The first thing she did upon arrival was check the fridge. It was indeed stocked. Two dozen

eggs

, a half gallon

Whole MIlk

, butter, one plastic container of salad greens, one plastic container of baby spinach, deli sliced smoked hickory turkey, deli sliced yellow cheddar, deli sliced smoked gouda, 1 bunch green onion, 3 large

vidalia onions

, 2 five packs of baby

cucumbers

, a half dozen carrots, one bunch

celery

, a jar of kosher dill pickles, and all the basic condiments.

In the pantry there were more canned

tomatoes

than she could count in all varieties: crushed, whole peeled, diced. There were also ten medium sized yellow

potatoes

, two heads of garlic, several cans of navy beans, several cans of black beans, several cans of chickpeas, three quarts of chicken broth. There was one

french baguette

and a variety of dried

pasta

.

She would not go hungry. The thing she wondered though, was how her firm was able to shop so well for her. It was creepy how well they had known her tastes. And she didn't believe this wasn't a coincidence. Or that the firm had stocked the fridge with the average American in mind. Sammy imagined how she would stock a fridge for an average

American

. Probably a lot of pop, hot dogs, and broccoli, and frozen pizzas--

She went to check the freezer. There was more bread. And a lot of meat.

Had her firm spied on her? How could they match her usual shopping list to a tee? She wouldn't put it past them to have such intel, although she couldn't explain concretely how they would've obtained it. But such explanations would dive into uncomfortable territory so she continued looking around the house instead. She cautiously assumed that they were watching her.

This was a decently large house. For her to be the only occupant it was huge. She would probably not spend any time in over half of it. What a waste she thought. She completed her tour of the first floor, which included a bedroom and a laundry closet. She then went upstairs through a narrow stairwell.

The entire second floor -- except for the bathroom -- was carpeted. The

summer

heat and thick air reminded her of middle school. She had wanted to move her bedroom to the upstairs one for one reason only. She thought that sleeping upstairs was lavish. She felt like she was so high off the ground as a kid. She loved looking down from her window and watching the cars drive by before falling asleep. But it was so hot up there in the summer.

Standing here now, in this house owned on paper probably by some shell corporation somehow connected to Gardner's company, she was reminded of those days. She would not be sleeping up here. In fact she had a bad feeling beyond just the heat about this entire second story. She had felt it for the first time when she checked turned the lights on in the bathroom.

Back downstairs the bad feeling went away. She went into the first story bedroom and stood there in the dark coolness. Yes this would be the place she would sleep. She stood there gliding her fingers across the freshly laundered duvet, wondering how long would she be staying here for.

A week? Two? Surely not longer than a month?

After pondering such a question for a few deep breaths she went back into the living room and opened up the packet that Mr. Gardner had given her.

So this was why she was here, she told herself as she her fingertips across the first sheet's surface. It was the cover sheet. CONFIDENTIAL it had stamped on it.

"The Macomb Case" it was called. 

Here we go she thought as she flipped the cover sheet and finally dug into the first page of the case.