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ould be pretty nasty for no reason." "I'm not pretty nasty."

He laughed. "If you're not nasty now, I'd hate to see you when you are."

I stared at him a moment. "Okay," I said. "I'll admit it. So I have looked at your house before."

"It's only natural you'd be curious about the place. I was when we first bought it. You ever been inside?"

"No."

"Would you like to go inside?"

"What do you think?" I fired back at him. I imagined he was teasing me and having some fun that he would brag about later, but I didn't really care.

"I think yes. I have to warn you, though. It's nothing like it was when we first bought it. My mother redid it from top to bottom. She even changed the kitchen, ripped out counters, expanded it, put in new cabinets. We didn't move in for nearly eight months after we bought it."

I didn't know what to say. I did think anyone would have changed it. That was no surprise.

"There was nothing left in it that belonged to your mother and grandmother," he continued. "Don't think I didn't look in closets and cabinets."

"What did you expect to find?" I was going to add "dead bodies" but didn't.

"I don't know. Hey," he said, "we have something in common."

"And what would that be?"

"We both live in houses where a murder took place."

I didn't respond. He was right, if the legendary story about the Dorals was right.

"So?" I finally replied.

"So nothing. C'mon. I'll show you the place."

"Maybe your parents wouldn't like it," I said, hesitating. Now that he was really inviting me, I felt nervous and even a bit afraid.

"They're not here. They're in New York seeing a show. I've been left to do chores. C'mon. Don't worry about it."

He started away, expecting me to follow. After another moment, I did. He waited at the entrance to the walk, and then we started for the front door together.

"You sure?" I asked when he opened the door.

"What's the big deal? You're not going to do something evil to me, are you?" he joked.

"I haven't decided yet," I told him, and he laughed.

"You know, I've always wanted to talk to you, but to be honest, I thought you'd insult me or embarrass me," he said.

I smirked skeptically and pulled my head back.

"No, I'm serious," he continued. "I mean it. I came close to starting a conversation with you a few times in the hallway when I thought you looked my way, but I wasn't sure if you were looking at me with interest or disdain."

The way he was still standing in the doorway made me think that my answer would determine whether or not he would let me in.

"I don't know you well enough to dislike you," I said. The answer pleased him He smiled and stepped back. "Come in."

I walked in slowly, pausing in the entryway. The floor had a very pretty cocoa tile, and there were mahogany coat hooks and a hat rack on both sides. There was a rich-looking wood floor down the hallway, and the stairway was carpeted with a thick dark brown to match the balustrade. Everything looked brand new, spotless and immaculate. Right above the entryway hung a chandelier with teardrop crystals.

"The kitchen and dining room are to the left," Craig said. "This is the living room," he said and continued walking down the hallway. I gazed in at the furniture, paintings, beautiful marble fireplace and mantel.