I stepped up onto the front stoop, and since there was no doorbell, I knocked on the outer storm door. The bang seemed out of place in the serene atmosphere. The woodpecker paused in his hammering, and then continued on.
I waited a good minute before knocking again, this time harder. When Joe still didn’t answer, I made my way back to my van, grabbed a Post-it out of the glove compartment, and scrawled him a note to let him know I’d stopped by. I returned to the stoop, opened the storm door, and slapped the note in place.
The front door creaked open.
I froze as a chill washed down my spine that caused me to shiver despite the warm day.
“Hello?” I called. There was no answer. “Joe? It’s Liz Denton of Furever Pets. I’m here with Sheamus, your new cat. Are you here?”
Still, no one answered.
I debated on pulling the door closed and walking away, but something about how it had been left unlatched bothered me. I’d met Joe a couple of times when we’d discussed Sheamus. He seemed like a genuinely nice black man. His clothing might have been a little outdated, and his shoes were scuffed and worn, but that meant little. You didn’t need to have a ton of money to be a good pet parent.
“Joe?” I pushed the door open a little farther. “Mr. Hitchcock?”
Feeling like an intruder, which I supposed I was, I entered the house. A pair of muddy boots sat by the door on a small dirty mat. I could see into the living room and kitchen from where I stood. A hallway ran between them, down to what I assumed were the bedrooms and bathroom. There was no dining room.
“Joe?” I eased farther into the house. The place was quiet, orderly. There weren’t a lot of furnishings, but there was enough for a single man. There were no photographs on the wall, which I found a little odd, but not entirely uncommon.
A mild worry worked through me. What if he’d had a heart attack or a stroke or something? Joe Hitchcock wasn’t too terribly old—maybe in his fifties or sixties—but that didn’t mean he didn’t suffer from some underlying illness.
Determined to make sure he was all right, and feeling like I was overreacting all the while, I moved to the hallway. There were three doors down there. The one at the end of the hall was open a crack, revealing Joe’s bedroom. To the right was the bathroom. It was small, and contained only the toilet, the sink, and a standup shower. No baths for Joe Hitchcock, apparently.
“Joe? It’s Liz.” I licked my lips, which had gone dry. Something in the air felt off. It wasn’t so much a smell as an ominous feeling. It was as if I knew what I was going to find when I opened the door to my left.
The door, like the front door itself, was hanging slightly ajar. I pushed it open with my foot, hands held at the ready, and glanced inside.
At first, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. Folders and papers lay scattered on the floor. A corkboard hung on the wall immediately inside the room. Photographs were pinned in place, and lines of yarn connected them. A few papers were tacked beneath that. Writing was scrawled across many of them, but I couldn’t read it.
It looked like something you’d see on a cop drama, but Joe Hitchcock wasn’t a cop as far as I knew. I had no idea what any of it meant, or why he would have something like this in his house.
Across the room sat a desk. More papers were scattered atop it. It appeared as if that was where the rest of the pages that were now lying on the floor had come from. A computer monitor was facedown atop the desk, but the computer tower itself was missing.
And behind the desk, with eyes open and staring, lay Joe Hitchcock, in a puddle of his own life’s blood.
2
Flashing lights filled my vision. A pair of police cruisers sat in Joe Hitchcock’s driveway, as did an ambulance. I knew for a fact the paramedics wouldn’t be able to do anything for Joe, but still, I prayed that, somehow, I was wrong, and he was still alive.
My arms were wrapped tight around my chest as I leaned against the front bumper of my van. I’d refused to be looked at by the paramedics when they’d first arrived—I wasn’t the one who needed attention —yet I felt cold, despite the heat of the day.
Sheamus was still in his carrier in the van, but he would be fine since the air was running. Still, I wanted to get him back home as soon as possible. I would have left already if they’d have let me, but since I’d found Joe’s body, I was required to stick around to answer a few questions.
While I waited for someone to come out to talk to me, I mentally played over everything I’d seen, over and over again. Had I seen a car leaving the area? A person running or walking away? Did I hear anything out of place?
I was pretty sure the answer to all those questions was no, but was I positive? It wasn’t like I’d been paying that much attention when I’d arrived. Who expects to walk into a house and find a dead body?
The crunch of gravel brought my head up. A grim-faced Detective Emmitt Cavanaugh approached. His hair was still buzzed short, but I noted he appeared to have lost a little weight since the last time I’d seen him. He still looked like a former football lineman who’d let himself go, but he seemed to be on the right track to a healthier lifestyle.
“Mrs. Denton,” Cavanaugh said as he came to a stop in front of me. “How you holding up?”
“Okay, I guess.” I shivered. “Is he really . . . ?”
Cavanaugh nodded. “Shot once. Death was likely instantaneous, so he didn’t suffer.”
“That’s good.” I took a shuddering breath. “About him not suffering, I mean.”
“Did you know him?”
“Not well,” I said. “We talked a couple of times. Mr. Hitchcock was going to adopt Sheamus.” I jerked a thumb back toward the van. “Sheamus is a cat, if you’re wondering.”
Cavanaugh’s expression turned confused. “Mr. Hitchcock?”
“Yeah, Joe Hitchcock.”
“One second.” Cavanaugh spun and marched back to the house. He was inside for another five minutes before he came back out. He didn’t look happy.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Are you sure the man you saw in there was Joe Hitchcock?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Have you met him before today?”
A creeping dread spread from my toes, upward. “Once or twice when we discussed Sheamus.”
“And you’re sure the man you met those times is the same man you found today?”
I stood straighter. “Detective, what is this about?”
Cavanaugh paced back and forth in front of me a moment. He rubbed at his jaw, brow furrowed, as if he was trying to work through a rather difficult problem.
I waited him out, heart hammering. What had I walked in on?
Cavanaugh stopped pacing and turned to face me. His expression was dead serious. “I’ll need confirmation, but the man whose body you found wasn’t named Joe Hitchcock.”
“He’s not? Then who was he?”
There was a moment when it looked like Cavanaugh might not answer me. His mouth firmed, his eyes went briefly hard, before he softened. “His name was Joseph—Joe—Danvers. He . . . well, from what I know of the situation, he wasn’t someone you would want to hang around, if you get what I mean?”
“You think he was dangerous?”
Cavanaugh nodded. “Walking into that man’s house on your own could have led to you getting hurt.”
Even as he spoke, I was shaking my head. “That can’t be. I looked into him.”
Cavanaugh’s eyebrows rose.
“I vet any prospective pet adopters. There was nothing sinister about Joe Hitchcock when I looked him up. And I sure didn’t find anything about anyone named Joseph Danvers either.”
“I doubt you would.” Cavanaugh took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “Mrs. Denton, did you see or hear anything when you arrived? Anything that stands out in your mind that might not have appeared important at first?”
I swallowed a lump that had grown in my throat. Could I have been wrong about Joe? “I don’t recall seei
ng anything out of place other than those tents.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “I tried calling, but Joe didn’t answer. And then when I put a note on the door, it opened. Did you see the note?” I knew I was starting to panic a little and forced myself to breathe slowly lest I hyperventilate.
“I did.” Cavanaugh reached out a meaty hand and put it on my shoulder. “You aren’t in trouble here, Liz.” I was surprised he used my first name, but it helped calm my nerves somewhat. That had probably been the intent. “We have a pretty good idea why Mr. Danvers was killed.”
“Was it that board in his office?” All those photographs and pages connected by yarn had to mean something. “Was there something on it that caused his death?”
“I can’t comment on that now.”
A well-dressed older man poked his head out of the house and called Cavanaugh’s name. His voice sounded angry. I could barely see him through the tears that were pooling in my eyes, though I got the impression I’d seen him somewhere before.
Detective Cavanaugh glanced back toward the house and motioned to the man that he’d be a moment before he turned back to me. “Go ahead and go home. Get some rest. We’ll do what we have to do here, and then, if I need a more comprehensive statement from you, I’ll stop by.”
“But . . .” I had no idea what I was objecting to. A part of me felt responsible for Joe’s death, despite how insane it sounded. What if I’d shown up a little earlier? What if I’d been more aware of my surroundings coming in? Could I have done something to save him?
“Go.” Cavanaugh urged me around to the side of my van. “You can’t do anything more here. Get the kitty somewhere cool.”
“My van’s cool,” I said, but it wasn’t much of an argument. I climbed into the driver’s seat, barely cognizant I was doing so. Cavanaugh closed the door for me.
I stared dumbly at the steering wheel for a moment, unsure what to do. A man was dead; a man I was supposed to meet. I saw his body. I never wanted to see another dead man again.
The van was already running, yet I tried to turn the key anyway. The engine complained, causing me to jerk back like it had shocked me. I closed my eyes, took a couple deep breaths, and centered myself.
Everything was going to be okay. I was okay.
Cavanaugh watched me back up and pull out of the driveway before he turned and joined the others inside the house.
I’m not sure how long I’d been driving before I realized someone was following me. One minute I was tooling along, mentally churning over anything I might have seen for Detective Cavanaugh, and then, the next moment, my paranoia was through the roof.
The car was a small brown sedan. I vaguely recalled seeing it when I’d turned off Ash Road to go home, but it hadn’t really registered on my conscious mind. I saw it again when I’d turned down a quiet side road that kept me from having to navigate a busier part of Grey Falls.
Now, I was nearing my house and the car was still there. I tried to recall if I’d ever seen it before, either when I was heading to Joe’s house, or sometime earlier, like at the police station, back when I’d first dealt with a murder. Could Cavanaugh have sent someone to watch me—for my protection or otherwise?
Or could it be Joe’s killer?
My mind raced as I tried to decide what to do. If it was a cop and I tried to shake him, he might think I had something to do with the murder, and take me in for questioning. If I pulled into my driveway and it turned out to be the killer—and if he thought I saw something while I was in the house—then he might come after not just me, but my entire family.
Or maybe you’re just being paranoid, Liz.
Paranoid or not, as I approached my house, I made the snap decision to coast on by it. I turned left a block away so I could circle back around and see if I could gauge the driver’s reaction. The car was far enough back that I lost it when I turned onto the next street over, but by the time I took another left to turn back onto my street, I saw it again, drifting slowly behind me.
“Okay, now what?” I muttered. I couldn’t drive around forever, and while I could call the police, how stupid would I feel if it turned out it was an officer simply keeping an eye on me?
With tense shoulders and a lump in my throat, I pulled into my driveway, figuring I’d see what would happen and could improvise from there.
The brown sedan didn’t slow. It drove by my house like it hadn’t been following me for the last twenty minutes. Would a cop do that?
I got out of the van and checked down the street. The car was gone, having turned off somewhere. I waited a couple of minutes to make sure it didn’t double back, before I retrieved Sheamus from the back of my van. I was about to carry him inside when a voice stopped me.
“I swear, I don’t understand why you insist on parking that thing here.”
I groaned and closed my eyes briefly, before turning to face my neighbor. “Joanne,” I said. “We’ve been through this. There’s nowhere else to park it.”
“I know.” She made it sound like I was parking in my own driveway just to spite her. “But you told me you might get a garage, and honestly, I don’t know why you’ve waited so long. Look down the street. No one else has such a”—she frowned as she fluttered a hand toward my van—“such an eyesore parked in front of their home.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Joanne. But it can’t be helped. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get Sheamus inside.”
“Did you tell your husband about the shingles?” she asked, hurrying to catch up with me. “They’re looking worse than ever. If we have a bad storm—and you know how the summer storms can get around here—they might blow off. I don’t want to have to pick them up out of my yard. And imagine what everyone would think?”
“I’ll tell him.” I strode quickly to the front door, desperate to get inside and away from her. After the day I’d just had, I wasn’t so sure I could keep my cool if she kept complaining at me. “I’ve got to go.” But before I could open the door, Joanne moved to stand in the way.
“Really, Liz,” she said, hand on her hip. She was wearing one of her favorite tracksuits, a lime green monstrosity that was probably a size too big for her frame. It was a wonder she wasn’t sweating through the fabric, yet, somehow, she wasn’t. Joanne wasn’t exactly a small woman.
“Yes, Joanne?”
“You need to take me seriously here. Do you know how difficult it is to keep up appearances in this day and age? Sometimes, that’s all we have. You’re bringing down the value of our neighborhood with your neglect. All it will take is a little extra work on your part and we wouldn’t be having these conversations.”
The urge to scream at her was so strong, I opened my mouth to do just that, but I managed to hold it in check. Barely. This was who Joanne was. From what I’ve been told, all the neighbors went through it, yet I was pretty sure I suffered her the most.
“I do take you seriously,” I said. “But sometimes, things can’t be helped. Manny and I work hard and we do whatever we can to make our home a pleasant place, just as everyone does. Now, please, Sheamus is getting hot. I need to get him inside.”
Joanne huffed, but thankfully stepped aside.
I opened the door just enough to slide both me and the carrier in. I made sure to close the door before Joanne could stick her nose in with us.
“That looked fun,” Manny said from his seat at the table. I’m not sure he’d moved since I’d left. “If I’d seen her coming, I would have warned you.” He paused and frowned. “Is Sheamus in there?”
“He is.” I set the carrier down and opened the gate. The Maine Coon bolted from it with a sneeze. A few seconds later, I could hear him storming around the house, a pair of wheels whirring behind him.
“What happened?” Manny asked. “Didn’t Mr. Hitchcock want him?”
“I don’t know.” I made my way to the table and sat heavily down into one of the chairs. “He wasn’t able to tell me.”
“Liz?” Manny stood and then eased down onto the
chair closest to me. “Did something happen?”
I nodded, not quite sure I could tell him. I mean it was bad enough when Ben got into trouble for a murder he didn’t commit. I’d been a wreck, while Manny had tucked his feelings away and tried to keep a strong face.
But we didn’t know Joe Hitchcock. Heck, I wasn’t even sure that was his real name anymore. How could I have been so wrong about him? The man I’d vetted had seemed kind, friendly, yet Cavanaugh had implied Joe was a dangerous criminal. How could I have missed that?
Manny rested a hand on my arm, causing me to start. I could feel tears threatening, but I refused to let them fall. I knew I was in some sort of shock, knew that my emotional reaction had more to do with finding a dead body than who that body belonged to. I mean, what did I really know about the man?
Apparently, nothing.
“Tell me.”
I took a deep breath, held it until I felt close to bursting, and then, I did.
It didn’t take long because there wasn’t much to tell. By the time I was done, Manny had scooted his chair up next to me and had his arm around me. When I fell silent, he kissed the top of my head and pulled me close.
“Are you sure the car was following you?” he asked.
“I think so.” I squeezed my eyes closed. “I don’t know. It felt like it was. I mean, it was behind me all the way from Joe’s, and it followed me around the block.”
Manny glanced toward the door. “You should talk to the detective about it,” he said. “Just in case.”
“I will.” My voice cracked. “I keep thinking I could have done something, Manny.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself,” he said. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Didn’t I? I should have known about him before I ever agreed to take Sheamus to him. What if he planned on hurting him? Or what if he has bodies buried in his yard? How could I have missed such a thing?”
“You can’t be sure Detective Cavanaugh is right about him. Maybe it’s one of those mistaken identity situations that’ll get worked out in the end.”
Dial 'M' for Maine Coon Page 2
