by CeeCee James
I climbed the flights of stairs and dumped the stuff on my counter. Then I found my toaster, the Nutella, and the bread.
After popping in the bread, I pushed the toaster lever and set the dial for dark. My phone rang again.
Another unknown number. Officer Jefferson again? What could he want?
“Georgie Tanner,” I answered as I found a knife. Carefully, I started on the seal of the yummy chocolate hazelnut spread.
“Is this the realtor selling the Dunham house?” a female voice asked.
I froze. Obviously, I wasn’t. Should I play along? Who was this and how did they get my number?
“Who is this?” I bluffed, trying to stall for time.
“I’m not sure if you remember, but I met you the other day. I’m the neighbor that house sits? I missed the open house and was wondering when the next one was.”
I took a deep breath, suddenly bone tired with playing games with people.
“Ms. Dunham, or is it Ms. Cormac? Why are you really calling me?”
The line went quiet. I checked, but she hadn’t hung up.
“Well, you are a sharp one. That or you have some friends in blue,” she said.
“How did you get my number? Why are you calling me?” My anger began to bubble up. “
She sighed. “Look, Calvin is my ex-husband. He might have something hidden in what he called his ‘safe place’. He kept something hidden there, he called it his insurance. I’m really worried about him. He’s never gone more than a week before without calling me. I guess you could say we are better as friends than partners.”
“If you’re so worried about him, you should go to the police.” Ladies and gentlemen, I was at the end of my rope. “Just tell them everything. But please leave me alone. There’s nothing I can do.”
“I can’t. I’m in danger. So is my stepson. And so are you.”
I closed my eyes. “Why me?”
“Because someone is looking for Calvin. And they’re going to find you.”
“Who’s looking for me? And why would they want to find me? I have nothing to do with him.”
“Yes, you actually do. You’ve been alone in that house and they know about the insurance hidden there. They want it.”
“What’s hidden there?”
“Look, I’m trying to warn you. Be careful and get away from that house as soon as you can.”
“Go to the police!” I shouted. But the phone was dead.
I growled in frustration which turned into a moan of distress when I saw smoke rising out of the toaster.
The toast was ruined and bitter, just about how I was feeling after a day like today. I chucked it in the garbage and used a spoon to scoop out the Nutella. Taking it into the living room, I sank onto the couch.
Stella had her phone turned off for the night. I wish I’d listened to her advice and done the same. I’d have to tell her about all of this tomorrow.
Cooking shows, take me away.
I found a show and ate my snack. But I had no idea what was happening on the TV. I couldn’t concentrate. Not with the questions of how she tracked down my name and number spinning in my mind. What threat was I really facing?
Chapter 14
Morning came all to early. I’d barely stumbled out to a kitchen that still smelled of burnt toast to get some coffee when my phone dinged with a text.
—Georgie, I know it’s early. Can you meet me at the realty?
Early? I squinted at the time and realized Stella was being kind. It was past nine, which explained why Stella was already at work.
I filled the coffee pot and hit start. Leaning against the counter, I texted back. —An hour okay?
—Perfect. See you then. And Georgie… keep your eyes open.
Well, that was alarming. Especially after last night’s phone conversation. I still needed to share that with her. Called for another spoonful of Nutella for breakfast.
I met Stella at the realty an hour later. Squinting my eyes in the bright sun, I hurried up to the door. Inside, I found my friend pouring over something on her computer.
“Hey, you,” she said as I walked over. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Great. It feels like it’s been a whole twelve hours since my last unbelievable news. I’m due for more.”
She pointed to the other side of the office. “Want coffee or a doughnut?”
I shook my head. I needed a little break from sugar after the Nutella splurge.
“Wait until you see this.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard and then she turned the monitor to me.
I leaned forward to read it.
Dear Realtor,
I’m warning you. Back away from the house. Don’t sell something that doesn’t belong to you. Let the bank find someone else to do their dirty work.
Or we will.
“Whoa. I wonder if it was Darla Dunham?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because she called me last night.” I rubbed my arm, remembering. “It was creepy. She said someone was tracking me down. I don’t know how she found my number.”
“Probably from the house showing.”
“Yeah, but my name wasn’t there.”
“Did you introduce yourself?”
I shook my head.
“That’s more than weird. That’s alarming. Do you think she’s referring to herself when she said someone is looking for you?”
“She did ask to see the house again.”
Stella groaned and closed her eyes.
The office door opened on the other side of the room. A burly man in an ill-fitting business coat walked out.
“Hi, ladies,” he said.
“Hi, Uncle Chris.”
I lifted my hand to wave.
He hooked a doughnut, poured coffee in a styrofoam cup and then came over.
“So, no bites yet on the Dunham house, huh?” He took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. Turning, he headed back to add sugar to his cup.
“No, not really.” Stella said. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Maybe we aren’t the right realty to represent it.”
“I can completely understand why you’d say that. It’s been terrible for you. Is there anything else going on I don’t know about?”
“I’m getting tired of looking over my shoulder.”
“What’s going on?”
“Well, for starters, there’s this email I received this morning warning me off.”
“What? Are you being threatened?” Her uncle suddenly sounded angry.
She turned the screen to him and he silently read it.
“No idea who that came from?” he finally said, his nostrils flaring.
“So far, my guess is either the ex-wife or the son.”
Uncle O’Neil’s face flushed. “This is insane.”
“I’ve already forwarded it to the detective on the case.” Stella sighed. “I just wish this was over.”
“You want me to do it?” he asked. “Take over this listing?”
The corner of her mouth turned down, just slightly. I knew she wanted to say yes. I also knew that she had a stubborn streak and never gave up. “Let me try and get through the next couple of weeks. There were a couple of people at the open house that really seemed interested. I think I could make a sale soon.”
I decided to ask a question that had been brewing for a while. “Do you know what the previous owner did? Is there anything in your files?”
Stella started typing again. “Let me check.”
I kind of laughed.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I thought it would be in a filing cabinet.”
“All this stuff is done electronically now.” Her eyes caught her uncle’s. “Although Uncle Chris has a few stuffed out-dated cabinets.”
He grimaced. “I do. And I can tell you now I never want to look inside them again.”
“Why don’t you get rid of them?”
“I might need them someday. You know, like taxes.�
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She leaned forward to read. “Let’s see here, it has one of his previous employer’s names. Black Cat LLC, and then just ‘self’.”
I typed the names in my phone. “But no type of occupation?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Uncle Chris beat the side of the desk in a drum roll. “Look, if you want me to unload this house, let me know. I’ll take it. If you need me for anything at all, call me. That goes for the both of you. And don’t hesitate for a second to call the police for anything suspicious. We’re selling houses here. That shouldn’t be something that requires hazmat pay.”
“I will, Uncle Chris. And thank you.”
He headed outside with the scent of coffee and maple streaming after him. A moment later, his sports car roared out of the parking lot.
“Go ahead and grab a chair,” Stella said, as she continued to read.
I wheeled one over from another desk. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to see what Black Cat LLC is. I think it’s some type of software engineering company. It’s pretty buttoned up so I don’t know exactly what that means.”
She typed in the search box for the definition of software engineer. Immediate a volley of options came up.
I scanned the list quickly. Unhelpfully, I summarized, “Hm. It appears it could almost mean anything.”
“Yeah. A lot more than I have time to understand right now. Let’s try this.” She typed in the search engine the words ‘Dunham’ and ‘software’.
Up popped a website about a high level computer security systems.
“Whoa,” I breathed.
Stella tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yes, indeed. It seems our Dunham was a creator of some important security software.”
“Do you think he was hiding something? Like some crazy software for a big company?”
“Maybe. You’d think someone who had secrets and knew about security would have had it all over his house.”
“That’s true.”
“Especially with that expensive painting.”
“Unless it was a counterfeit. You think it was?”
Stella lifted a shoulder. “This entire thing seems like it’s not what it seems. But I’m guessing if someone was into security and hiding secrets, he’d know how to make a stolen painting appear worthless by faking paperwork.”
“So we have no idea if it was real or not.” Everything about this mystery was shifting. I thought about it some more. “What if instead of keeping secrets he was spying on someone.”
“Like who?” she asked.
“I have no idea who. But the thing with having security cameras is that they can be accessed. What if he had information on how to get into a certain company’s computer? Or maybe some other trade secret.”
My mind was spinning with everything I’d seen and learned so far. I thought back to the ex-wife and son, the basement hiding space. I chewed on the name, Black Cat LLC.
And then I remembered. “Stella! The manager at the bank had a pen with the name Black Cat LLC!”
“Oh, my gosh.” Stella typed in the bank Security International and Black Cat LLC.
It turned out the bank was one of their customers. They had a page with the logos of multiple businesses that used them for their services. It talked a lot of fancy computer mumbo-jumbo about financial and privacy security and anonymity. I didn’t know enough about stocks and special accounts to understand most of it, but I got the gist. They kept rich people’s stuff safe. And if Calvin worked for them, and the bank used them, there had to be a connection.
“I’m starting to think this repo isn’t normal,” Stella whispered.
“Yeah. Maybe Calvin really was the victim.”
“So was Justin Smith the good guy or the bad guy?”
“I don’t know. But our list of questions had grown exponentially.”
“That’s wonderful. How do we get the answers?”
She gave a big smile. “I have an idea.”
Chapter 15
“What if we do some more research into Darla Dunham? When did they get a divorce? Maybe she got the fancy house with the surveillance system.”
“That makes total sense. This could have been his new bachelor pad.”
“Darla did say they were better friends than married. Do you think it’s possible this little house was simply a burner house? That he really still lived with Darla?”
“That could explain the lack of furniture. You think he used it like an office.”
“Maybe.”
We were interrupted by Stella’s phone ringing. She glanced at it and immediately straightened. The number was unlisted. “Hello,”
“Stella O’Neil?”
“Who is this?”
“This is the Brookfield police. We’re calling to inform you that the home you are selling was just vandalized.”
“What?” Her mouth dropped, matching what happened to my stomach.
“The police have already been to the house and taken a report.”
“When did this happen?”
“The phone call came in at seven this morning.” There was a shuffle of papers. “The neighbor called it in.”
I glanced at the time. Over three hours ago.
“Okay. I’ll be right over.” She hung up and looked at me. “How does this keep happening?”
“I’m wondering if the person who stole the painting realized there was something more he forgot.”
She grabbed her purse. “Follow me?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
The last cop car was just pulling out when we arrived, so we parked on the street. They stopped us at the driveway until we showed them our credentials and then waved us through.
Inside the house was like a horror show. We walked through with our mouths hanging open. To say the place had been vandalized was an understatement. Cabinets were thrown open and drawers pulled out. Empty alcohol bottles littered the floor. The walls were sprayed with graffiti. Appliances were hauled from the walls, and the blinds yanked from the windows.
In one of the bedrooms the wall was covered in holes.
I walked over to examine it further. “Stella, check this out.”
The damage was strange. Where as the other damage seemed randomly destructive, this seemed deliberate. The holes hadn’t been kicked in but appeared cut. I looked inside. All I saw was conduit and studs.
“This can not be happening,” Stella muttered, dialing her uncle.
A short while later, Chris called her back. Mr. Twist had already been informed of the break-in hours ago.
“Nice of him to let us know,” Stella grumbled. Apparently an emergency clean-up crew was already on its way.
I started snapping photos of the damage.
“Pictures again?” Stella asked.
“So far they always seem to help.”
She pushed at one of the drawers. “Something seems very strange about this.”
“I think so too.”
“I mean, they say it’s vandalism, and I see the graffiti, but it doesn’t feel like a bunch of teens came in and partied. Something feels off.”
“Like the scene’s been set up.”
She nodded. “Those holes cut into the wall.”
“And did you notice all the vent covers have removed? Someone was combing the place over.”
“Maybe it was the same person who killed Justin Smith.”
That was a sobering thought. After taking more photographs, I stooped to flip one of the drawers over and checked the underside.
The counter cabinet was a bunch of empty openings. Why had someone pulled the drawers all out?
I flipped on the flashlight on my cell and examined the slots.
Nothing was in there but a lot of dust and a few stray pieces of cereal. I ducked to see the bottom of the drawer rails.
I thought nothing was there. But in the last sweep of light’s beam, something glinted under one of the rails. I reached in, stretching my arm to reach it. It w
as a key and it was glued in place. With some intense concentration, I was able to pry it off. Satisfaction stretched inside me as I pulled it out.
It wasn’t nearly as cool out in the light. It had no markings, but I could tell by the carved tooth lines only along one side that the key wasn’t made for a complicated lock.
“Look at this.” I showed Stella. “I found it under there.”
She took it from me and held it to the light. “Weird. What do you think it belongs to?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a post office box?”
Taking a cue from my discovery, Stella began to search behind the appliances. We looked inside the rest of the cupboards and the heater vents.
While we searched, aggravation started bubbling up. We didn’t find anything else, and every room was starting to make me hate this place more. I was also worried about the person who would end up buying it. What if it was some family looking for a cute home at a low price, only to have madmen come back time and time again tearing it up? What was here that was so important? Even more important to come back for after stealing the priceless painting?
We waited around forty-five minutes for the repair guys showed up. They arrived and soon were hauling inside sheets of drywall, tool boxes, and buckets of spackling.
“Who’s going to be painting this?” Stella asked.
The repair guy shrugged. “Not our problem.”
“I see.” Her mouth pressed into tight lines.
I saw as well. The painting, it seems, would be left up to us.
I was over it.
Chapter 16
The driveway was filled with a repair van and two pickup trucks. Made me glad we parked out at the street. Stella paused outside her car and shaded her eyes to watch the repair guys. “So, what are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to try to figure out where this key goes.”
“You think it’s to someone’s house?”
I shook my head. “The key is too simple.”
“Maybe to a safe?”
“I don’t think so. Those are usually barrel keys. Besides, this one has initials on it.” I rubbed it. “See what it says there?”
