Vivian LeMarque slammed the taxi door shut and stared at the house in front of her.  House, mansion, villa, whatever.  She studied the grounds surrounding the home.  The lot was supposed to be over one hundred acres.  The lawn was mowed into an obsessive compulsive grid, with orange trees neatly lining the stone walkway to the door.  She could see glimpses of more fruit trees and plants behind the house.  Shifting her grip on her suitcase and purse, Vivian made her way to the door.
     Even though she was five nine, Vivian’s naturally small frame gave her an appearance of grace.  Many people told her as a child that she could have been a model with her height and slender proportions.  Instead, she focused on her creative writing classes and watching as many suspense films as her parents would allow.  Now thirty-four and a bestselling author of international thrillers, Vivian traveled the world to research her books.  She kept more things in her suitcase than in her closets at her Manhattan apartment.  The only thing she refused to do overseas was have her short, pixie-cut black hair trimmed.  She blinked her large, brown eyes as she reached the front door.  There was nothing new here.  Another house, another job to do.
     The hallway walls were white, she noted.  So were the floors.  An intricate red and gold Persian rug ran the length of the white marble floor tile.  The contrast was unsettling, she thought, the red on the white.  She frowned at her own paranoia and kept walking.
     “Hello?” she called when she reached the living room.
     The ceiling was high and vaulted, at least twenty feet high.  Ceiling fans turned lazily at the very top.  The walls were still white, and the marble floor continued throughout, but the oversized furniture was upholstered in warm browns and taupes.  There was a fireplace of black marble on the wall to her left.  Another Persian rug, this time blue and gold, that covered most of the floor.  On the back wall was a set of large French doors, with huge floor to ceiling windows on either side, all with drapes of sheer blue.  The new color palette helped Vivian relax a little bit, despite the paintings of bright red poppies hanging on the walls.
     “Hey!” a voice answered her.
     A smiling young man joined her in the large living room.  He reached out a hand.
     “I’m Jordan Sutton,” he introduced himself.  “You are. . .?”
     “Vivian LeMarque,” she replied, shaking the offered hand.
     He was a good hand shaker, she noticed.  Looked her in the eye and didn’t grip like a limp fish just out of the water.  He had thick, dusty blonde hair, grey eyes, and a handsome smile.  Perhaps a runner, she thought.  He was about six one, and wasn’t very built, but appeared to keep himself in shape.  He also had a nice tan, which would have made up for much more than he lacked.  He looked about thirty, the all-American honey sort of guy, she decided.
     “Great to meet you,” Jordan replied, smile broadening.  “Hey, Micah,” he turned to call over his shoulder.  “Come meet our newest compadre.”
     Vivian followed Jordan’s gaze.  There was a kitchen next to the living room, a divider wall with an open serving window separating them.  Jordan led Vivian over just as another man met them in the doorway, a bottle of beer in hand.
     “Hi,” he said, jabbing his own hand forward.  “Micah Powers.”
     “Vivian LeMarque.”
     This handshake was quick and firm, and Vivian was again satisfied with her current company.  Micah was at eye level with her, his husky build somewhere between overweight and solid.  His light brown hair was crew cut.  There were only a few laugh lines and crow’s feet around his blue eyes, so she pegged him at a few years older than her.  Vivian noticed a tattoo on the inside of his left forearm, a raven flapping its wings, beak open, standing on a skull.  The word “Nevermore” was written on the skull’s grinning teeth.  Her eyebrows furrowed.
     “Nice tattoo,” Vivian commented.
     Micah glanced at his arm.  “Oh, yeah, thanks,” he said cheerfully.  “Gotta love Poe, right?”  He smiled at her.
     "‘The Purloined Letter?’” Jordan commented.  “Absolutely have to love Poe for that one.  Have to admit, though, most of his other stuff is pretty twisted.  I mean, ‘A Cask of Amontillado’ and ‘The Black Cat?’”  He shook his head.  “The dude had problems.”
     “All good writers do,” Micah answered, raising his bottle.
     Vivian and Jordan chuckled.  “True,” Jordan answered.
     “We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t all a little mad,” Vivian added.
     “That’s what I’m saying,” Micah’s reply came with a smile.  “Oh, hey, we’re being terrible gentleman.  Do you want something to drink?  There’s beer and coke in the fridge.”  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the industrial sized white refrigerator behind him.
     Vivian glanced around the kitchen.  The countertops were black marble, the floor still in white.  The cabinets on the left and right hand walls were ebony colored, but every appliance — the dishwasher, stovetop, microwave above the stove, refrigerator, and the double ovens were all white.  The sink was black marble like the counters, but the faucet was white.  Red hand towels were scattered about the space.  A breakfast nook sat beyond, on the other side of a short bar with cabinets above that formed the third wall of the kitchen.  The round table and four chairs were black, the dishes set out white.  More French doors, this time with sheer red curtains, offered a view of the garden courtyard out back.  There was a wide arching doorway to the right of the nook.  She looked back at Micah.
     “I’m fine, thanks.  I’d really like to see the rest of the house, though.  Get the lay of the land, so to speak.”
     “Absolutely,” Jordan said.  "Dining room's through that door if you wanted to have a look."
     Vivian walked over to glance into the room.  It was both long and wide, which added up to massive, like the living room and kitchen.  This table was rectangular, glossy black wood, with matching chairs.  The chandelier was elegant crystal, but not so bold as to be garish.  A white marble fireplace on the lefthand wall flowed into the continuing marble floor.  No Persian rug, but an intricate gold table runner with red and blue accents stretched the length of the table.  The places were already set with red and white china and red crystal wine glasses.  Poppy flower paintings covered each wall.
     "Pretty cohesive design theme," she commented to the men as she returned to the kitchen.
      They both laughed.
     "I'm so glad it bugs somebody else," Jordan replied.  "Doesn't stop there, either.  Here, let me help you with your suitcase, and I’ll give you the tour as we go.”
     Micah nodded.  “Better you lugging anything upstairs than me.  One suitcase was enough,” he chuckled.
     Jordan and Vivian walked back into the living room.  He pointed to a hallway off the left side of the living room.
     “There’s a computer room in there,” he told her.  “Toilet down past the kitchen.  That’s it for the downstairs.”
     He led her to the large staircase at the front of the house.  At least the stairs weren’t white marble, Vivian thought, as they climbed.  More pictures of  poppies lined the wall as they went up.  The stairs turned twice, so when they reached the top, they were facing the back of the house again.
     Vivian was thankful for the plush ivory carpet along the upstairs hallway.  There was a landing, also carpeted, directly in front of her.  The back wall was nothing but windows, shedding light onto two plush ivory couches, sitting chairs, a mahogany coffee table, and more poppy paintings.   To the left and right of the sitting room was a row of doors.  There didn’t seem to be anything else to the second story.
     “These are all the bedrooms,” Jordan told her.  He pointed to the first door to the right of the sitting room.  “That one’s yours.”
     There was a discreet nameplate on the white painted door identifying the room as hers.  She stepped inside.  The color scheme in the bedroom matched the sitting room — shades of cream throughout, from the fluffy bedspread to the curtains on the back wall of windows.
     “Where are the bathrooms?” she asked.
     “Oh, right there,” Jordan answered, nodding to the right as he came in behind her.
     She walked over and found a whirlpool tub, glassed in shower, and more white marble for the floors and the sink.  Apparently luxury had been the main focus for the house.  The bath towels were red, she noticed.
     When she came back out, Jordan had settled her suitcase on top of the dresser on the left hand wall of the room.  There was a flat screen television embedded into the wall above the mahogany dresser.  He turned to smile at her.
     “I’ll let you get unpacked and settled in,” he said.  “Micah and I were thinking about making an executive decision to order pizza for dinner.  You in?”
     “Sure,” she told him.  “I like veggie toppings.”
     “Veggie, got it.  I’ll let you know when it gets here.”  With a final smile, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
     Walking to the back of the large bedroom she opened the curtains to peer outside.  The bedroom reached all the way to the back of the house, she realized, as she found herself looking down at the backyard.
     The interior designer might not have had much imagination, but the landscaper was magnificent.  A stone courtyard with flower beds and small trees stretched into a neatly kept garden of walking paths, fruit trees, and both tropical and domestic flowers.  It looked like a garden that belonged in a European estate, not a California mansion.  She left the curtains open so she could enjoy the view.
     Turning from the window, Vivian opened her suitcase and began sorting clothes into the dresser drawers.  After the first few tops, though, she stopped and looked around the room again.  There was something about this place that bothered her.  She couldn’t put a name on it, but the whole house left her unsettled.  Finally deciding what was bothering her, Vivian walked around the room, pulled every poppy painting off the wall, and stacked them in the closet.
     She had felt like they were watching her.