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I can’t fully disagree on that last part of his statement, but I noticed how Alessia’s shoulders tensed when he spoke, so I cut in. “That’s enough right now, Colin. Why don’t you help the girls onto the porch instead of running your mouth?”
He rolls his eyes, but I give him credit. He extends a hand to Mazzy, who accepts, and helps her up. Luka does the same for Jenna, and I hold my hand out for Alessia just as a resolute rumble of thunder cracks across the moody gray sky. Alessia jumps and I’m almost certain her hand is trembling when she places it in mine. Of the four teens, I’m less concerned about Alessia’s rebellious side and more concerned about her wellbeing. Her parents both work, but most of their money goes towards alcohol, and I know Alessia has two younger siblings—one brother and one sister. Their parents’ drinking hasn’t ever led to the authorities getting involved and I don’t think there’s a history of abuse, but my gut tells me something isn’t right. It’s why I’ve purposely kept an eye on their trailer ever since Tom Moore, Alessia’s father, had surgery on his foot a year ago. I know how addictive pain meds can be, and considering Tom and Sofia have alcohol problems, I wouldn’t be shocked if there was more going on that meets the eye.
But because I know better than to approach any situation with a slew of questions, I won’t be interrogating Alessia today, tomorrow, or hopefully, ever. I’ll do my best to obtain insight through easy conversation and hope to God my gut’s wrong. The sense of foreboding I feel could easily be from Jenna’s reaction last week or stuff going on at work or simply the crummy weather. It’s why I’ve trained myself not to rely too heavily on my emotions.
The last time I did it ended with Jenna as my shoulder to cry on, and I’m not about to let that happen again.
“Oh, look at that. We don’t even need your key.” Colin couldn’t look less amused as he turns with the doorknob in his hand. “I agree with Luke. They should just tear this dump down.”
“It’s Luka,” Luka mumbles under his breath. He might have that spoiled frat boy appearance, but at least he’s not as mouthy as Colin.
Colin ignores him. “But that’s right. We’ve gotta have a project. Duh. Forgot about that. Now what? Bust the door down?”
I’d prefer not to, especially with the impending thunderstorm, but we might have no choice. I try reattaching the doorknob and that doesn’t work. Luka kicks the door and it doesn’t budge. Colin smirks at it and, sadly, that also does nothing.
I’m just about to head to my truck to grab the sledgehammer I brought along when Alessia pipes up for the first time.
“Do you think we could pry it open?” Her voice is soft, almost inaudible over the breeze that’s picking up, but it’s there.
“Yeah, with something like that.” Mazzy points at a broken piece of faded yellow siding on the porch behind me.
“It might not be strong enough, but it’s worth a shot.” I grab the siding, careful to step around the piles of random furniture and dead leaves and sticks, then try wedging it between the door and its frame. The siding does hold up, but the door doesn’t even move. Too bad the lock isn’t as decrepit as the knob. “Okay, moving onto Plan B. I think there’s a side door, and to my knowledge, Marie never kept it locked. She did mention where she kept her spare key, though, so we’ll try it. I don’t know if someone cleared everything out or not.”
Considering there’s an old couch and God only knows what else on the porch, it’s doubtful, but a guy can hope.
“We could break a window and crawl in that way,” Colin suggests as we hop off the porch. “It’s not like these windows are worth anything.”
“They could be,” Alessia says. “None of them are broken. Just because the house looks bad doesn’t mean the inside’s terrible.”
Jenna catches my eye, and the look she gives me communicates that she sensed more to Alessia’s comment than being about the house. Andthatis why I want Jenna to help us with this. She has the female touch I can’t possibly provide these kids, and they need it. Even Luka and Colin. They might not want it, but they need it.
“We’ll keep that as a last resort,” I say, mainly to appease Colin. “All right, let’s hope this door opens.”
If it were Ella and Eli, I’d probably dramatically grab the doorknob and make a show of trying to open it, but since I’ve got three mostly annoyed teens and the other looks flat out nervous, I don’t. I grasp the doorknob and twist, and to my surprise, it opens. Even though Marie didn’t keep it locked when she was alive, I was almost sure someone would’ve locked it after she died. But they didn’t, and now we’ve got a way in without breaking any doors or windows. I’ll check for the spare key later just in case we ever need it.
I pull my phone from the pocket of my jeans and turn its flashlight on. “Under normal circumstances, it would be ladies first. But in this case, I’m going in first, followed by the girls, and Luka and Colin can back us up. Sound good?”
The only responses I get are mumbledmm-hmmsand a tentative smile from Jenna, but I’ll take it. I nudge the door open and step over the threshold, barely resisting the urge to plug my nose. A blend of rotten food, cigarette smoke, and something else assaults my senses. It’s a strange combination I can’t say I enjoy. And since the others all cough or plug their noses, I’m not the only one.
As far as the house itself, it’s like we stepped in a time portal back to the seventies. The door we came through deposited us straight into the kitchen—hence the strong odor of rotting food—and it clearly has never been updated in here. I never came inside the house when Marie was alive. Every conversation between her and I took place on the porch while I was trying not to choke on her cigarette smoke and obsessive overuse of perfume.
The walls of the kitchen are bright orange, cabinets white with half of their doors hanging off, and the appliances are teal. My house might not be the most magazine worthy and this kitchen is bigger than mine, but at least I don’t get blinded by obnoxious colors every time I walk out from the hallway. I think the black and white floor tiles have everyone hypnotized, because the kids are just standing there with their eyes wide and jaws hanging loose. I admit, even under the grime caked on from years of neglect, the floor isn’t exactly easy on the eyes.
Jenna clears her throat. “Well, whoever designed this house clearly liked color.”
Yeah, the teens are in shock, because Colin doesn’t even say anything. I have to stifle my laughter, because this is only the start of it. We’ve got three bedrooms, two bathrooms, the living room, and any extra rooms to tour. I’ve personally seen houses that look a lot worse than this one over the course of my twelve years as a cop, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t find their stunned expressions the slightest bit amusing.
Because we’ve all got other things to do after this, I break the silence. “Let’s check out the rest of the house, shall we?”
Chapter Eight
Jenna
It started raining—no, downpouring—about ten minutes ago. We found out rather quickly that one of the first things to be fixed is the roof. Mainly because we were standing in the master bedroom—I’ve never seen such ugly green shag carpet and gaudy jewelry in my life—when the rain started. Thanks to a leak in the ceiling, Colin’s light brown hair and black leather jacket are now wet. Based on his thunderous expression (yes, I say that with the pun intended) I don’t think he finds the situation amusing.
I, on the other hand, had to pretend cough to keep myself from laughing.
And yes, I know that’s not very nice. I generally don’t laughatpeople, and I wasn’t really laughing at Colin. More at the irony of it all. Of this group Seth put together, Colin’s the most self-assured and arrogant. So, though I don’t necessarily believe in karma, well, I do believe a person reaps what they sow. Obviously, Colin’s cocksure personality was an invite for God to have a little fun with him.
