Free Hopper House (The Jenkins Cycle Book 3) by John L. Monk

and closing the door.
    I heard her throw the deadbolt. With nothing to do but wait, that’s what I did. Surprisingly more difficult than waiting in the Great Wherever.
    Five minutes later, Rose came back.
    “Clothes on the floor?” I said. “Dishes in the sink?”
    She stepped out of the way. “Something like that.”
    “Speaking of clothes, we didn’t bring our suitcases.”
    “There’s clothes in all sizes up in the rooms.”
    That was odd. “Are you serious? Why?”
    “It’s one of the perks.”
    “Kind of an odd perk.” I walked in and had a closer look at the ceiling camera. There was an angry red light on the front, so it was definitely powered on. “What’s the camera for?”
    “Security. Welcome to my home, Dan. Want a tour?”
    I nodded. “Absolutely.”
    Hardwood floors spanned wall-to-wall on the main floor, with area rugs everywhere but the tiled kitchen. The house may have been old-styled, but the furniture and other features were not. Whoever furnished it had chosen comfort over fashion. The living room had La-Z-Boy recliners and a big comfy upholstered couch patterned in flowers and falling leaves. But all I cared about was the big screen television and entertainment equipment. I grinned at the rack of DVDs standing against the wall.
    “Yeah,” Rose said, “about those…”
    Too late, I pulled one out and looked at it—and blinked in surprise at the lurid pornographic scene on the cover.
    “Okay…” I said and put it back. I took out another video from a different section. Angry Bitches In Heat 5. It, too, was pornographic. I browsed the spines, looking for an inoffensive title. Eventually I found a normal movie. Kindergarten Cop .
    “I love that one,” Rose said, smiling. “Those others aren’t mine. The landlord … he rents the place out for … oh, parties, that kind of thing. They must have forgotten to pack these up after the last one.”
    “Parties?” I said, looking around. “And how does that work, exactly? When you say this is your house, what does that mean?”
    “Don’t you have someone out there who knows who you really are, what’s happened to you?”
    I nodded. “A few people, but I only talk to one of them. He’s a pain in the ass.”
    Rose leaned back on a recliner and crossed her ankles. I sat on the sofa.
    “What if that person was rich,” she said, “and bought you a house to stay in sometimes?”
    “He’d still be a pain in the ass.”
    She frowned. “The landlord … he has his moments. But he did buy me this house, so I owe him. And the parties and all this”—she indicated the DVDs—“are a small price to pay.”
    I thought about that. It sounded like a good deal. Something stable she could rely on, provided she caught a ride … skin … near Georgia. Still, there was something about it that bugged me, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then I had it.
    Carefully I said, “Do you have to … um, do anything?”
    Her eyes widened. “Oh, no , of course not. Well, actually wait, yeah, but it’s not what you think.” She grinned. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Dan, and follow me.”
    I followed her through the kitchen—spectacular, with modern appliances everywhere—and into a utility room of sorts filled with equipment and tools. Rose examined a tank with pipes coming out of it.
    “Can’t have water without a pump,” she said and flicked a switch on the wall. Then came a thrumming sound and the hiss of air through empty pipes, followed shortly by water filling a tank. “Now for the water pressure.” She flipped another switch. “When the tank fills up, you can take a shower.” She frowned. “Guests are instructed to bleed the tank and turn off the pump before they leave.” She pointed at a sheet of instructions taped to the wall. “Usually they just leave it on. Every time I come home, I’m surprised the place isn’t flooded.”
    Rose left the room and took me to the dining room.
    “I rarely eat in here,” she said.