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“This is a ranch house. There are no stairs.”
Lula looked around. “You’re right. I never thought of that.”
I walked through the house to the kitchen. Susan Cubbin had decorated the house in American Farmhouse style. Upholstered pieces were slipcovered in ill-fitting floral fabric. End tables looked like they’d been beaten with a chain. The chandelier over the trestle dining room table was fashioned to look like a wagon wheel.
“Only thing missing from this house is chickens,” Lula said. “Maybe she’s got some in the backyard.”
I looked in the fridge. “No food,” I said. “Ketchup, mustard, mayo, but no milk or orange juice.”
“Sounds like your house,” Lula said.
“Yes, but Susan cooks. She has spices, and pots and pans, and a waffle iron.” I opened the door to the pantry. Flour, sugar, rice, breadcrumbs, oatmeal, graham crackers, macaroni. “She cleaned the perishables out of her refrigerator.”
“Like she was going on a trip,” Lula said. “Maybe her husband sent her a check, and she went on vacation.”
The counters were clean. A cat’s water bowl and food dish were in the dish drain. There was a landline phone on the counter. A basket with assorted scraps of paper and miscellaneous receipts sat next to the
phone. One of the receipts caught my attention. It was a printout from an online store selling surveillance equipment. On Thursday, Susan had bought binoculars, a camera with motion sensors, and a remote-controlled audio amplifier.
“Susan was going to snoop on someone,” I said.
I opened the door leading to the attached garage and flipped the light on. No car. I walked through the rest of the house. The guest bedrooms looked like they were seldom used. No clothes in the closets and dressers. No toiletries in the bathroom. No room designated as a home office. I investigated the master bedroom last. The bed was made. I went through the dresser drawers and bathroom medicine chest. Nothing out of the ordinary. Hard to tell if anything was missing.
I opened the closet door in the master, and a monster jumped out at me. He was easily 6'6". He had long snow-white hair, bushy white eyebrows, and one blue eye and one brown eye. And he had a stun gun.
“It’s the Yeti!” Lula screamed. “Lord help me.”
The next thing I heard was zzzzzzzt. And I was incapacitated, on my back on the carpet.
It took a couple minutes for my brain to unscramble and start sending coherent messages to my nerve endings. My head cleared and I looked over at Lula. She was sprawled next to me, and she was twitching.
I got to my hands and knees, and then to my feet. “Hey,” I said to Lula. “Are you okay?”
“Yuh,” Lula said. “Did I wet myself? I hate when that happens.”
I leaned against the dresser, taking deep breaths while my muscle memory returned. The house was quiet. No one walking around. No one slamming doors. No one making Yeti sounds. I carefully made my way to the closet and looked inside. It was a large walk-in. Geoffrey Cubbin’s clothes were on one side, and Susan’s on the other. Again, nothing looked out of the ordinary.
Lula was on her feet, adjusting her boobs, tugging her skirt back into place. “What the heck was that about?” she asked. “That scared the crap out of me. I thought she just had a cat. Nobody said anything about having a Yeti.”
“That wasn’t a Yeti. It was a big albino guy.”
“I don’t think so. I know a Yeti when I see one. I saw a Yeti at Disney World. It’s like Chewbacca but it’s all white.”
“A Yeti is an Abominable Snowman. The Himalayan version of Bigfoot.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not what you saw. You saw a big, hairy albino guy.”
“Maybe he was an Abominable Albino.”
“That works for me. Do you have your gun with you?”
Lula pulled a Glock out of her purse. “We going Abominable Albino hunting?”
“Yes.”
I made another pass through the house with Lula close on my heels, gun in hand. We went through every room, and opened every door. Nothing jumped out at us.
