t believe you! I know you’re desperate to get out of our apartment, but this is absurd.” She shook her head at him, getting even more agitated. “How did they die?”

  “I don’t know,” he said with as much nonchalance as he could muster, trying to disarm her. “I didn’t read the police report.”

  Her mouth dropped at his words. “Police report?”

  “Listen, I don’t think they were murdered or anything,” he said quickly, then muttered under his breath, “I don’t think.”