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“You’re not supposed to say the spy word,” I said.
“Someone could be in this house we’re standing in front of and hear us,” he said.
“No one cares,” I said. I looked up and down the street. We were a short distance from the main tourist section and since it was out of season, there wasn’t much spill over. Every few minutes a couple of cars passed, but other than that, it was a quiet road. I wondered how the rich felt about being on roads that tourists often took over, photographing their front yards.
While Corey took photos, I kept my eyes on the house. It was pretty plain. In fact, something felt off about it. I didn’t notice until I stopped looking at it and started looking at the other buildings.
“Are we sure he lives here?” I asked.
“That’s what the records show,” Corey said. He was looking at the camera and figuring out a better setting.
I squinted at the house next door and then at the Fitzgerald house and then I realized why it was different. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. The boys were just too distracting. “Because he doesn’t have curtains.”
The boys blinked almost simultaneously and then turned together toward the house.
All the windows were bare glass. No blinds, no curtains. I didn’t even see a garbage can. Most other houses had one either by the garage or somewhere visible. Other houses had signs of life, this one looked barren.
“He doesn’t live here,” I said.
Corey scratched his head. “That’s weird.”
Brandon shifted on his feet. He glanced up and down the road and then darted across the street.
“Brandon!” I hissed and chased after him.
“Stay there,” he called back to me.
I followed him instead, right up to the low iron wrought fence that was about waist high and useless for keeping anyone out. He gripped the rail, hopped it and then darted through to the porch.
I started to hop over when I felt a pair of hands on my hips. Corey was right behind me. He gave me a boost and then climbed over and landed next to me.
There wasn’t a yard at all, just a tiny walkway and a lot of bushes. The house was really close to the road. The porch was empty and ran front to back along the side of the house, typical for sideways-built downtown Charleston homes.
“I told you guys to stay back,” Brandon said.
I pointed a finger at Corey, planting blame. Corey pointed right back at me while trying to mask a grin.
Brandon rolled his eyes. He walked over to the window, cupping his hands around his face so he could look inside. “You’re right, though. The place is empty.”
I stood next to him. There was a barren front room, bookshelves built into the wall, a clean fireplace. Too clean. “Did they move recently? Are they selling this place?”
Corey checked his phone. “Not that I can tell. Looks like he owns the property. There’s no recent real estate listing.”
“But he may not live here,” I said. “Maybe he’s got another house.”
“It’s just odd,” Corey said. “It’s listed as his main residence.”
“Let’s check out the back,” I said.
“We should leave,” Brandon said.
I ignored him, and followed the porch around the side of the house, the long side. The windows we passed, and another door, all revealed more empty rooms.
“Kevin’s right,” Brandon said behind me, following close. “A girl’s the worst thing to add to this team. She’s not listening.”
“She’s not part of the team,” Corey said, trailing behind him.
“Will you tell her to stop? I should have left her at the apartment with you.”
“Hey,” I said, stopping at the far corner of the house. I turned, facing off Brandon, who stopped short and tilted his head down to stare at me. It wasn’t until then that I felt incredibly short compared to him. His broad shoulders and his height made him intimidating when he was angry. “You were the one heading in by yourself.”
“I was just going to peek in the window.”
“Well Axel said you’re not allowed to run off and do things on your own. It’s like an Academy rule or something.”
Brandon sputtered and made hand signals like he wanted to say something but couldn’t formulate what he wanted. “I know you’re not spouting Academy rules at me.”
Hypocrite! I poked a finger at his broad chest. “If you’re going to break the rules, I don’t have to listen to you.”
He puffed out his chest at my poking as if to show he was immune. “It’s a rule to not have a girl on the team!”
I ignored this, although I was a little perturbed by it. Axel was going to have me join, but I couldn’t work with guys? That would have sucked. Girls are okay but are usually too prone to drama. I would have wanted a boy team. Maybe not theirs, but at least someone I could get along with. Maybe I could have Corey on my team.
Or maybe I didn’t want to sign up at all.
The yard in the back was tiny. Other houses were built so close, cutting off the view of most of the sky. For rich people, they didn’t have any yard space. I knew downtown homes were worth millions. Was it worth it for such little space?
I wound around to the back porch and checked out the windows, looking inside. The back room had a few pieces of furniture covered in white cloth. From what I could tell by the shapes, there were sofas, and upright chairs, and a useless corner table. Maybe that was why it was stored here. A million dollar storage unit?
Or a decoy? Like Mr. Coaltar’s weird office that didn’t have anything but empty filing cabinets?
I passed by the back door as I couldn’t see through it. The second window was to the kitchen. The counters were clean, but something was different. It took me a minute. “The fridge is humming,” I said.
“So?” Brandon shoved my arm in an effort to keep me walking and head back. “Now we’ve seen his fridge. Let’s get out of here.”
“No,” I said. I pointed at the kitchen. “You don’t leave the fridge running if you’ve left the house. That’s just weird. Let’s go see what’s inside.”
“No!” Brandon grabbed my elbow and tried to drag me off the porch. “I’ve seen enough. Mr. Fitzgerald left his fridge running. We’ll finally be able to make that prank call and actually mean it. Great. Let’s get out of here before someone calls the cops on us.”
Corey held up the camera, snapped a picture of the kitchen. “I’d say let’s break in, but I mean, even if he keeps something in that fridge, there’s no evidence anyone’s been here. He probably keeps the electricity running to keep some kind of alarm system online.”
“Let me see the camera?” I asked Corey.
“We’re leaving,” Brandon said.
I pulled myself out of his grip. Now that we were out of sig
ht of the street, I felt a little better poking around. I don’t know why, but this whole thing bothered me. The puzzle I couldn’t figure out. “I just want to take a few pictures,” I said.
Corey passed off the camera. I held it between my fingers, figuring out the right button to push as there were three on top. I held it up, testing by taking a picture of Corey with a lopsided grin. Another I took of Brandon, looking perturbed and arguing with me that we should leave.
I turned around, taking a snapshot of the interior of the kitchen. I leaned over, taking a picture of the abandoned back living room.
There was thudding next to me and I was pushed hard. The camera was ripped from my hands. I didn’t see who was coming and I fell hard, crashing to the wood boards of the porch. I landed on my side. My hand and knee scraped against the grooves.
“Get off my porch,” a voice boomed over us.
Terror swept over me as I looked up, staring into the harsh, cold eyes of Mr. Fitzgerald. He wore white shirt, his sleeves rolled up on his arms and his face was covered in thick stubble. He gripped the camera, and loomed over me like he wanted to throw it at my face.
His other hand held his .38 and he had it pointed at Brandon.
I didn’t know much about South Carolina gun laws, but I was pretty sure he had every right to shoot us, and then tell the police he was protecting his property in self-defense. How did he sneak up on us? How did he know we were here?
Brandon raised his hands. “Sorry, sir,” he said.
Mr. Fitzgerald’s eyes widened slowly. Recognition must have settled in, and then got confused when he looked at Corey. “You ... you both.” His eyes looked down at me and then again he seemed to put the pieces together as he remembered me from the party. His lips twisted into a snarl. “Get out,” he said.
Brandon reached down, scooping me up and hauling me with his arms cradled under my back and knees. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Sorry. We were just ... we thought this house was for sale.”
