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yourself in a megachalet out in the sticks. You lose touch with people and the way they ought to be treated.
    Nicole eyed the contents of the refrigerator, her stomach rumbling. Wow. He really hadn’t been to the store in a long time. The fridge was practically empty. There was a six-pack of soda and the casserole he had mentioned. The vegetable drawer was stuffed with carrots and the fruit drawer was full to the brim with apples. That was it. Not a leaf of lettuce, an egg, a loaf of bread, or any other fresh food.
    Is this all there is to live on for the next four days? she wondered, alarmed. What a weird guy. He must really like carrots and apples. Well, it looked like she was eating the casserole—whatever it was. Nicole took out the container, set it on the counter, and lifted the lid. It was enchiladas, topped with red sauce, cheese, and sliced olives—and it looked really good. Finding a plate and a serving spoon, Nicole dished herself up a nice-size portion, then put the plate in the microwave.
    As the food heated, it filled the air with an appetizing aroma. To familiarize herself with the kitchen, Nicole glanced through all the drawers and cabinets. She found only the barest minimum of pots, dishes, and cooking and eating utensils, which all looked shiny and new, as if they’d never been used. There were wine glasses but no bottles of wine. The whole
    Typical bachelor , Nicole thought. He never cooks for himself and probably lives on frozen dinners. When she checked the freezer, however, it was completely bare—not a frozen dinner in sight. She was still puzzling over that as she checked out the stove and dishwasher. They were in pristine condition—the dishwasher was empty—and she couldn’t find a dish rack anywhere. What does he do? she wondered. Wash his dishes by hand, dry them immediately, and put them away after every meal? How anal retentive could you get?
    That one casserole wasn’t going to last very long between two people, Nicole realized. She was going to have to get creative over the next few days to figure out something to eat.
    When the microwave dinged, she brought her plate and a glass of water to the kitchen table and sat down. She took a forkful. It was delicious. For the next few minutes, Nicole ignored the oddness of her situation and surroundings and devoured the enchiladas, enjoying every bite. For dessert, she ate an apple. When she’d finished, she took two Tylenol, then found a sponge and dishwashing liquid under the sink and washed her dishes by hand. Feeling obligated to follow his strict routine, she dried everything and put it back where it belonged, carefully replacing the dish towel on the oven door handle so that the kitchen looked as pristine as it had when she entered.
    Nicole checked her watch and glanced out the kitchen window. It was 5:30 PM and pitch-dark outside. The wind
    She decided to take a few minutes to get the lay of the land and to do her laundry. On the opposite side of the main living area from the master bedroom was a closed door. She didn’t explore it, presuming it to be his study. Following the polished oak staircase downstairs, she found the laundry room, where her stained scarf was soaking in a tub of blood-tinged, soapy water. Her parka lay on the counter beside it. There were spots of blood on it that appeared to have been treated with a spray-on stain remover.
    That was nice of him , she thought.
    While her clothes were in the washing machine, Nicole hand-washed her scarf and a few other items. A diligent scrubbing of her jacket removed almost all traces of blood. After hanging it up to dry and putting her clothes in the dryer, she moved on to investigate the next two rooms—a bathroom and a gym filled with top of the line exercise equipment. Framed movie posters decorated the walls, and she couldn’t help but smile. Two of the posters were from movies adapted from novels by Patrick Spencer, one of her favorite authors. It looked as though she and