“Morning, Skip,” she said.
“Mornin’, Mel,” he replied. “Thought Johnson was supposed to relieve you around seven?”
“Clovis radioed. His kid’s sick and he’s running late,” she replied.
“Ahh, okay,” he grunted. “Didn’t know. Haven’t been by the office yet this morning. So, all quiet I guess?”
“Just like always,” Mel replied then nodded toward the yard where Constance was standing. “That the Fed? Clovis said they sent another new one this time.”
He rested an arm on top of the car and leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Yeah. Gotta do the annual tour.”
“Think she’ll figure it out?”
“Guess we’ll see. Not holdin’ my breath, but I gotta say, she’s different from the others. So… Maybe…”
“Different how?”
He shrugged with his eyebrows and continued to keep his voice low. “Just somethin’ about her seems a little driven.”
Mel glanced toward Constance, who was standing in the center of the yard with her back to them as she visually inspected the exterior of the house. Turning back to Skip she said, “So… Have you told her anything?”
Carmichael gave his head a small shake. “Just the official spiel, like always.”
“But if she’s really different-” Mel began.
He cut her off. “Different doesn’t mean she’ll believe… Nope… Better to just let things take their course…”
The deputy nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Believe me, I know how you feel, Mel,” Skip offered in a fatherly tone. “It sure wouldn’t hurt my feelings to get an answer to all this either… Just don’t wanna get too hopeful, you know?”
“Yeah, Skip. I know.”
He shrugged, then straightened his posture and hitched up his belt. After repositioning the flashlight he was carrying tucked under his armpit, he nodded toward the house. When he spoke, he allowed his voice to return to a normal volume. “I expect we’re gonna be here for a bit. Why don’t you go grab some breakfast, and maybe Johnson’ll be in by the time we’re done, and that way you can go home.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mel replied, reaching for the steering column and cranking the engine on the patrol car. “Thanks, Skip. I’ll swing back by in a bit, unless I hear from you or Clovis.”
“Sounds good.”
The sheriff took a step back and waited for the car to drive off before meandering over to join Constance on the overgrown concrete walkway somewhere near the center of the yard.
“Everything okay?” she asked as he drew up alongside her.
“Yeah, nothing earth shattering,” he grunted as they began walking toward the house. “Got a deputy with a sick kid. Might mean rearranging some schedules.”
She nodded. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to the deputy. I’m just not feeling overly social this morning.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he replied, motioning for her to go ahead up the stairs. “All she’s interested in right now is hitting the sack.”
“I can imagine.”
“I see you took my advice,” Skip said, nodding toward the porch in front of Constance as he stepped up and dug a hand into his coat pocket.
“What? Oh…” Constance replied, glancing down at the running shoes that were laced onto her feet. Looking back up, she cocked her head to the side. “No offense, Skip, but you seem to have an odd preoccupation with my footwear.”
“I just notice things is all,” he told her with a shrug. He pulled out a key ring, then clucking his tongue, he waved it toward her like a pointer. “For instance, the fact that you also have a goose egg on the back of your head, probably from hitting it against the desk in your room last night when you were plugging in your laptop computer to the Internet. Plus you’re expecting a call from someone and it’s starting to bother you that he hasn’t called yet.”
She cocked an eyebrow and stared at him.
He answered the unspoken question, continuing to gesture with the keys. “You keep reaching up to touch a spot on the back of your head and then you wince. You probably don’t even realize you’re doing it. You’re a federal cop on a case, so I’m just about positive you’re dragging a laptop computer around. Greenleaf Motel doesn’t do Wi-Fi because Artie’s too cheap to buy the equipment, and the jack for the wired connection is under the desks in the rooms. Hell, the only reason he has wired connections is because his son’s an electronics guy and he did it for free with some surplus from other jobs. So if I had to guess I’d say you came up too soon and bang, there you go. Goose egg.”
He pointed toward her right coat pocket and continued. “As far as the call goes, you checked your cell phone four times on the way over here and at least twice while I was talking to Deputy Slozar. Either you have a fascination with clocks, or your waiting for a call, or maybe a text.”
“Okay. So how do you know it’s a he I’m waiting for?”
“Educated guess. I’ve told you, this isn’t my first rodeo. Every one of your predecessors called their predecessor about this case. And every one of ‘em was all antsy waitin’ for a call back. Last agent on this was Drew, and he’s a ‘he,’ best I could figure. My guess is that’s who you’re waitin’ on to call. Either that or a boyfriend. Maybe husband, but I doubt it because you don’t have a ring or show any signs of having worn one. Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe you go the other way or somethin’, which is none of my business.”
“If I did, I have a feeling you probably would have already figured it out,” Constance said.
“Yeah, probably,” he returned.
She sighed. “Uncanny. That’s all I have to say.”
“Nope. I just pay attention is all.”
“Okay. Then I guess it would be uncanny if you could tell me what I ate for dinner last night,” she joked.
“Cobb salad with ranch dressing. In your room at the motel.”
She shot him an alarmed, wide-eyed stare and took a visible step back, tensing her posture.
“Keep it holstered, Constance,” the sheriff half snorted. “I’m not spying on you. Stella told me your to-go order this morning when I stopped in to get the thermos filled.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because you’re a stranger in town and she’s a damn gossip that won’t shut up to save her life, that’s why,” he explained.
“Ahh,” she nodded. “After her call to the retirement home yesterday I should have guessed that.”
“Yeah, you should’ve, but I wasn’t going to say it.”
She ignored the gibe. “Well, at least now I know you aren’t just a dirty old man with a shoe fetish.”
“Me, no, but since you brought it up, Ed Ruble over at the hardware store on Main? Now he has himself a pretty serious thing for ladies’ shoes.”
Constance shook her head and raised an eyebrow. “Stella again?”
“Nope. Figured that one out on my own. Easy enough to do.”
“I’m not sure I even want to know how.”
“Like I said, I notice things. It’s my job to.”
“It’s still uncanny.”
“Whatever. Anyhow, as far as Ed goes, honestly he’s harmless. But while you’re in town you might want to avoid him if that sorta thing makes you uncomfortable.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll have any need for a trip to the hardware store, but it’s okay. I’ve got some experience with men who have shoe fetishes, so nothing to worry about.”
“Well I guess we’re even then.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m not sure I want to know about how you’ve got experience with that,” he replied.
Without further comment, Carmichael turned and shoved a key into the lock. After giving it a twist, he depressed the latch beneath the deadbolt and pushed the now unsecured door inward. Stepping back, he gestured toward the opening. “Ladies first.”
Constance looked past him and tra
ined her eyes on the gaping maw that was pretending to be a doorway. The bizarre conversation had momentarily taken her mind off the chill in her spine, but the sensation had never actually left. Now her thoughts returned to it, and she could feel the gooseflesh rippling at the base of her neck. Ben had told her to trust her gut, but she wasn’t so sure this was her gut talking. Of course, she also couldn’t say that it wasn’t. All she knew for certain was that she was operating on even less sleep now than she had been before, so exhaustion could still be playing a role.
At least this time she wasn’t letting it spook her-well, not completely, anyway.
She nodded then stepped across the threshold and into the dark front room. Outside it was overcast, just as it had been the day before, but at least the sun was climbing behind the clouds instead of falling below the horizon. Even so, only a dim, gray light spilled in, and it brought an eerie illumination to the interior.
Sheriff Carmichael followed her through and left the door hanging wide open so that they could see. He pulled the five-cell flashlight from beneath his armpit and switched it on. The yellow-white beam formed a bright pool on the floor, casting an ever-softening glow out from the center as he twisted the lens to adjust it wider.
“A few years back there was talk of tearin’ this old place down,” he offered. “Sorta been wishin’ they had ever since.”
“I assume it has been vacant for a good while?” Constance asked, glancing around at the empty walls and scuffed hardwood floor.
“Coming up on about seven years, give or take,” he replied. “Like I said, it has been off and on. It was empty back in seventy-five, as you already know, and what happened didn’t exactly help its value. Someone did finally buy it around seventy-seven for next to nothin’, or so I heard. I was in KC by then. They fixed it up a bit.” He shone the light along the floor, then through an arched doorway and toward the back of the house. “Re-did the kitchen, tore off the old back porch. Normal stuff.” He played the beam around a bit so she could get the lay of the floor plan. “Those folks lived here awhile, then moved. Don’t know why. After that it changed hands a couple more times. Last owner was actually living here when the first body showed up seven years ago. Well, I guess in a couple of days it’ll be eight years…”
She turned toward the sheriff. “That wasn’t in the file. I assume that owner was investigated?”
“Much as need be,” he replied. “Ida Smith. She was eighty-nine, and when she found the…well…what she found… Anyway, it didn’t do her heart much good, as you can imagine. She never was the same after that. Kinda went downhill fast, then she passed away about eight months later. Place has been empty ever since.”
“Well, that definitely rules her out.”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Who owns it now?”
“Hulis, pretty much. Ida didn’t have any family left to speak of. Town took it over. Tried to sell it, but after the second body showed up, there wasn’t much interest, as you can guess. So, they just boarded it up.”
“Why haven’t they just torn it down?”
He snorted. “Beats the hell outta me. But I’ve got nothin’ to say about it. That’s all the town council.”
“Well, it actually looks like it’s in decent shape for sitting vacant as long as it has,” Constance observed.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he sighed. “Could use some work, but it’s still standin’. Sometimes when I drive by here it seems like the place is just mocking all of us. I know that sounds kinda crazy. It’s just a damned old house.”
“With a seriously damned history,” she offered.
“Yeah…it’s got one of those all right. But it’s still an inanimate object.”
“What happened to it being haunted?” Constance asked. “I thought I was the skeptic in this crowd?”
“You mean the skeptic who’s ‘seen stranger things’?” he quipped, tossing her comment from the night before back at her.
“Seeing isn’t necessarily believing,” she replied. “Not always, anyway.”
He fell silent for a moment, then huffed, “Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, what I said yesterday about the house being haunted… That was just talk. I don’t really buy into any of that supernatural crap.”
Constance thought back to some of the cases she’d worked in the past. She wasn’t going to admit it-especially now-but her skepticism was as much a hopeful optimism as anything else. Like he had just reminded her, she’d seen some pretty strange things, and there were a few she still had to take purely on faith.
Without realizing it, she muttered quietly to herself, “I guess you just never know…”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” she answered, shaking her head. “Just thinking out loud.”
“Yeah. I’ve got a daughter does that. Makes me nuts.”
Constance nudged the conversation back to the particulars of the case. “Is there a back entrance to the house?”
“Yeah, right off the kitchen. Locked up tight. Never been any sign of forced entry.”
“Maybe the killer somehow has a key?”
“Locks have been changed four times. Three of ‘em I did myself. Finally just gave up. So, unless the killer is me…”
“Are you?” she asked.
He snorted. “Do you think I’d tell you if I was?”
“With you, Skip, I’m not so sure…” Constance wasn’t usually one for gallows humor, but Ben had rubbed off on her through the years, and sometimes it would leak out unexpectedly.
Skip turned and played the flashlight up just far enough to illuminate the smirk on her face. He snorted again. “I see that coffee is starting to kick in.”
“Sorry,” she apologized.
“Don’t be. It comes with the job.”
She returned to the subject at hand. “Any other ingress or egress?”
“Windows would be about it, but they’ve never been disturbed that we can tell,” he told her.
“The killer has to get in and out somehow.”
“Yeah, can’t argue there,” he grunted, playing the flashlight around in the darkness. A moment later he quipped, “When you figure it out, tell me, okay? Because this’n has me stumped.”
“With you that’s hard to imagine.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. There was no hubris in his voice, just sincere confusion at why he didn’t see the answer to this riddle the same way he saw everything else.
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” she replied.
“Yeah, well no offense, but you’re the fifth Fed to tell me that.”
“So…” Constance said, allowing the flat commentary to go without rebuttal. “As I understand it, the bodies are always found in the basement, correct?”
“Yeah, what’s left of them anyway,” Sheriff Carmichael replied, panning the flashlight to the right side of the archway. “Stairs are just over there.”
CHAPTER 15
Hollow echoes came a half-beat behind each footstep that fell upon the wooden plank treads of the basement staircase. The dull sounds resonated from the concrete walls below, each lonely thud fading away to make room for the next. The rhythmic noise was an audible indicator of the emptiness contained within the subterranean room.
Armed with a flashlight, Sheriff Carmichael had led the way for a change, with Special Agent Mandalay close behind. A small amount of the dim light from the still open front door was filtering into the stairwell behind her. The muted illumination wasn’t at all obvious while she kept her gaze forward as they descended. In fact, she didn’t even notice it until a gust of wind caught the loose screen door outside and knocked it hard against the side of the house, prompting her to stop midway down the steep staircase and glance back up over her shoulder. The basement doorway above her was filled with dull light, appearing as a dim, rectangular panel of gray floating in a black void. When she exhaled, the frosty cloud of her breath bloomed in its faint glow, briefly hovering before her like a translucent apparition, on
ly to disappear in less than a blink.
With a quick shudder, she turned and continued downward, following the bobbing pool of brightness from the flashlight in Sheriff Carmichael’s hand. Her running shoes thumped a significantly lighter beat against the stairs than his harder-soled clomps. Constance heard him let out a heavy grunt, which was then followed by the sound of his shoes against concrete, as he arrived at the bottom and stepped down to the floor below.
“Watch yourself,” he told her, moving off to the side, but keeping the flashlight aimed at the last stair for her. “That one’s a bit to the high side.”
She heeded his warning and held onto the loose handrail as she stepped down from the last tread. He hadn’t been exaggerating. If anything, he’d been conservative in his assessment. The final step was akin to taking two at once. She felt his hand on her upper arm as she pitched forward, her foot searching for the floor. She appreciated the help.
“Thanks,” she said.
“It can be an unwelcome surprise if you don’t know it’s there,” he replied.
“Spoken from experience?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Once he was certain she was on even footing, Skip swung the flashlight around the large, squarish room to get his bearings.
By now, Constance’s eyes had mostly adjusted to the muted darkness. She could make out the coarse shapes of what little remained in the abandoned basement.
As she glanced around, she could see that there were small, glass block windows at the top edges of the walls, spaced at roughly even intervals. A small amount of the gray daylight was leaking through them, but not as much as one would expect. She had noticed the rusted upper lips of the galvanized window-wells protruding just above the ground when they first approached the house, but she had not looked down into them. Now that they were inside she could see that they must be filled with leaves and other debris. A by-product of Mother Nature combined with the past seven years of cyclical neglect visited upon the property.
In the bleak midwinter asacm-1 Page 14
