Free Finding Home by Georgia Beers Page A

the most time in it. Her plan had always been to work on the rest of the house in order to give it the same warm appeal.
    The ofÞ ce got a ton of sunlight, so she had several plants scattered about. The personal, cozy touches—like family photographs on shelves and throw pillows for the overstuffed reading chair in the corner—were things she wanted to spread around the rest of the place, but just hadn’t gotten to. Every time she entered the ofÞ ce, she kicked herself for not following through, it was such a snug and relaxing room in which to be.
    Falling into her big leather desk chair with a sigh, she squinted at the computer monitor and moved the mouse to wake things up. Clicking to Google, she typed in the phone number from the ß yer. The information came up so quickly, Sarah blinked at it for several seconds, stunned by how easy it was to track somebody down.
    Natalie Fox. 217 Monroe Avenue, Apartment 1, Rochester, NY 14607.
    She was even more astounded to see the little “map” icon next to the address. She moved the mouse and clicked on it.
    Within two seconds, a detailed map to Natalie Fox’s residence popped up.
    “Good Lord, is it really this easy to stalk somebody?”
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    FINDING HOME
    she asked aloud, appalled by the facts and shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s so scary.”
    Despite her distaste, she found herself printing the map.
    Maybe she’d just go have a quick look. She didn’t want to actually knock on the door. That would be creepy and she didn’t want to frighten the poor woman. But maybe she’d just go peek, take a ride over on her bike and see what she could see about this Natalie Fox. If she got lucky, maybe she’d Þ nd the answer to why the woman couldn’t return a simple phone call. At least it would keep her occupied for a while, give her something to do on a balmy Saturday evening.
    v
    “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sarah muttered to herself.
    “What are the chances?”
    217 Monroe Avenue turned out to be Valenti’s. She coasted to a stop on her bike and stood there looking at the shop, which was closed, and the small two-one-seven stenciled on the window above the glass door.
    Her gaze traveled upward to the ß oor above the coffee shop.
    That’s got to be where Natalie Fox lives. Okay, Nancy Drew, what are you going to do now? She rolled her eyes at herself.
    Monroe Avenue was bustling on this weekend evening, people strolling the blocks, entering or exiting various restaurants, sitting at outside tables with bottles of beer and glasses of wine. It was a festive, happy atmosphere, as residents soaked up the too-short summer weekends. Wheeling her bicycle across the street, Sarah found an unoccupied black metal table outside an ice cream parlor. Toeing the kickstand, she propped the bike nearby, took a seat, and set her helmet on the surface in front of her, trying to ignore the fact that she was actually staking somebody out. She had no idea what the hell she was doing. Having nary a clue as to what the person looked like made spying on them
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    GEORGIA BEERS
    just a tad difÞ cult, but for some reason, Sarah felt the need to sit and wait. She knew it was stupid, knew she was being ridiculous and wasting her own time, but the weather was nice, the people-watching was interesting, and she really had nothing better to do.
    So she sat.
    When the intoxicating aromas drifting through the air from the Italian trattoria a few doors down had her worried that she might actually drool all over the front of her shirt, she scooted into the ice cream parlor and got herself a chocolate almond cone that was magniÞ cent and heavenly. She sat back down to savor the ß avor combination of the sweet ice cream and the salty nuts, and that’s when she saw them.
    Or rather, that’s when she saw Bentley.
    He came walking out from around an alley that apparently led to the back of Valenti’s. He was on a leash and was walking with two women who were chattering to