place in heavy shadows. The rest of the house was comprised of a kitchen, bathroom and three bedrooms, one of which had been turned into a den, complete with wood paneling.
She searched the den first. She doubted sheâd missed anything but she was here, might as well take a second look. Each drawer, shelf and niche. Nothing but magazines, papers and pens.
Before moving on to the bathroom and bedrooms, she took a moment to riffle through the papers. She didnât really expect to find anything. The likelihood of her recognizing something that shouldnât be there was pretty low. Again, what the hell? Might as well check it out since she was here.
Utility receipts. Rent receipts. Not much else to speak of outside the usual credit card invitations.
The bathroom offered no better. Mouthwash,toothpaste, deodorant. No prescription medications, not even a bottle of aspirin.
The idea of a man whoâd blown off the better portion of his head not having a bottle of aspirin in the house gave her pause. Everyone got headaches. She took a mental step back and looked at the room again.
This time she nailed what felt wrong.
The soap rest in the shower-tub combination was clean. No soap residue, nothing. She dragged the shower curtain back to be sure she hadnât missed a bottle of liquid body wash. Not even a ring around the tub. No soap scum whatsoever.
Anticipation buzzing, she checked under the sink next. Clean as a whistle.
The narrow linen closet next to the vanity was stocked with half a dozen or so towels and an equal number of washcloths. All in white. She picked them up one at a time and sniffed, felt the texture of the terry cloth. Unwashed. Unused.
Her pulse raced as she moved to the bedrooms. Clothes hung in the closet. All new. No price tags, but she could tell. The fabrics had never been worn much less laundered.
The dresser drawers rendered the same. Nice, neatly stored, new underclothes, including socks. She went tothe kitchen next. The cabinets were well stocked with a variety of canned goods, dishes and cookware. All spotless and mirror shiny. No way anyone had prepared or consumed a meal using any of it.
The fridge was stocked, as well. None of the goods inside had been opened. Not the milk, not the cheese and bologna. Not a single item.
All brand-new.
Next to the rear entrance was a set of bifold louvered doors that concealed the place where a washer and dryer would be. Dust was the only thing she discovered there. No detergent. No cleaning supplies for taking care of the rest of the house.
The second bedroom was devoid of signs of occupancy as the laundry closet had been.
According to the landlord Charlie Crane had rented this place a year ago. Why hadnât he lived here? And why the fresh foods in the fridge?
That creepy sensation danced up her spine again. She shook it off and headed back to the den, the only place where sheâd found anything that wasnât practically sterile.
She got out all the receipts and studied them. They told her nothing. None had Craneâs signature. The address labels on the magazines sported his nameand address but not one appeared to have been perused. No wrinkled or dog-eared pages.
This time she took the drawers out of the desk and checked the bottoms the way sheâd seen it done in the movies. Unlike the protagonists on the big screen, she came up empty-handed.
She sat back on her haunches, surrounded by the drawers sheâd dragged from the desk. What was the deal with this guy? This was weird. Just like the damned contact lens heâd been wearing.
Nellyâs voice shattered the silence and her heart surged into her throat.
âShit.â She caught her breath and reached into her pants pocket for her phone. Damn thing about gave her a heart attack.
âIâve got that address for you.â
Shannon. Alex had almost forgotten. She drew in a deep, calming breath. âGreat.â
The address wasnât in the swanky
She searched the den first. She doubted sheâd missed anything but she was here, might as well take a second look. Each drawer, shelf and niche. Nothing but magazines, papers and pens.
Before moving on to the bathroom and bedrooms, she took a moment to riffle through the papers. She didnât really expect to find anything. The likelihood of her recognizing something that shouldnât be there was pretty low. Again, what the hell? Might as well check it out since she was here.
Utility receipts. Rent receipts. Not much else to speak of outside the usual credit card invitations.
The bathroom offered no better. Mouthwash,toothpaste, deodorant. No prescription medications, not even a bottle of aspirin.
The idea of a man whoâd blown off the better portion of his head not having a bottle of aspirin in the house gave her pause. Everyone got headaches. She took a mental step back and looked at the room again.
This time she nailed what felt wrong.
The soap rest in the shower-tub combination was clean. No soap residue, nothing. She dragged the shower curtain back to be sure she hadnât missed a bottle of liquid body wash. Not even a ring around the tub. No soap scum whatsoever.
Anticipation buzzing, she checked under the sink next. Clean as a whistle.
The narrow linen closet next to the vanity was stocked with half a dozen or so towels and an equal number of washcloths. All in white. She picked them up one at a time and sniffed, felt the texture of the terry cloth. Unwashed. Unused.
Her pulse raced as she moved to the bedrooms. Clothes hung in the closet. All new. No price tags, but she could tell. The fabrics had never been worn much less laundered.
The dresser drawers rendered the same. Nice, neatly stored, new underclothes, including socks. She went tothe kitchen next. The cabinets were well stocked with a variety of canned goods, dishes and cookware. All spotless and mirror shiny. No way anyone had prepared or consumed a meal using any of it.
The fridge was stocked, as well. None of the goods inside had been opened. Not the milk, not the cheese and bologna. Not a single item.
All brand-new.
Next to the rear entrance was a set of bifold louvered doors that concealed the place where a washer and dryer would be. Dust was the only thing she discovered there. No detergent. No cleaning supplies for taking care of the rest of the house.
The second bedroom was devoid of signs of occupancy as the laundry closet had been.
According to the landlord Charlie Crane had rented this place a year ago. Why hadnât he lived here? And why the fresh foods in the fridge?
That creepy sensation danced up her spine again. She shook it off and headed back to the den, the only place where sheâd found anything that wasnât practically sterile.
She got out all the receipts and studied them. They told her nothing. None had Craneâs signature. The address labels on the magazines sported his nameand address but not one appeared to have been perused. No wrinkled or dog-eared pages.
This time she took the drawers out of the desk and checked the bottoms the way sheâd seen it done in the movies. Unlike the protagonists on the big screen, she came up empty-handed.
She sat back on her haunches, surrounded by the drawers sheâd dragged from the desk. What was the deal with this guy? This was weird. Just like the damned contact lens heâd been wearing.
Nellyâs voice shattered the silence and her heart surged into her throat.
âShit.â She caught her breath and reached into her pants pocket for her phone. Damn thing about gave her a heart attack.
âIâve got that address for you.â
Shannon. Alex had almost forgotten. She drew in a deep, calming breath. âGreat.â
The address wasnât in the swanky
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