Chapter 6
Helen searched her home address on her phone.
The rental listing appeared before the county property record.
A photograph of the front porch filled the screen. Beneath it were more pictures: the gray living room, the numbered bedrooms, the white kitchen, and the master suite that no longer contained anything belonging to her.
A banner marked the house as a guest favorite.
Helen scrolled past dozens of reviews.
Beautiful home.
Wonderful host.
Perfect for families.
Her phone rang.
Richard.
She answered without taking her eyes from the listing.
"Do not contact the platform," he said.
"You gave them my address."
"I said I would handle the reservation."
"You also said there would be no more guests."
"I stopped new bookings. This family paid weeks ago."
Helen found the platform's customer support number.
"They're not staying here."
"Canceling this late will destroy the rating. We'll lose the payment, pay a penalty, and probably have to cover their hotel."
"We?"
"The family, Helen. This income pays for the cleaning, the storage unit, the renovations—"
"The storage unit where my wedding album was left in water?"
Richard went silent for half a second.
Then his voice hardened.
"You're mixing two separate problems."
"They're the same problem. You used my house, moved my things, and lied to me about stopping."
"I did what was necessary to keep this running."
"I never asked you to keep it running."
Richard released a sharp breath.
"Give me one hour. I'll contact the guests and see whether I can arrange another place."
Helen looked at the clock.
One twenty-three.
"They arrive at three."
"Then stop wasting time arguing with me."
The words landed with such confidence that Helen almost laughed. Richard had lied, but somehow she was still the person causing the emergency.
"I'm calling the platform."
"Helen, listen to me. One cancellation can bury a listing. Everything we built over four months could disappear in an afternoon."
Everything we built.
He spoke as if the missing photographs, the damaged album, and her emptied bedroom were achievements she should help protect.
"Good," Helen said.
She ended the call.
The platform's automated system asked whether she was a guest or a host.
Helen pressed the option for host support.
After seven minutes on hold, a woman answered.
"Thank you for calling. May I have the email address connected to your host account?"
"I don't have a host account."
There was a pause.
"Are you calling about a property you own?"
"Yes. My address is 1847 Willow Lane. There is a family scheduled to arrive in less than two hours. I never authorized the listing, and I need the reservation canceled."
The agent asked for her full name.
"Helen Parker."
Helen heard typing.
"Can you confirm the phone number on the account?"
"I don't know what number was used. I didn't create it."
More typing.
The agent's voice changed.
"Mrs. Parker, I need to place you on a brief hold while I review this."
Helen walked to the front window.
A car slowed near the house, then continued down the street. Her heart did not settle until it disappeared.
The agent returned.
"Thank you for waiting. I've located the property."
"Can you cancel the reservation?"
"Before we proceed, I need to clarify something."
Helen tightened her grip on the phone.
"The listing is not registered under your husband's name," the agent said. "According to our records, you are the host of record."
Helen looked at her own name beneath the photographs of her stolen rooms.
"I've never hosted anyone."
The agent was silent.
Then she said, "Mrs. Parker, this account belongs to you."