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Theo pulled her gloves back on. She felt strangely agitated. Horse was, if truth be told, reasonably indifferent to walks, but perhaps it would be good for her.
They headed out, crossing the road to the other side once they got past the crime scene tape and remaining police cars.
“Where are we going?” Theo asked, recognizing that Mac had a destination in mind.
“Number 277.”
“What?”
“I thought I’d check exactly how far it is…while we’re out walking anyway.”
“Isn’t that a bit ghoulish?” Theo stared at him. “The man’s just died.”
“We’re not going to knock on the door. Just get an idea of what he might have passed to get to your place.”
“You’re not convinced he died of a simple heart attack, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. “I saw blood in the snow—when they put him into the ambulance.”
Theo swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He stopped, glancing down at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Theo. I should have told you that this was a walk with a purpose. Checking stories is a professional habit, I’m afraid.”
Theo smiled. “Because you’re a private eye?”
He rolled his eyes. “Shall we turn back?”
“We’re nearly there…what are you looking for, exactly?”
They started walking again. Though he spoke to Theo, Mac’s eyes were focused on the street, scanning. “Nothing in particular. Anything that might indicate that he was or wasn’t the kindly old neighbor that he purported to be…aside from the fact that he was peering into your house in a snowstorm. I think that’s it.” Mac pointed to a house across the road, a Tudor-style home with a large birdbath in the front yard.
“There doesn’t seem to be anyone home,” Theo said.
“I presume his wife is identifying the body.”
Theo flinched. “Yes, of course.”
They crossed the road. A small fluffy dog came tearing out of the house next door, snarling and snapping. Mac pulled Horse back, though the hound seemed more amused than provoked by the diminutive challenger. A woman ran out flapping and shouting, “Puddin’, Puddin’, come back!”
Theo picked up the runaway dog and returned it to its anxious owner.
The flustered woman thanked them profusely, raining kisses upon Puddin’. “We lost his sister—God rest her poor little soul—to a truck just two months ago.” She looked sadly at the dog in her arms. “I think Puddin’ still goes looking for her…but I couldn’t lose another fur baby.”
Theo offered her condolences. “Have you lived next to the Winslows long?” she asked.
“Winslows? I think you must have the wrong address, dear. The Ngyens live at 277. She’s a doctor; he works with computers, I believe.” She looked at them suspiciously. “You’re not with one of those churches that go door to door are you? Because if you are—”
“Not at all,” Theo said quickly. “I live a little farther up… I must have misheard the number.”
“To my knowledge there aren’t any Winslows on this block, dear.”
“Thank you. I’ll have to check the address.”
“So…that was interesting,” Mac said once they’d taken their leave of Puddin’ and his owner and started heading back.
