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  “Did you know the deceased?” he asked, waving the other two cops into the house.

  “Not really, but I’ve heard of him. His name tag says Justin Smith, which was the guy in charge of this house’s repossession case at the bank.” I licked my lips, ragged and sharp with chappedness.

  Officer McCormick looked up from the pad he had started to take notes on. “This is a repossession?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Who’s the owner?”

  Stella cleared her throat. “I will have to check the paperwork but the bank said he is missing. No one has heard or seen from him in several months.”

  “Okay, well, go back to your car and wait for a few minutes. Let us check things out. We might have more questions.”

  Stella nodded. I tried hard not to roll my eyes, and we headed back to her car.

  “So much for a relaxing breakfast and an easy job,” Stella mumbled.

  I laughed. “Sometimes it feels like trouble follows me around.”

  “Great. Me as well. I guess together we are double trouble. I can only imagine what we’re in for now.”

  I rolled down the window, feeling the breeze, and hoped it would help clear my head.

  Stella was back on the phone. “Hi. Can I please speak with Jonathan Twist? It’s about our meeting this morning. This is Stella O’Neil.” She examined her nails. After a moment, she started again, “Yes, this is Stella O’Neil, the realtor. We met earlier?”

  I couldn’t hear the response but I assumed he acknowledged the meeting, because Stella continued. “I’m not really sure how to put this, and I can imagine it’s a shock, but I believe we may have found Justin Smith.”

  There was a moment of silence while he responded. I bit my lip, wondering how she was going to say it.

  “Brace yourself. When we came back to the house to clean, we found a dead body in the closet. He wore a badge with the name of Justin Smith. The police are here now.” Stella shot anxious eyes at me. “I’m sorry for your loss, if he was a friend or anything….”

  This time I heard him, an abrupt, “No.”

  “Okay, well I’ll let you know if I hear anything more. And if you do, please update me as well.” It seemed he agreed to do that because they hung up.

  “That seemed awkward,” I said.

  Two lines appeared between her eyebrows. She nodded as she dialed again. This time she put it on speaker.

  “Yellow!”

  “Uncle Chris, hi...um, we ran into an issue with the house here.”

  “Okay, what’s wrong?” His voice dropped several octaves. “Broken windows? Owner stole the oven?"

  “Worse. Way worse. You know the guy you told us about, Justin Smith?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I think we found him dead in the master bedroom closet.” Stella paused, awaiting his response.

  “What?” Uncle Chris roared.

  “I’m sorry, it’s true.”

  We could hear him take a few deep breaths. Finally, he said, “Geez, Stella. Wow. Okay, do you need me to come down there?”

  “No, the police are here right now. I just… this may make things a little tougher with the sale. I don’t know what it means for us.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “The owner is missing and the guy who was in charge of the sale of his house is dead. So, now what?”

  “Listen, don’t you worry. I’ll give the bank a call and we’ll figure this out. Was the house broken into?”

  “Not that I could see.”

  “Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Someone could have followed the banker into the house, intending to rob him. Let’s just wait and see what the cops say and then we can go from there.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “Thanks. And, Stella? Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  One of the officers stepped out of the house with a phone to his ear. I saw an ambulance turning the corner in the direction he was looking.

  “A little late, don’t you think?” I couldn’t help myself.

  Stella grinned, but it was grim. Immediately I felt bad for joking. A man was dead, after all.

  The police officer walked over to my window and tapped on the glass.

  I unrolled it, my stomach clenching at what I was afraid he would say.

  “Ladies, we’re going to need you two to go down to the station to answer more questions.”

  “So is it really Justin Smith?” Stella said.

  “We’ll need the medical examiner to make the final identification.”

  “How did he die?” I asked.

  He hesitated, but seemed to understand we needed something after the shock of discovering the body. “It appears that someone shot him in the chest.”

  I grabbed my throat instinctively and sucked in a breath. How cold hearted and cruel.

  The officer walked away. Stella and I both stared at each other for a moment. She stuck the key into the ignition and we made another trip to the station to answer questions.

  It was starting to feel way too familiar.

  Chapter 5

  We drove to the precinct in silence. I think we were both preparing for the questions. Once inside, Stella and I were immediately led to separate desks. Anxiety flared through my chest as I watched her walk away.

  The officer I was following was big, with a bored face that barely moved as he said hello. He appeared like he’d been doing desk work for far too long and was over it. He took me back to his desk and gestured to a metal chair. His desk was a potential avalanche of paper folders, along with three coffee mugs and several white boxes of what looked to be take-out.

  “You haven’t met the previous owner at all?” the officer asked.

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “And this is the first time you’ve seen Justin Smith?”

  “Correct. We tried to meet him at the bank, but the assistant manager told us that he hadn’t come in. He seemed to think Justin was sick or something.”

  “When you arrived at the house earlier today, did you see anything unusual?”

  “No. Although I was surprised at the condition of the house.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, maybe it was just TV shows, but I always thought that when someone knows they’re going to lose their house, they trash it out of anger. I’ve heard stories about houses with the light fixtures and appliances ripped out, holes in the wall, all of that. But I guess the guy who owned it just wasn’t that vindictive.”

  “It looked good?”

  “Very. In fact, I found an expensive looking painting hanging on the wall.”

  “Hmm.” He jotted something down on the paper. “Can you think of anything else odd about the scene?”

  “No.” I shrugged.

  “And when you returned for the second time, you said that the door was locked?”

  “Yes, Stella had to enter the pin on the lockbox to get in.”

  “The realtor lock box?” He looked up at me. During this entire interview, his expression hadn’t changed an iota. I could have been reading a cookbook to him.

  “Yes.”

  “Who else has that pin number?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. You’d have to ask Stella.”

  “Do you know who else saw the file at the bank?”

  “Jonathan Twist, the assistant manager. He’s the only one I know of.”

  “Okay, well, I think that will be all for now, Ms. Tanner.”

  I was relieved. I headed to the hallway where I spotted Stella sitting in a chair, staring at her phone with her brow furrowed.

  She spotted me and came over. She looped my arm in mine. “That bad, huh?”

  “I hate these. How about you?”

  “They’re terrible. The worst. Let’s go get lunch.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “You been to the Springfield Diner?”

  “Not in a long while,” I admitted. H
onestly, my wallet dictated most of my food choices.

  “Come on. I’ll treat you to a bacon burger for dragging you into all of this. It’s the least I can do.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” I said, getting in the car.

  “I do. But first I need to make one tiny stop. I have a question for the bank manager.” She checked the time. “You think we can catch him before lunch?

  “Maybe?”

  We headed across town and discussed the interview questions. She’d been asked basically the same things as me. No surprises.

  A short while later, she pulled into the Security International parking lot.

  I pulled my phone out to play a game while I waited. I was surprised when she yelled out, “Oh, my gosh. There he is!”

  I was still looking for him when she darted out.

  Mr. Twist walked quickly through the parking lot. I rolled down my window to hear what she had to say.

  Stella ran over to catch up with him, her hair blowing in the breeze like one of those shampoo commercials. She called out, “Mr. Twist?”

  He turned and frowned before quickly pasting on his plastic smile.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said when she finally caught up.

  “Ms. O’Neil. I’m sorry to hear about your morning.” His brow creased, but in a weird way. I wondered if he used Botox.

  Stella’s mouth drooped in compassion. It showed what a mean person I was that I didn’t want her to waste any kindness on him. I immediately scolded myself as she said, “And I’m sorry to hear about your colleague.”

  He nodded. “Yes, the police were just here to give us the official news.” He shook his head. “So terrible what happened to him.”

  I gritted my teeth. He sounded like he was rehearsing for a play.

  “I agree. It was… shocking.”

  “You were the one to find him?” His voice dropped dramatically.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Such a terrible shame. He was up and coming in the financial world. Who knows where he could have ended up.” He sighed and then straightened. “Well, if that was all, I have a meeting I unfortunately must rush off to.”

  Stella lifted her chin. Her smile was firm. “Actually, there was one more thing. I wondered if I could ask you more about the previous owner? With what happened to Mr. Smith it did cross my mind that the murderer could have been him. I’m a little worried that maybe the owner doesn’t want his house sold.”

  “I explained to you that he was missing. We fear he is dead.”

  “Yes. I remember you mentioning that. However, in light of what happened, and the fact that we don’t have proof of his whereabouts, I really think I need to know more before we can continue to represent the house.”

  “I see why you would think that.” Mr. Twist grimly smiled. “But this is private information, really. I can tell you his name, for your paperwork, but that’s about it. His name is Calvin Dunham.”

  “Is there any other information you can give us? Like why he stopped paying his mortgage or if he had a criminal history. Anything like that?”

  “Ms. O’Neil, we are not investigators or cops. We are bankers. We just look at the numbers, and when they go the direction they’re supposed to, we’re happy. When they don’t, we aren’t. When Calvin Dunham received his mortgage, all his numbers checked out. When he stopped paying, we had to take action to make sure our loan was reimbursed for the home’s purchase. He has consequences. That’s all we have and all we know.”

  Stella nodded. “Okay, I understand. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “No problem. Take care.” With a firm nod and an even firmer grip of his briefcase, he turned and walked in the direction of a very fancy car.

  Taking her dismissal with a grim frown, Stella returned to the car.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  She shifted the car into gear. “I mean, the owner disappeared. We’re selling his house. Doesn’t he seem like a good suspect?”

  “Well, I noticed something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “For all of Jonathan Twist’s insistence that Calvin Dunham died, he used the present tense when he spoke of him.”

  Her mouth dropped. “Holy cow, Georgie. You’re right!”

  Chewing on that, she started to drive. A short while later, we pulled in front of the Springfield Diner.

  “Come on.” Stella grabbed her purse. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  The scent of fresh French fries and sautéed onions hit me like a brick wall. I breathed in eagerly as my stomach clenched in anticipation.

  Inside the restaurant, Stella gravitated toward a tiny woman. She was about five feet, as big around as my thigh, and with gorgeous white curly hair. She smiled as she peered over her glasses and was quick to give Stella a hug with an arm that looked like a dried piece of driftwood.

  “How’s my girl?” the woman asked, her eyes twinkling.

  “Good! I want you to meet my friend, Georgie. I’m here to set her up with some of the best food in Pennsylvania.”

  “Oh, Georgie!” The woman’s eyes latched on to mine. She seemed to like what she saw because her face cropped up in wrinkles along with a big smile. “So nice to meet you.”

  “This is Marla Springfield, the owner of the place.”

  I shook her hand, feeling the fragility of her bones. But she was surprisingly strong, and she gripped my hand firmly.

  “Come on, let’s get you seated and some good food in your belly.”

  With firm steps in her thick-soled shoes, she led us to a booth. She waved over a waitress as we slid in.

  Stella pushed her menu away.

  “I shouldn’t have even bothered.” Marla said with a raspy giggle. “You know what you’re getting.”

  Stella hid her face. “I can’t believe I have a reputation. But yes. The bacon burger. I’m addicted.”

  “I’ll take one of those as well.” I said. Bacon anything sounded good to me.

  “Well, I’m going to let you young ladies enjoy your lunch.” Marla patted Stella’s shoulder before heading to the kitchen.

  “She’s so cute!” I said.

  “She’s a powerhouse. Here every day from open to close. And she gardens. Even cans her own vegetable and makes homemade pies!”

  “Wow!” I suddenly felt incredibly less accomplished with my little paintings and a career as a tour guide.

  Before I could completely slump into the sea of despair, the waitress returned with our drinks, and soon after, our burgers.

  That bacon burger was everything Stella claimed and more. Crispy thick-slabbed bacon, two different kinds of cheese, and perfectly seasoned beef. I rolled my eyes and moaned.

  “Amazing, right?” Stella dunked a French fry into tartar sauce.

  I didn’t want to waste any time on speaking and just nodded. We ate in silence for a few minutes like we’d both been rescued from wandering in the wilderness for a week.

  Finally, partially sated, I set my burger on my plate and wiped my fingers. I needed a breather, and I really wanted to check out the painting I’d seen in the house. I dropped the photo I’d taken into image search and hit send.

  A few seconds later there was a list of hits.

  My mouth dropped. Stunned, I turned the phone over to Stella. She squinted as she studied the picture and read the caption.

  Her eyebrows flew up. “No way!”

  “If that painting is really worth that much money, why wouldn’t Calvin have sold it to pay off his mortgage? He could afford several houses over!”

  “That doesn’t make any sense at all.” She wiped her hands and started typing on her own phone.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Trying to see what shows up with the owner Calvin Dunham’s name.” She stopped to read, and two lines appeared between her eyebrows. “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “Literally nothing is coming up with hi
s name. Not an address, no place of work, no phone number. Nothing to even give a hint why he’d be on the run.”

  “Try arrest records.”

  She typed and scrolled. “Nothing here that’s open to the public either.” She took a sip of lemonade and leaned back.

  “Maybe Mr. Twist is correct. Maybe Calvin really is dead.” I continued scrolling through the news about the painting.

  I finally found something. It had last been seen at an auction house where it disappeared.

  Was I looking at a stolen item?

  I read some more. Chills climbed up my arm. It was shipped to the auction house through a trucking company.

  Midnight Trucking.

  That was where Derek, my fiancé, used to work.

  I swallowed hard and stuffed my phone away.

  Stella’s phone rang. “Hello? Okay, thank you.” She hung up. “That was the police. They’ve gathered their evidence and cleared the house. They said we’re welcome back in tomorrow.”

  “So, we’ll clean it again.”

  She nodded. “Hopefully the murderer has moved on.”

  We both grabbed another French fry and ate in silence. Hot on my mind wasn’t the fear that I didn’t want either of us to be the murderer’s next victim. Instead it was filled with another burning question.

  Had Derek been involved in any of this?

  Chapter 6

  It was another hard night’s sleep for me. I’d been trying to get off of sleep aids for the last few months. So far, the transition was about as easy as taking a pork chop away from a lion. Having all this happen sure didn’t help. I couldn’t quit thinking about the painting just sitting there in the house. And had the murderer been in the house when we entered? I pictured him climbing out the window, knocking over the plant, as we walked up the stairs.

  Horrifying.

  I woke up to the sound of rain pounding against the window. The news had called for sprinkles, but apparently the weather decided that sprinkles meant one step below a monsoon.

  A chill seemed to seep through the glass. I shivered and rummaged through my drawers for a long-john top and a fisherman’s sweater. I caressed the thick cable knit. It always made me feel cozy.

  There was only time for a quick cup of coffee before Stella texted to let me know she was downstairs. After making sure everything was turned off, I locked the door and jogged down the stairs.