Page 11 of Night and Day
Mia opened and closed her mouth without producing sound. To his relief, she dropped the subject, fetched her guitar from the backseat and followed him to the door.
Chapter 7
Huddled under a woollenthrow, Mia curled her fingers around a steaming teacup, examining Izzy’s dining table. Its peeling melamine top resembled the moon’s surface. You couldn’t buy this kind in a shop, not even a second-hand shop. The inside of the house felt colder than the air outside. After shivering for a few minutes, waiting for Izzy to boil the jug and search his pantry for something to offer, she’d given in and asked for a blanket. She’d have to find some warmer clothes.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting a plate with a hard, round biscuit which was broken in half. “Is this your last one?”
Izzy balled up the wrapper, smiling apologetically. “Yeah. We can go shopping. I usually order groceries, but”—he glanced at the wall clock—“tomorrow’s delivery slots are probably full by now.”
“You order groceries online? How far away is the shop?” Mia regretted sleeping most of the drive, since she now had no idea of her current location. If he turned out to be a psychopath and she had to call for help... she didn’t even want to finish the thought. No phone, no money, no location. She was officially at his mercy.
Izzy sat across the table and huffed an embarrassed chuckle. “A five-minute drive.” He looked away, clearing his throat. “I know it sounds odd. I’ve been busy working on something and ordering online saves time.”
Mia shrugged. “I’ve never enjoyed grocery shopping either. In Finland, I lived on the fourth floor with no lift so it was good exercise, but it’s not really deep and meaningful social interaction, is it?”
Izzy’s eyes brightened momentarily. “Exactly! That’s what I’ve been telling my...” The conviction escaped his voice and he looked away.
“Telling who?”
“Never mind.”
Mia observed his hunched shoulders, wondering what he was hiding and why. She decided not to ask. If he turned out to be dangerous or creepy, it was probably best not to trigger him.
Izzy cleared his expression and raised his coffee cup. “Here’s to better days in New Zealand?”
Mia lifted her teacup. “I’ll drink to that.” She tried to smile. Things could be worse, she reminded herself. She could have been stabbed or shot.
The black tea trickled down her throat, calming her nerves with its universally familiar taste as she studied her hairy host. Despite his unkempt appearance, he didn’t smell bad and neither did his house. Its worn-out, tidy interior further settled her fears, offering no unsettling clues – no giant chest freezers or pagan altars. Isaiah McCarthy probably wasn’t a serial killer.
“We’ll find you some extra clothes,” Izzy promised as she tugged on the blanket to stop it from sliding off her shoulders. “My brother’s fiancé is about your size, and might be able to lend you a few things.”
Mia nodded, fighting the shot of discomfort. She didn’t want to dress up in a random woman’s clothes, but what choice did she have? Based on Izzy’s home, she suspected he didn’t have that much money to lend her. Maybe that was why he’d brought her here, to offer her the only thing he could – a place to stay.
The kitchen had seen better days. Or decades. The fifties style cabinet doors reminded her of her grandmother’s apartment in Helsinki, except these had been painted over several times. One particularly worn out corner revealed bits of electric blue and dirty orange peeking from under the latest choice of beige. The paint job itself was so shoddy she doubted they’d even attempted sanding the doors before slapping on another layer.
Izzy followed her gaze. “I know. It’s the worst home reno in history. The owner is a lawyer who fancies himself as a handyman. He doesn’t like paying the professionals.”
