The tune didn’t sound any better when played on doorbell chimes, I decided, as I pressed the button for a third time. The doorbell had to be an expensive custom order. What kind of lunatic—apart from the Pruitts—would even want it?

I allowed plenty of time for Nadine to answer the door—after all this was the sort of house where you probably needed roller skates to be sure of getting to the door in under ten minutes, and I couldn’t see Nadine doing that. I concentrated on listening for any sound inside the house, and from time to time I looked at my watch and tried to look impatient, so anyone watching me would think I actually had an appointment with Nadine.

Clearly she wasn’t home. I looked around to see if anyone was in sight. No one. And there were only a couple of houses within view anyway, and their sight-lines would be largely obstructed by all the ornamental trees and shrubbery.

“Hope you don’t mind, house,” I said. “I’d like to see your insides.”

I stepped into a flowerbed and peered into the foyer window.

It was empty. No furniture, no rugs, no pictures—nothing.

I stepped back to the walk and pondered. I’d heard of people who overextended themselves by buying more house than they could afford and were too house-poor to afford furniture. In fact, Michael and I had been in that boat ourselves initially. But we did have some furniture and junk left over from our single lives, not to mention family members who would gladly have donated enough furniture and tchotchkes to fill the house from top to bottom if we let them. Our house was still a little minimal, but by choice. Nowhere near empty.

I walked around to the next window, pretending I belonged there. I pulled out my notebook and a pen and tried to look preoccupied and professional, like someone who’d been asked to give an estimate on taking over the landscape service.

“Lovely glass panes,” I said to the house. “Mind if I use them?”

Hearing no objection, I peered in again. This window offered a view of the living room. Also completely empty.

I continued around the perimeter of the house, peering into each window as I went and exclaiming enthusiastically about what I saw, to avoid hurting the house’s feelings. Though despite what I said to the house, I wasn’t very impressed. It was big and immaculately clean, but rather cold and formal. Though maybe the poor house would look better if it had some furniture to add a bit of warmth. I contemplated the other end of the vacant living room, an empty dining room, a kitchen stripped of everything but the appliances, and several more bare rooms that were probably intended to serve as family room, home office, guest room, or who knows what else. Curious how hard it was to put a name to a room when it was completely devoid of any contents.

I did find a stepladder at the back of the house—it was leaning up against the wall behind some bushes, and looked as if it might have been forgotten. Or maybe the house, grateful that I’d asked permission before snooping, had provided the ladder to help me snoop more efficiently.