She smiled and waved back, then jaywalked across the street. A minor infraction, but a good way to get killed, especially on a busy street like this one.
“Hey, detectives.” She jogged up onto the sidewalk. “What are you doing here?”
“We just finished eating dinner at the Downtowner.” I gestured over my shoulder.
She looked at the sign and nodded. “Good place to eat.”
The wind roared down the street and whipped around us. Tracy shivered and pulled the collar of her conservative, camel, wool coat up close around her neck.
“What are you doing out on a bitter night like this?” Louise asked and zipped up her leather sheep’s wool lined jacket.
“I’m going to a party at a friend’s apartment up the road. She lives in one of those old converted warehouses. I really hate this neighborhood. I never feel quite safe when I walk down the street.”
“Do you want us to walk with you a little bit?”
Louise’s offer was really nice, except for the fact that I would without a doubt freeze to death if I spent any more time in the sub—zero evening wind.
“Or we could drive you,” I said and gestured toward Louise’s car.
“No, I think I’ll be fine. It’s just another block up the road.”
Tracy cupped her hands around her mouth and blew into the hollow space, then rubbed her hands together, paying special attention to her fingertips.
“It’s so cold tonight,” she said. “Makes you wonder if it really is spring.”
“You should invest in a warm pair of gloves.” I gestured to her hands.
“And you need a coat.” She jammed her hands deep into her pockets. “I had a pair of gloves. Don’t know what happened to them. They’ve just disappeared. I guess I’ll have to get new ones.”
“You seem cheerful tonight,” Louise said.
“I am.”
“Any particular reason why?” I asked.
“Good things have been happening at the office. I’ve been given a small promotion.”
“That’s great,” Louise said.
“Yeah, congratulations, Tracy.”
A slight blush became visible on her cheeks even in the tinted glow of the neon that surrounded us.
“Thanks. I guess they needed my help to sort out some of the projects that Mr. Stanley and Mr. Forster had going. I’ve even been moved up to the executive floor.”
Her flush deepened with pride.
“We have been able to find some money to keep us afloat for a while longer. And a large contract we’d been waiting on finally came through this morning.” She crossed her raw pink fingers. “Hopefully the company is heading for a good patch.”
“You found money?” My suspicious nature crept to the surface.
“I guess found is the wrong turn of a phrase. We moved money around from this bank account to that bank account. Money from money markets and CDs we cashed out. It’s enough to keep the company going for a while. Hopefully with this new project that’s come through, our clients will come back to us.”
“That is good news,” Louise said.
“Yeah, with a little reorganization, we’ll be able to pull the company out of financial ruin,” she said. “And I won’t loose all of my retirement savings. Building my funds back up to where they were before all this mess happened will take a few more years, but it will get there.”
My left foot had gone numb from the cold. I was sure the blood in my feet had become the consistency of a cherry Slushy. As happy as I was to hear things were going well for her, I prayed Tracy would wrap up her story soon.
“There’s a bit of reconciliation to do with the IRS and a few other reporting agencies, which will probably send the stock price a little lower. But with both Mr. Forster and Mr. Stanley dead, we think they’ll work with us to resolve the issues.”
“Good luck with that,” I said and hopped up and down to keep the blood flowing to my limbs. “We’ll be watching the business pages for you.”
“Thanks. We still need a little luck. We have a long way to go yet.” A shiver raked over her. “I’d better get going before my friends send out a search party. I called them from the parking lot so they’ll be wondering what happened to me.”
Tracy trotted off down the street. At the end of the block she turned, waved to us, and disappeared around the corner.
“There’s a whole lot of good coming from these two deaths, isn’t there?” I shivered and my voice quavered like Katherine Hepburn’s.
“What do you mean?” Louise asked.
“First Annabeth Carter isn’t being blackmailed any more and can leave her cheating husband, and now it sounds like the business Stanley and Forster built together will go on without them.”
“I guess.”
Apparently she didn’t follow my thinking. Finding good in the violent death of another human being was too big of a leap for Louise—and would be for most people. But in my career, I usually saw lives that were ripped apart by murder. Seeing good come from a tragic situation was a nice changed of pace.
“Let’s go,” Louise said. “We’ve got a house to dig through.”
We climbed into the cold car. Damn, why hadn’t Louise started the engine while we were talking to Tracy? Stanley’s house wasn’t far enough away for the car to even warm up.
My teeth chattered as I buckled my seatbelt and mentally prepared myself for another wild ride.
Chapter Seventeen
At night, Nathan Stanley’s Grand Avenue Hill manor had a sinister air. A red brick horror house, come to life, complete with foreboding dragons, and a violent murder on the front doorstep.
Visions of a haunted house I’d been through as a kid flashed through my mind. The ghouls roaming the hall had frightened me so bad, I had peed my pants as I ran screaming out through the first exit I found. I’ve never been in a haunted house since.
Wind blew through the pine trees that framed the property. The shrubs encircling the house rustled against the brick, making a whispering sound.
Goosebumps stood up on my arms, and I felt a sudden urge to pee. I couldn’t tell if it was from the chill in the air or the fear rampaging through my chest.
The other homes on Grand Avenue Hill were well lit and cheerful. Life showed through the windows of the surrounding homes and spilled out onto their lawns.
This house was lifeless and dark. The cement statues flanking the steps glared down in warning, ready to pounce.
Nettles of fear trailed up my back when we walked past the dragons and up the steps to the front door.
“Maybe we should come back tomorrow.” I kept one eye on the statue, in case it decided to move.
“Why?”
“Better light?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re scared again, aren’t you?”
“No.” I pursed my lips and shook my head. If I shook my head hard enough, maybe she wouldn’t know what a liar I was. “Not at all. I’m ready.”
“Good,” she said. “Because there’s no time like the present.”
“Stop.”
She stopped.
“What about the security system?” I pointed to the security company sticker in the window.
“They shut it off when they searched the house the first time.”
I let out a heavy sigh. I guess we were going into the haunted house.
Louise cut the police tape, popped the lock, and then shoved the heavy wooden door open. The hinges creaked as the door swung wide, adding to the haunted house presence of the place.
She drew in a sharp breath and stepped away from the opening.
“What’s the matter?”
I stepped back, reached my hand under my coat, and wrapped my fingers around my weapon.
“Has the house been ransacked?”
“I knew you were scared.” Louise looked at me over her shoulder with a wicked grin.
“You have an over active imagination,” she said. “The house isn’t ransacked—it’s as hot as he
ll.”
She swung the door fully open. A wave of heat rolled out and over me.
Great. I wanted to be warm, but now I really had to pee. I would have to hold it because there was no way I was going to the bathroom alone in this creepy place. I was positive Louise wouldn’t consent to standing outside the bathroom while I relieved myself.
“Maybe it is hell.” I clenched to hold my water. “With the way this guy behaved, I’ve gotta believe he was working in that direction.”
Louise stepped through the door with her hand on her hip holster.
I wanted to tease her and call her paranoid in retaliation for her over active imagination comment, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’d entered a crime scene a day later, only to find some opportunistic junkie who’d read the obituaries, waiting for us with a bat.
I took my gun out of its holster and stepped in behind her. I lived for moments like this, ducking in and out of doorways in two by two formation, just like on TV.
Charlie’s Angels was a big influence on me growing up. High heels, large breasts, great hair, and criminal butt kicking. Well, at least I got two out of the four—I guess that made me Sabrina.
“Nothing here,” I said.
“Clear over here, too.”
Louise flicked a light switch near the door. The entryway blazed with light from an overhead crystal chandelier.
A patterned, dark hued rug covered the rich, glossy, wood floor of the entry hall. A stairway stood a few feet in front of us, wide at the bottom, narrow in the middle and wide again at the top. The banister rail glimmered in the light. The color of all the woods matched the walnut color used on the floor.
There was no paint or plaster anywhere in the cavernous entryway, just solid walnut paneling all the way up to the ceiling on the second floor.
I had to remember to tell Gav. A room with this much carpentry detail would be his dream project.
“Wow, did this guy like polished wood and brass or what?” I leaned on the grand, banister.
“I bet he spent a fortune on Pledge.” Louise ran a finger along the shiny wooden wall. “Or at least his cleaning service did.”
Inside the living room was more of the same masculine decor. Even the furniture in the room was shiny wood with small splashes of brick colored fabrics on pillows and cushions. Against the far wall, a fireplace large enough to stand in, created an impressive focal point.
A twinge of envy rippled through me. Our Victorian was always in the middle of some remodeling project or another and never quite reached the point of being able to decorate. Our house hadn’t been in good enough condition to invite friends or family over since we’d moved in seven years ago.
Being married to a carpenter was like being married to a mechanic. A mechanic’s wife’s car never ran, and carpenter’s houses were never finished.
I imagined our house would be as beautiful as this when Gavin completed all his projects. Of course, then Gavin would want to move to a place where there were more projects for him to putter with. Since I hate moving I didn’t push him to get our house done.
And as long as our house was constantly in a state of flux no one ever proposed having a holiday or any other type of party at my house. Double bonus.
“Where do you think we should start?” Louise spun around in place.
“I think we should split up,” I said. “One of us can search up, the other can search down.”
“I call down,” she chimed before I had a chance.
The corner of her mouth tipped up in a cocky grin, and she rocked on her heels.
I hate up. Up meant bedrooms and there were all kinds of nasty surprises waiting in upstairs bedrooms. People kept all the secrets they didn’t want their guests to find out, hidden in the rooms upstairs.
“Fine, but you’ll be buying the next dinner, too.”
I took a small step toward the grand staircase and craned my neck to see what I could of the second floor. The landing at the top disappeared into a dark void.
“And maybe the dinner after that too, depending on what I find up there.”
“I’ll even spring for the extra lettuce.”
I shot her a dirty look over my shoulder, then trudged up the dark staircase to the landing on the second floor.
Inky darkness surrounded me and my imagination went wild. I felt my way along the wall trying to find a light switch, with no luck.
Panic crawled up from my toes and ran all over my body.
I slung my purse around and fished through the contents. Somewhere in the bottom of the mess was my mini Mag Light. Considering that I had a difficult time finding my wallet in my purse, finding a flashlight the size of a roll of Lifesavers would be a miracle.
Suddenly the chandelier overhead blazed on. I jumped half out of my skin, wrenched my gun up, and spun around.
I expected to find someone standing behind me. There was no one.
“What the hell?”
“I thought you could use some light up there,” Louise called from the bottom of the stairs.
She flicked the lights off and on and grinned at me. A wicked grin, only those who are experts in torment could manage. When this case was over maybe I would consider asking for a new partner after all.
“That’s not funny,” I yelled, and jammed my gun into its holster. “Leave it on, thank you very much.”
She flipped the light on, saluted me, and disappeared into the living room. I gave her the one—fingered salute she’d earned.
Around the landing were five doorways. Five rooms, all dark, except for the yellow sliver of light cutting in from the hallway chandelier.
Which one first?
I examined the room in front of me. Light glinted off a white tile floor. The bathroom.
I could eliminate that room right away. Storing photos and videos in the humidity of a bathroom was a bad idea, plus there wasn’t anywhere to hide videos and photos in a bathroom.
That left four rooms.
“Eenie, meenie, minie, moe,” I said and chose the door to my right.
Monty Hall would have been proud at how quickly I’d made my decision. I stepped through door number one and turned on the lights.
This room was different from the lower part of the house. A soft color palette of pale blues and creamy whites, were unlike the bold colors of the entryway and living room.
The trappings of this room were old—fashioned, almost country feeling, complete with a patchwork quilt on the bed and a rocking chair in the corner.
Photos of a small boy littered every surface. In one photo, an almost exact likeness of this room showed behind the boy.
This bedroom must be a duplicate of Stanley’s boyhood room. If not his, then a room in which he’d felt safe. Perhaps a grandparent’s home.
Not the kind of room you’d hide secrets. Not the room where you’d keep blackmail material.
Time to move on.
The next room down the line was modern from top to bottom. Slick, glossy black lacquer, and bold, brightly colored geometric patterns coordinated the fabrics and the art on the buttery yellow walls.
This room had possibilities.
I searched the drawers of a long black lacquer dresser first. Nothing. Empty. Then I moved on to the closet. A few extra blankets were neatly folded on the shelf but the hanging bar held nothing.
A guest bedroom. Again not the place you’d keep important secrets.
You’d never want snooping guests to find what you were trying to keep hidden. No, secrets the size of blackmail were kept close to the chest.
“Time to see what’s behind door number three.”
This room matched the living room and entryway. Plenty of polished wood filled the room, and dark, rich patterns woven into the bedspread and the pillows.
A king sized four—poster bed stood as a centerpiece in this room. Next to the bed was a three—drawer nightstand with a book opened and face down, waiting for its owner to return and pick up where he’d
left off. Hanging out of one of the drawers was a man’s tube sock.
This was Stanley’s room. This is where I’d find the secrets. If he kept his blackmail material in the house, this is where it would be. Close to the chest.
On either side of the room were matching doors. One door lead to the master bath, and the other to an anteroom that Nathan had turned into an office.
“Come out, come out wherever you are,” I said under my breath. Just like Goldilocks, this porridge was just right.
Nothing in Stanley’s bedroom sprang out at me saying, “my secrets are here,” so I decided to focus my attention on the office.
The compact office boasted everything a man of Stanley’s stature should have, including a desk blotter and green banker’s lamp. It was so cliché. This man was obsessed with the image success.
I pulled the chain on the banker’s lamp, and the light washed over the desktop. The files on the top of the desk were the first to fall prey to my rummaging.
Something about searching through people’s personal things made me feel uneasy, like they would walk in on me at any moment. Even if they were dead.
I kept thinking about how I would feel if, after I died, people went through my things. Something about that didn’t sit right with me, even though it was inevitable. Someday someone would see my ratty old panties, or even worse, the turtle neck with the bunnies on it that my mother—in—law gave me last year for my birthday, and make judgments about me from them.
Judgments like the ones I would make about Stanley.
From the portrait painted by the people who knew him, this guy was a total bastard. I had to know what made him tick.
This time I had no hesitation, I couldn’t wait to dig through his things. Something in his past or in his present had to explain this kind of monstrous behavior.
Most cases I worked had monsters and all monsters had motive. But this guy I couldn’t figure out.
Was it greed? Lust? Power? All three?
There was something that drove him to blackmail, to abuse women like the way he abused Annabeth Carter, and whatever other awful things he did, and I wanted to know what it was.
I moved behind the desk, then pulled on the narrow top drawer. The drawer didn’t budge.
A Grand Murder Page 14