Page 1 of I Know You

Chapter One

“Tell me you’re joking, Clara. Are you seriously moving into this dust bowl?”

I step around my best friend and former roommate, Morgan, who’s currently blocking the doorway of my condo. I plop down the box I’m carrying on the floor of the kitchen. “It’s not a dust bowl,” I protest.

Morgan circles the empty living room, eyebrows high, before setting down her own box on the floor. She steps up to the mantel of the beautiful (and original) fireplace and blows off a cloud of dust. I hmph in response. “I don’t understand why getting your own place means moving all the way out here. I’m never going to find someone I can get along with as well as you.”

I shake my head. “You’re worrying too much.” I head for the door again and into the hallway of The Villa. It used to be a hotel that was popular around the turn of the century, and in the 1940s it was remodeled into luxury condos that are still in high demand since it’s a lakefront property and it has an amazing reputation. I only own this condo because my great-aunt Vi left it to me when she died six months ago, and it’s been in the family for ages.

We get back to my car and grab the last couple boxes, thank heavens. I balance mine on my hip so I can use my other hand to slam the trunk shut on my older-model Toyota four-door, which I’m sure is going to stick out like a sore thumb in The Villa’s garage. I turn, catching the just-setting sun twinkling off the lake not a hundred feet away, sand stretching almost to the doors of the condos that face it. Beautiful green mountains frame the picture, and I smile. This place is home even though I’ve never lived here. But my memories of Aunt Vi are strong at The Villa, and I need to tether my heart somewhere. The lease being up last month for Aunt Vi’s tenant, and them choosing not to renew it, was the nudge I needed to move into the condo. It’s where I feel like I can heal.

“Clara. The look on your face is killing me.” Morgan’s tone is annoyed, but when I turn to my friend, her expression holds understanding. If anyone understands what I need from this place, it’s the woman who was at my side when I lost my parents and then when I lost Aunt Vi.

“It’s only a twenty-minute drive from town. I’m not on the moon.”

“You’re going to miss out on important, single-lady stuff,” Morgan says anyway, her tone more teasing than anything else. I know she hates that I’m moving out of our apartment, and I don’t blame her. We had a really good run. But I can’t pass up the opportunity to live surrounded by so much history, especially my own family history.

We set our boxes down inside the condo and both lean up against the island in the kitchen. I let out a long breath.

“Let’s postpone unpacking and go get dinner,” Morgan says. “There’s food within a reasonable distance, right?”

I straighten. “There’s a market right up the road. We can grab some pizza or something.” I snatch my keys and phone from the table. Morgan has been helping me move most of the day, so she definitely deserves dinner on me. Plus, I’m still feeling guilty for moving out. She hasn’t found a new roommate yet, even though I warned her a month ago. She’s being picky, and I think she’s held out hope until now that I’ll change my mind. She’s also adamant that she’s not moving “clear out here,” as she keeps referring to the location of my condo every time I mention we could still be roommates, just in a different location.

“Guess this place isn’t the absolute worst, then,” Morgan says as we head back to my car.

I throw my arm around her shoulders. “Glad it’s growing on you.”

“I’m not moving here.”

I snort with laughter.

Twenty minutes later, we return with sandwiches from the deli at the market and a half gallon of chocolate cookie and mint ice cream. I park in the garage instead of in the circular drive out by the lobby, where it had been easier to unload from.

As we enter the hallway of my condo, I look up to notice a man walking away from my door toward the lobby. “Oh, hi,” I say cheerfully as he approaches. He looks vaguely familiar. Middle-aged, I think. Tall, over six feet, with muscled arms and broad shoulders.

“Excuse me?” he says, raising an eyebrow and continuing past us.

Morgan and I share a look at his clipped tone. “I thought you were just at my door. I moved into 1F today.” My voice rises at the end like I’m asking him to confirm this.

He just shakes his head and moves on by. Morgan and I stop in front of my door, watching him push open the front door and step out into the night without looking back at us.

“He was stopped in front of my door, right?” I ask Morgan, turning back to her and then punching in the key code.

“It looked like it to me.” She shrugs. “He must have been coming from another condo.”

“Yeah. I guess.” I shake my head and push open my door. I try to place where I’ve seen him before and then let it go. I’m probably trying to force some kind of connection because I thought he was here to see me. Hoping for a long-lost cousin or something, even though neither of my parents had any siblings.

“Maybe he knows the guy that used to live here,” Morgan says as she follows me in.

I scoff. “Maybe? But if he knew him, he’d know he disappeared two years ago. Everyone knows that. And why not say something? Why be so rude?”

“It’s some people’s default setting.” Morgan starts unpacking the groceries from the bag, moving to put the ice cream away.

“True.” I scan the kitchen for the box of dishes and utensils, digging through it for the items we need to eat our dinner.

She scoots my sandwich toward me after I hand her a plate. “Don’t you think it’s weird to live in a condo someone disappeared from?”

“Interesting that you’re waiting until now for this tactic,” I tease. “Shouldn’t you have led with that when I first told you I was moving out here?” I pull the top slice of bread off my sandwich and then tear open a packet of mayo. “Or do you recognize that it’s a weak, last-ditch argument since no one knows where Ben Mitchell disappeared from?” It’s true he was living here when he disappeared, and his family continued paying the lease for a while, probably hoping he’d come back. But the condo was never a crime scene or anything. I remember coming out with Aunt Vi to open the apartment for the police so they could search for clues about where Ben Mitchell might have gone, but they never suspected foul play here.