| |
FRUSTRATED AT WHAT Mr. Hathaway had told her, Morgan dropped her phone into her purse. Officer Patton moved toward her. “Did you find something?” she asked.
“No. One of the detectives said he’d dig deeper. He wants me to go to the house and look around.”
“I’ll meet you there,” she said.
Now that the initial shock had worn off, she needed to take better stock. Mr. Hathaway had reiterated the terms of the trust and answered questions she’d been too stupid to ask before.
At the house, Morgan parked in the driveway. The misty drizzle had turned into genuine rain. Was this normal for April? Another adjustment she’d have to make.
She waited until Officer Patton pulled up behind her before making a dash for the porch. He was several paces behind, cradling a camera to his chest and carrying a small case in his other hand. She spared a moment to take a closer look.
At the police station, she’d paid little attention to his appearance other than he filled out his uniform shirt nicely and had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes that seemed to say he cared about getting answers for her. Now, he wore a form-hiding black windbreaker and a ball cap, both displaying the words ‘Pine Hills Police.’ Judging his height against her own five-six, she estimated he was a shade under six feet.
What was she doing? Memorizing him in case she had to pick him out of a lineup? No, he was a man, she was a woman. Assessment of others was hardwired.
She unlocked the door, and when he didn’t interfere, she pushed it open. “It’s upstairs,” she said. “First bedroom on the right. Is it all right if I finish my tour while you do your thing? I need to take stock of what’s still in the house and the condition it’s in.”
Mr. Hathaway had said she had to provide detailed documentation if she wanted to argue against having to live in the house in its current state per the terms of Uncle Bob’s trust.
Would the officer think she was afraid to look at the bedroom wall? What difference did it make if he did? Just because he was a good-looking man in uniform didn’t mean she had to impress him.
“As long as you’re careful and let me know if you see anything out of place,” he said.
She snorted. “From what I’ve seen so far, anything in place would be the surprise. My uncle’s lawyer didn’t keep tabs on what my uncle did. He paid the taxes, arranged for yard maintenance, nothing more. I would think that if somebody had been stealing the house’s furnishings, you guys would have heard about it. But you said you didn’t find any crime reports, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I mean no. No crime reports.”
“So, he must have gotten rid of everything before he went into the nursing home. I’m still coming to terms with inheriting this—” she swept her arms in a wide arc— “house from a man I never met. And wondering if I made a huge mistake moving here. Did you know him at all?”
Officer Patton shook his head. “The house had been vacant a long time when I came to Pine Hills a year ago.” He chinned toward the stairs. “I ought to get moving. The detective sent me to confirm the graffiti is just paint.”
Morgan didn’t ask what else he thought it might be. Horror movie blood? Maybe she would watch him work after all. She moved for the stairs.
In the offending bedroom, Morgan waited in the doorway. After brushing water droplets from his short-cropped hair—medium brown, she noted, again wondering why it mattered—Officer Patton turned his ball cap backward. He proceeded to snap pictures of the room from all angles, paying closer attention to the graffiti wall. Then, he shoved his hands into a pair of blue gloves and opened his kit. With what looked like a small scalpel, he scraped bits of the lettering into a vial of liquid, sealed it, and gave it a vigorous shake. He stepped closer, held it so she could see the flakes swirling in the vial.
“Nothing dissolved,” he said. “My guess is it’s paint.”
“You were testing for blood, weren’t you?” She wasn’t sure whether she should be relieved it wasn’t blood or creeped out that it could have been.
“Per orders from the detective.”
“Is it what you thought it would be?” she asked.
“Frankly, yes. Detective Detweiler’s first guess was pranksters, but he told me we have to cover our asses.”
Morgan eyed his kit. “No fancy CSI stuff?”
“Not without evidence of a crime. If the test had come back positive, our lab tech would follow up. If things get complicated, we work with the county.”
“Do you need to do anything else here?” she asked.
“No, but I might as well check out the rest of the place with you.”
Morgan waited while he repacked his kit. Not because she was afraid to look alone, she told herself. Or because she liked the idea of someone else around. It was merely polite.
She went into the bathroom first. Acceptable plumbing, she’d told Mr. Hathaway, was a priority. The room had a shower/tub combo, a Formica-topped vanity with a single sink. She used her phone to record the cracked tiles, the rust stains, and the missing towel bar.
“Until the water’s turned on, there’s no way to know if everything works,” she said.
Officer Patton opened the cabinet under the sink. He unhooked a flashlight from his utility belt and shone it around.
“Pipes are intact,” he said. “No sign of drips.”
“You know plumbing?” she asked.
He gave a wry grin “My dad’s a general contractor. He wasn’t thrilled when I didn’t want to stick around and do the and Son thing with the business, but after a few years of working with him, being a cop called me louder than busted toilets.”
“Was he mad when you left?”
The officer straightened and turned off his flashlight. “Nah, he understood. He still gives me grief about how ‘Patton and Nephew’ doesn’t work as a business name, even though my cousin is ten times better at the job than I’d ever be.”
His smile said he and his father had a good relationship.
Morgan shook off the pangs of longing that welled inside her, that if her parents hadn’t died, they would’ve let her become her own person whether or not it fit their expectations.
She blew out a sigh and stepped into the hall. “I’m going to check the rest of this floor.”
The other two bedrooms on the floor were as empty as the first one, but no more nasty writing.
“Attic and basement,” she said. “Attic first.” No need to mention what the thought of going into a dark, damp basement did to her insides. Morgan paused at the hallway door, open enough to reveal a staircase leading upward. She sought the flashlight app on her phone.
“The lawyer said he couldn’t get the utilities people out today,” she grumbled as she climbed.
“I can go first,” Officer Patton said. “I have a better light.”
“I’m fine. Unless there are mummified bodies up here, in which case I’ll defer to you.”
“The climate here’s a bit damp for mummification.” His tone conveyed a hint of teasing.
An undisturbed layer of dust covered the attic floor. A lone wooden trunk, also covered in dust, sat in the middle of the otherwise empty room.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a long time,” Officer Patton said.
“I still need to look inside.” Morgan stepped carefully across the room. She rounded the trunk to lift the lid and encountered a padlock. A secured padlock.
She turned to the officer. “I don’t suppose you learned to pick locks somewhere between contractor and cop skills.”
“Sorry, no. In my current line of work, bolt cutters are the tool of choice.”
“Then it’s down to the basement,” she said. “This time, you can go first.”
~~~~~
COLE SENSED A HEIGHTENED level of apprehension from Morgan as they descended the steps to the basement. She puffed out rapid breaths and seemed to be testing each step before moving onward. If she was on her own, he could understand her caution, but if there were issues with the stairs, he’d be the one to tumble. The light from her phone bounced back and forth, as if she couldn’t steady her hands. Gave her something to do, he surmised, since her phone’s light was swallowed in the brighter beam of his flashlight.
“You all right?” he asked. “I’ve got this.”
“No, I’ll do it. I need to send the pictures to the lawyer.”
A pronounced layer of apprehension filled her voice.
As they approached the final step, he held her back. “Let me have a quick look. Make sure there’s nothing to trip over.”
“Like pods?” she asked, her accompanying laugh shaky.
“Now that would be a surprise,” he said.
“You’re thinking of bodies, though, right? If there were any, this is where they’d have to be.”
He didn’t point out the two acres of land surrounding the house. Wonderful. Now she had him thinking of bodies.
The sound of Morgan’s breathing seemed to pulsate through the basement. Cole stifled a sneeze at the smell of dirt and mold. But not death. He played his light across the space. Lots to trip over. Boxes. Stacks of boxes. A maze of boxes. Big ones, little ones, and all sizes in between. None big enough to hide a body. At least not an intact one.
“No bodies. No pods,” he said. “Watch your step. I’ll check the furnace and water heater.” If the house had been vacated over five years ago, chances were both would need to be replaced.
Navigating the narrow path between the foot of the stairs and the low wooden platform holding the appliances, he glanced back at Morgan, who’d remained on the stairs, one hand clutching the rail.
The water heater seemed in reasonable shape. No rust on the unit, no stains on the platform indicating leaks.
“Are they okay?” Megan’s tremulous voice wafted across the room.
Cole did a quick assessment of the furnace. “Odds are these weren’t new when your uncle left. I’m guessing they’ll work for a while, but you should plan on replacing them. Not sure they’re up to current code. You’ll definitely need to have someone come out and assess them. There’s no washer or dryer, but the hookups are here.”
“I wonder if Uncle Bob even had them, or if a renter took them. Either way, by now I’d want new.”
Her phone’s light bounced around the room, moving from box to box. “What do you think is in all of these?”
“Not a clue.” He pointed at a stack with his light. “Maybe it’s everything that was in the house before your uncle moved. Minus the furniture.”
“Like books, pots and pans, clothes?”
He turned and shrugged. “Won’t know until you open them.”
She’d stepped onto the dirt floor. With an explosive huffed out breath, she strode to his side and took pictures of the furnace and water heater. With another audible exhale, she moved toward the boxes, snapping pictures as she walked.
Were her hands trembling? Cole ambled ahead of her, using his light to blaze a trail through the maze.
Morgan appeared to gather strength as she worked—maybe seeing everything through the camera’s screen helped distance her from whatever she was afraid of.
“Do you think I should count them?” she asked.
Cole paused. “Are you supposed to be taking an accurate inventory?”
“The lawyer just said document. If he wanted something accurate, he’d have sent his own people, don’t you think?”
“Makes sense.”
“I think I’ve seen enough,” Morgan said. “The house is empty, the basement is full of boxes, and there’s a nasty threat painted on a bedroom wall. I need a place to stay. I’m going to try to convince the lawyer this place is uninhabitable at the moment, and see if being in Pine Hills and working on the house will meet the terms of the trust without having to live in the house.”
“Makes sense,” he said again.
Morgan set a brisk pace for the stairs and trotted up to the kitchen. Cole followed, glad to hear her voice had lost its quaver.
“Can you recommend a motel in Pine Hills?” she asked.
“There’s one motel. The Castle Inn. Don’t let the name fool you. It’s named after the original owner, not the architecture. I stayed there a few nights when I first got here.”
Morgan slipped her phone into her purse. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic. What about a rooming house, or short-term rentals, or an Airbnb?”
“Not much tourism in Pine Hills. Salem’s a better bet, if you want choices.”
“I’d rather be closer.” She yanked on a curl. “I admit I didn’t do my homework, but I honestly thought this house would be livable.”
“In that case, I’d say book a couple of nights at the Castle, then once you’ve got a better handle on your situation, you can see if there’s another place that suits your needs.” Cole checked the time. “I have to get to the station. Are you going to be all right?”
“Of course,” she said.
She didn’t sound all right. The repeated yanks of that curl added credence to his assumption.
“I get off at four,” he said. “There’s a café on the main drag. Sadie’s, if you’d like to meet for coffee. Kind of a welcome to Pine Hills. There’s The Wagon Wheel if you want something stronger.”
“Maybe. I really need to line up my ducks first.”
“Tell you what. I’ll be at the Wagon Wheel at four-thirty. If you show up, fine, if not, that’s fine, too.”
The rain had stopped. Outside, she got halfway to her car, paused, turned, and gazed at the house. Her shoulders slumped, and Cole wished he could summon a genie to transform the house into the home Morgan must have expected.
He got into his cruiser and let Dispatch know he was on his way to the station. When he arrived, he found a note from Randy Detweiler on his desk.
Found something. Come see me.