“Oh.”
We began to take up the bricks using the spatulas. They came out surprisingly easily, and I was getting excited, expecting at any moment to see the flash of gold.
An hour or a week later, depending on whether you measure time by the clock or by the torture involved, I was less excited. We’d moved bricks from about half the floor and dug through several inches of the black clay underneath to find…more black clay.
I was thrilled when Fred stopped digging and leaned on his shovel. “I think we’ve learned all we’re going to learn.”
“Well, I’ve learned that if I ever kill Rick, I’m going to dispose of his body some way other than burying him, so I suppose it hasn’t been a totally wasted evening.” I laid down my shovel and pulled off my gloves.
“What are you doing?”
“Quitting. What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to put the floor back the way it was when we came down here, only we’ll smooth it out as long as we’re here anyway.”
I looked around at the piles of bricks and dirt. “Forget it. Let’s go eat cookies. I never use this room.”
Fred began spreading the dirt around evenly. “Neither of us will be able to sleep tonight if we don’t get this room back in order before we leave it.”
“I could sleep,” I assured him.
“No, you couldn’t. Thinking about this mess would keep me awake, and I’d be banging on your door, demanding we tidy up this room. As I said, neither of us would be able to sleep.”
I glared at him but started moving dirt and bricks.
Fred produced a level from his canvas bag and used that on the floor before we reset the bricks. Mr. Perfection. Finally the room looked better than it had when we started.
He stepped to one side and surveyed our efforts. “We ought to take up the whole floor and smooth it out.”
“Not tonight.”
“All right. Get a broom, we’ll sweep up the dust and dirt and be finished down here.”
I lifted my shovel threateningly. “A broom? Sweep the floor? Now?”
He wasn’t threatened. “Yes. Want me to go upstairs and get it?”
“No.”
I started upstairs.
“Bring a duster for these cobwebs.”
I got the broom and the duster, and we cleaned the furnace room.
“I hope you’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep now,” I said when we finished.
“I will.”
We climbed the stairs, and I locked the basement door behind me.
Henry was gone, his paper bag empty. He was probably waiting for me in my bed. Well, he was probably in my bed. As to whether he was waiting for me, whether he cared if I joined him or not, that’s always an open question with a cat.
Fred crossed my white vinyl kitchen leaving dark footprints. I hoped he wouldn’t notice and insist we clean them up that night before he could sleep.
“Bring the cookies, and let’s sit on the back stoop and talk,” he said.
“Why don’t we sit in here where the cookies already are and the air conditioning works?”
“Because we’re filthy. We’re already leaving tracks on your floor. You’ll probably have to mop before you go to bed.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Right after I mop and wax the sidewalk in front of my house.
I put some cookies on a plate, grabbed two Cokes, turned off the kitchen light and followed Fred outside.
We sat on the steps of my back porch eating and drinking for a few minutes. The night was pleasant, still hot but comfortable with the sun no longer blazing. The moon hadn’t risen yet, and it was very dark. I looked around at the trees and the out-of-control shrubbery surrounding my house. In the daylight I loved the lush greenery and the shade it gave me. In the dark it was a little spooky.
“Take this.” Fred extended his hand toward me. Even in the darkness I could see the shiny key on his palm. “I put a new padlock on that coal chute door,” he said.
I accepted the key. “Thank you. But—you don’t really think somebody climbed through there to get into my basement, do you?”
He looked at me silently for a moment, took a long swallow from his can of Coke and set it back down. “We need to talk about what we discovered tonight.”
“Fred, I was there. We discovered nothing but how hard the ground is.”
“One area was easier to dig.”
“Maybe that area in the corner was a little softer,” I admitted.
“As if the ground had been loosened recently.”
Damn. I didn’t like where this conversation was going. I grabbed my own Coke and tilted it to my mouth…but it was empty. Thank goodness I had a fresh twelve-pack in the refrigerator.
“I think someone got into your basement and dug up whatever was there. When I cut off your old padlock and opened that metal door, I found a latching mechanism that releases the wooden cover that blocks the opening on the inside. Somebody could release it, let it down, slide into your basement, then climb back up again and pull that interior door closed.”
The temperature was probably in the mid-eighties, but that image sent big time shivers down my spine. “Damn! Henry was right! Somebody was in my house.”
“Anyone who had access to the key to that padlock could have entered your basement at any time.”
I shivered again then started to get angry as the implications of that set in. “George could have buried drug money in his grandparents’ basement, hidden the key to the padlock, then told his cellmate, Bradford. Or the Murrays could have given that padlock key to Rick when we bought this house, and he kept it and used it after he found out from his client, the late Rodney Bradford, about the money buried there.” I wasn’t sure if I preferred to think Rick or some stranger had been in my basement. Both possibilities were creepy.
“I don’t think it’s Rick since he tried to get your house after the intrusion occurred.”
“Oh.”
“And Bradford was dead by that time.”
“So who was in my house?”
Fred shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s possible whoever was there found nothing and still needs access to your house to search further, so we can’t completely eliminate Rick.”
“We can’t eliminate anybody in this entire city except Rodney Bradford. I don’t think my clean furnace room is going to help me sleep tonight. Doesn’t make me feel even a little bit better to know an intruder won’t get his feet dirty.”
Chapter Eight
I hate getting up early, but there’s something cozy about being awake and working with a friend during those predawn hours. Paula and I have some of our best talks while it’s still dark outside and we’re inside preparing for the breakfast crowd.
I told her about the previous evening’s excavations, and she told me I was insane.
“It’s dangerous for you to remain in that house right now. Why don’t you stay with me until they catch Bradford’s murderer? Zach would like having his Anlinny sleep over. You could bring Henry. Zach loves that cat.”
I shrugged and added a little extra chocolate to my chocolate nut bread. “Whatever attraction was in the furnace room in my basement is gone now. Nothing down there but dirt and bricks. Not even any dust or cobwebs. No reason for somebody to come back.”
“Just because you and Fred didn’t find something doesn’t mean there’s nothing there. As far as you knew a few days ago, there wasn’t any reason for somebody to break into your house in the first place.” She measured grounds into the coffee maker and shook her head. “I don’t like it. A man was murdered while trying to buy your house, and now you find out somebody was inside searching for something. Pretty hard to believe that’s a coincidence. The murder and your house must be related.”
The same conclusion Fred had reached.
I put the loaves of nut bread in the oven and started on the cookies. “You’re right. This all started with Rick bringing that man into my life. I’m going to call him and demand
some answers.”
Paula snorted in a very unladylike manner and slapped the switch to start the coffee brewing. “You think you’re going to get anything out of Rick? Why don’t you call Trent? He’s investigating the murder and he has an interest in keeping you safe. Rick’s only interest is in taking advantage of you.”
“That’s true, but it’s nothing personal with him. Rick’s only interest in anybody is taking advantage of them. I wonder where his new girlfriend fits into this picture.”
A timer dinged, and Paula removed a large pan of cinnamon rolls from the oven. They weren’t chocolate, but they certainly did smell good. “Money,” she said. “Maybe Lisa was the money behind Bradford’s offer to buy your house. She has money, and Rick’s planning to get his share of it.”
I added chocolate chips to my cookies and then ate a handful. Have to run periodic tests on those chips, make sure they’re fresh. “That doesn’t explain why he and Lisa wanted my house. What if Lisa got the information about the treasure in my house from Bradford and then she killed him and now Rick’s blackmailing her to get the information so he can get more than just a real estate commission on the deal? You’re right. I need to talk to Trent just in case he hasn’t thought of that possibility.”
***
I called Trent on my way home from work that afternoon. Yeah, yeah, I know talking on a cell phone while driving isn’t a good idea. But I have Bluetooth, and I didn’t really expect him to answer. I thought I’d have to leave a message. However, when he came on the line, I decided to grab the opportunity and talk while driving. I promised myself I’d be extra careful, observe speed limits and all that extraneous caution stuff.
“Found Rodney Bradford’s murderer yet?” I said by way of a greeting as I pulled out of the restaurant parking lot.
“I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“I understand, but I’m involved in this investigation. I need to know what’s going on.”
“All the more reason I can’t talk to you about it.”
I honked when the SUV in front of me at the traffic light failed to realize that green meant go.
“Are you driving, Lindsay?”
“No.” Technically, that was true. I was parked behind some moron who’d decided to take a nap. I honked again. “Have you considered the possibility that Lisa murdered Bradford after he told her about the money in my basement, and now Rick’s blackmailing her?”
The driver in front of me finally woke up and blasted through the light that was already in the process of changing to red. I followed on his tail with the dispensation of being allowed to run a recently changed light when the idiot in front of you has been napping.
“I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.”
“You sound like a broken recording. Can you at least confirm if Lisa has enough money to finance Bradford’s purchase of my house?” Finally the jerk in front of me turned off onto a side street. I accelerated and prepared to make up for lost time. Cautiously, of course.
“I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.”
A big, older model car pulled from a side street directly in front of me. I slammed on my brakes and cursed.
“Are you sure you’re not driving?” Trent asked.
The vehicle that had pulled in front of me on the two-lane, winding, no-freaking-way-to-pass road had to be stuck in first gear judging from its speed. Amazing how all the jerks came out to play in the traffic at the same time I was getting ticked off at Trent.
“Yes, I’m driving, and I’m going to hang up now.” No way was I going to share my information about the basement and the Murrays and all that when he wouldn’t share any of his information with me.
I disconnected the call then leaned on my horn. The person in front of me continued to move at the speed of a snail on valium. The driver was so short, I couldn’t see a head to even know if it was male or female. Could be the car was uninhabited. That would explain why the gas pedal wasn’t being pressed.
I finally made it home without having a stroke and settled my Celica in the garage. One day I’d have to get it a home with straight walls. Good car like that deserved the best.
As I crossed my lawn to my porch, I admired the healthy greenery. I probably needed to mow it, but that would mean losing all the yellow and white flowers.
When I stepped onto my porch, I saw a piece of paper taped to my front door. Probably another ad for a lawn service.
I yanked it off and started to crumple it but then saw the words in large print: “NOTICE!” It was from the City of Pleasant Grove, signed by the mayor himself…or at least it was the mayor’s signature stamp.
The city was not as enamored of my lawn as I was. In fact, they were threatening to fine me, condemn my place and send out a city employee to clean up my yard unless I did it myself within the next week, and did it to their satisfaction. How rude.
The notice referenced a “citizen complaint.”
The house across the street was uninhabited. Paula wasn’t bothered by my yard. When my lawn started keeping Fred awake nights, he either told me or sneaked over while I was at work and mowed it himself. At least, I assumed he did it himself. He could have some robotic mower that he guided from inside his house. I’d never actually seen him mow his own lawn which always remained the same length. I checked once to see if it was Astro-Turf. It wasn’t.
There could be only one citizen who’d complain about my lawn. I remembered Rick’s threat that things could get ugly if I didn’t let him have my house.
I crumpled the notice. If forcing me to mow my lawn was the ugliest he could come up with, I had no worries. I’d do it as soon as I checked on Henry. Be a good way to work off pent-up frustration from the drive home.
I went inside and Henry trotted up to greet me. He wound around my legs, purred, bumped his head against my knee, then turned to lead me to the kitchen. I felt loved and needed—as long as Henry didn’t figure out how to operate a can opener.
I came to an abrupt stop in the doorway to the kitchen. The room was a mess. Nuggets of cat food were scattered everywhere, some smashed, some intact. Water had splashed from Henry’s no-tip bowl onto the floor. A chair lay on its side. A salt shaker had fallen to the floor. It wasn’t broken but had spilled some salt.
I looked at Henry. He sat serenely beside his empty food bowl, blue eyes innocent.
“Did you do this?” Certainly he was physically capable of such destruction, but he’d always been such a well-mannered cat.
He lifted a paw, licked it and daintily rubbed his face.
I knelt to confront him eyeball to eyeball and saw that he was rubbing a scratch on his nose. “You have been up to something!” I scolded.
He gave me an indignant look and turned again to his food bowl.
On the side of his head I saw a red spot. I lifted the paw he’d just licked. A faint red stain marred the white fur.
As I looked more closely, I realized there were several small red spots amidst the cat food nuggets on my white vinyl.
I checked another paw.
More red.
My chest tightened. The thought that Henry could be hurt sent a burst of panic through me. I’d spent a lot of time trying to locate his previous owner and send him away when he first wandered up, but I’d since become attached to that arrogant, bossy feline and didn’t want to lose him.
I held my breath as I ran my hands over his body, testing for sore spots, searching for wounds.
He purred then extricated himself and stared at his food bowl. Whatever catastrophic event had occurred, it was over, in the past, and he was hungry. Henry lives in the present moment.
He wasn’t hurt.
The red spots hadn’t come from him.
Slowly I rose from the floor and walked across the room.
The kitchen door opened when I turned the knob. Unlocked. I’d locked it last night after Fred left, and I hadn’t opened that door since.
Someone had been in my house. Ag
ain.
But this time Henry had been there and, judging from the evidence, left his mark on the intruder. Four paws, four half inch claws per paw, and one mouth with half-inch, needle-sharp incisors.
Make that, marks, plural.
I smiled. Was this more of Rick’s promised ugliness? Henry would have been thrilled to have the excuse to take a few chunks out of Rick’s hide.
On the other hand, what if it wasn’t Rick?
My smile went away.
I should call the police, report an intruder.
That meant I’d have to share my information with Trent even though he refused to share his with me.
But if we found Rick with scratches on his face and arms…my smile returned and I picked up the phone.
Chapter Nine
The Pleasant Grove cops came and went, leaving me more than enough time to mow my lawn, trim my shrubs, water, fertilize and plant a few rose bushes, all before the lightning bugs came out to play. The cops did not find my crime scene interesting.
I’d called Trent, and he’d come over while the other cops were there. He remained standing in my kitchen after they left. “Lindsay, I’m sorry. I believe somebody broke in, but there’s just not enough physical evidence to make a case.”
He wasn’t making any brownie points with me. And to think, I’d brought cookies to the man only two days before. “Not enough physical evidence? Really?” I flung my arms out in an all-encompassing gesture. “There’s blood everywhere, including under Henry’s nails! Why can’t they work up a DNA profile?”
“And do what with it? There are no signs of forced entry—”
“My door was unlocked when I came home.”
“I believe you when you say you locked it, but we can’t prove it. You have an unlocked door with no sign of forced entry, cat food everywhere, specks of blood on your floor and on your cat that may or may not be his blood, and nothing missing.”
“Nothing missing, thanks to Henry. At least go talk to Rick, see if he has scratches.”
He folded his arms. “You do not want me talking to your estranged husband.”
That was true. “Send somebody.”
Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 02 - Murder, Lies & Chocolate Page 7