Desert Lost (9781615952229) Read Online Free PDF Page B

house. What if I put the coffee pot in the toaster oven?”
    My poor joke seemed to work, because his mouth curved into a smile again. “It wouldn’t fit. C’mon, Lena. Let’s get going before Beth thinks we’ve stood her up again.”
    Moving was such a bitch. Packing, measurements, life changes. Fighting to quell a growing sense of panic, I followed him to his Mercedes and buckled myself in. After patting me on the shoulder much as a cowhand would soothe a nervous horse, he pulled away from the curb and turned north up Scottsdale Road.
    For a long time, Scottsdale had been the toniest town in Arizona. Not anymore. Home prices in Paradise Valley—a partial misnomer since the town was as much mountain as valley—topped Scottsdale’s. The higher the home, the higher the price. Warren drove west on Lincoln Drive, past big resorts hiding behind oleander hedges identical to those in south Scottsdale. The edifices behind these hedges, though, were vastly different. No storage yards, just sparkling fountains that fronted sprawling marble exteriors, cool tile lobbies, and uniformed attendants eager to cater to a guest’s every need. Across the road, on the mountain north of the resorts, film and rap stars’ homes dotted the slope, their designs ranging from Southwest Modern to Hollywood Horrible. After living for years in my one-bedroom apartment over Desert Investigations, I felt wildly out of place.
    I felt even more so in the house Warren had leased. By Beverly Hills standards, it was small, a mere thirty-nine-hundred square feet encompassing four bedrooms, four baths, formal dining room, den, media room with stadium seating for twelve, and a pool that would have daunted Michael Phelps. The adobe-and-glass edifice perched on the south side of Mummy Mountain as if readying itself for a dive into the neighbor’s swimming pool below, but I had to admit it was a stunning property. Another upside was that Warren would be there to share it with me. If he loved the house, I’d learn to love it, too.
    Beth Lugar, the realtor, waited in front of the massive front door, her own clipboard at the ready. Bottle brunette and face-lifted, she was clad in a casual lilac pantsuit, the cost of which probably equaled the average person’s monthly mortgage payment. As we stepped from the car, she pulled artificially plump lips away from expensive orthodontia into a grimace that vaguely resembled a smile.
    â€œOn time today, I see. Good! Let’s get started. I have an appointment in Carefree at six. A nice little starter home for an adorable young couple.”
    Knowing the exorbitant real estate prices in Carefree, it was all I could do not to harrumph. While she escorted us through the empty rooms, our footsteps echoed across the terrazzo tile floor and the smell of fresh paint assailed my nostrils. The house was ten years old, but rubbed and scrubbed into a sterility that unsettled me. Still, as Warren had repeatedly stressed, this was only a lease. If things didn’t work out between us, then no harm, no foul.
    â€œHow’s that sound to you, Lena?”
    â€œFine.” What had they been talking about?
    Warren sighed. “I asked if you’d rather have the sofa sideways to that long glass wall or facing it.”
    Shielding my eyes against the afternoon glare, I looked southwest toward the smog of downtown Phoenix. “Facing it, I guess. Why get a crick in the neck from looking sideways all the time?”
    â€œI just thought you might prefer to face the fireplace.”
    Fireplaces in the Phoenix metroplex were pointless, the weather usually being too hot. When the weather did cooperate, the county’s Clean Air Initiative often kept the fires unlit. Still, hearths looked pretty filled with flowers.
    â€œLike I said, either way’s fine with me.”
    Warren sighed again, then went back to measuring the wall. “Thirty-four feet, eight inches,” he