Chapter 1

Tom rarely saw the neighbors since they moved in several weeks ago. Then one day, about an hour after he returned from dropping off his wife at the airport for a week-long business trip to California, the doorbell rang, and it was the man next door.

"Hello," he said in a flat voice. The man looked like a priest of some sort, black turtleneck, black pants, shiny black shoes. "I would like to invite you to dinner."

"Tonight?" Tom was taken aback. The man hadn't even introduced himself.

"Yes. Your wife isn't home. So I would like to offer you the hospitalities of my home. I will have my wife prepare for your visit. 8:00 pm. Please dress nicely."

Tom had a thousand questions, but by the time that he could formulate the first one, the man was halfway down the walk.

He closed the door, talking out loud to himself. "How did he know Mary was gone? I don't think I'll go. Was looking forward to a night of pornos and pizza."

7:30 arrived and Tom found himself preparing for dinner. He had showered and shaved, and found a turtleneck shirt of his own, though it was dark blue, not black. He paired it with slacks and loafers and a few minutes before 8:00 he was standing outside the entrance to his neighbor's property, peering through the wrought iron bars of the gate and pressing the intercom button.

Without hearing any answer, he heard the latch of the gate buzz. He pushed it open and walked through, following the winding path through carefully maintained shrubberies to the front door.

Before he could raise his hand to knock, the door opened, and behind it stood a remarkably beautiful black haired woman in her late twenties, simply dressed in a white cotton peasant blouse, tied at the neck with a long black ribbon but loose enough to display the ample cleavage of her pale white breasts.

Her flowing black skirt ended just below her knees, revealing opaque white stockings. On her feet she wore black Mary Jane shoes with a practical low heel. She had a black lace choker around her neck, with a simple silver heart dangling from a silver ring.

She didn't appear to be wearing makeup, and didn't need any with an elfish face, perfect pale skin and dark sultry eyes; she was alluring and sexy in an exotic way. Her long hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, her eyes sparkled. She didn't speak, simply gestured into the spacious living room.

There were few pieces of Scandinavian style furniture, spare and more for looks than for comfort. The walls were bright white and the floors light birch.

Without asking the smiling woman poured Tom a fine twenty-five year old Scotch, motioning him to sit down on a leather and chrome armchair.

He perched on the edge of the chair. "Do you work for the owners? Housekeeper?" She smiled broadly and shook her head. Tom thought she might not speak English; she didn't react the way someone would if they understood the question. She seemed Eastern European. Maybe she was here illegally and his hosts didn't want people to know.

He sipped his Scotch, the finest he had ever tasted. She stepped out of the room and left him staring at the stark white walls. There was soft jazz music wafting through the air, but Tom didn't see any speakers.

In a few minutes she was back, still smiling her beautiful broad smile. "Is everything alright?" Tom asked her. He wondered if something had happened and his hosts couldn't keep the dinner date. She just nodded and led him out of the living room into the dining room.

Ten modern black lacquered high back dining chairs were arrayed around the long table covered with a pristine white linen tablecloth. But only two places were set: one at the head of the table and the other at its side.

"There are only two places." Tom said, though he was still sure the servant couldn't understand him. He remembered that the host had said his wife would be joining them when he issued the invitation.

"My wife doesn't dine with our guests. We maintain our own customs ... really in many ways more Eastern than Western manners." The sudden interjection by the host startled Tom. He hadn't even known the man had entered the room.

The servant pulled out the chair at the head of the table for the host, and he took his seat without even glancing at her, keeping his eyes on his guest in a blank, emotionless gaze, as though he was looking through, not at, the man he had invited to dinner.

He continued, "You've met my wife, Evgeniya." He gestured with a dismissive wave of the hand toward the woman that Tom had imagined was the maid. "You may call her Jenya, since her name is difficult to pronounce for one who is not familiar with foreign names."

She was holding the guest's chair and Tom thanked her as he sat.

"She speaks very little English, as you may have already guessed."

"So she won't be joining us?" The hostess had left the two men alone as she returned to what Tom guessed was the kitchen.