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“Two hundred eighteen, mostly forest.” Dan had googled the house once they’d received confirmation that the senator would meet them there that day. From the air, the place looked pretty impressive.
Google Maps had not prepared him for that first view.
The driveway ended in a circle in front of the horseshoe-shaped house, its two wings coming forward, the main door set back beneath a rustic portico, and to the right, a long arched window with a balcony.
Gary pulled up in front of the door and switched off the engine. “How the other half lives,” he muttered.
Dan wanted to see what it was like on the inside.
The front door opened, and Mrs. Cain stood there, as elegantly dressed as she’d been in the senator’s office.
They got out of the car and walked toward her. The tightness of her expression and the stiff way she held herself led Dan to believe their presence was not welcome. When they came to a halt, she gave them a slight smile that seemed forced.
“My apologies, gentlemen. Normally the housekeeper would greet you, but all the staff are on vacation.” She indicated the door. “Please, come in.”
They followed her into a spacious entrance hall, its walls covered in dark wood panels, the hardwood floor pale with intricately patterned rugs here and there. There were two staircases leading in opposite directions, the walls adorned with mounted stags’ heads and paintings in varying styles.
Mrs. Cain paused in the middle of the hallway, frowning. “You visited my husband a week ago. Didn’t I hear you tell him you had no further questions?”
“Yes, I did, but something has come up since then.”
She gazed at Dan. “We haven’t been introduced. Are you also a detective?” Gary performed the introductions, and she blinked at the mention of Dan’s name. “I recognize that name. Weren’t you the psychic who was involved in that famous case earlier this summer? The serial killer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And what case are you working on now? My husband neglected to mention that part.”
“We’re investigating the death of Cheryl Somers,” Gary told her in a polite voice.
Mrs. Cain stilled for a moment, then squared her shoulders. “Ah. What brought about the resurrection ofhercase, I wonder?” That thin smile returned. “Anyway, my husband is in his office in the middle of a phone call. If you would kindly wait here, he’ll be with you shortly.” A faint line creased her forehead. “I don’t appreciate having to come back here during the summer.” And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, heading for a door beneath the right-hand staircase.
When it closed, Dan glanced at Gary. “Is it me, or did she stress the wordher?”
Gary chuckled. “I think you’re reading too much into it.” He gazed at their surroundings. “I wonder when this was built.”
“In 1903, Detective Mitchell.” Senator Cain stood on the left-hand staircase, dressed in jeans and a sweater. “My great-grandparents bought it not long after it was built.” He smiled. “Gentlemen. Welcome to my home.” He didn’t offer to shake their hands, and Dan noted the white gloves that covered them.
“And such an amazing home,” Dan commented.
“I’d give you a guided tour, but I believe you wanted to see my art collection? So maybe later. Follow me, please.”
They joined him on the stairs. “I don’t think Mrs. Cain is happy about our visit,” Dan commented in a low voice.
“She insisted on accompanying me.” The senator sighed. “To be honest, I’m not sure why, not when all the family is at the Fluke. She said something about wanting to check out the state of the house.” He paused at a wide door on the second floor. “Although I’m uncertain as to what concerns her about it.”
Dan frowned. The senator’s explanation and Mrs. Cain’s obvious reluctance to be there didn’t match up.
“How many bedrooms does this place have?” Gary asked.
“Originally? Seven, and six baths.” Senator Cain pointed to the door. “This is my office.”
They entered a decent-sized room, furnished with a desk, chair, and several bookcases. The windows faced the front of the house. What drew Dan’s eye, however, was a pair of doors facing the window, each one an impressive five feet across. A chaise lounge sat in front of the left-hand door.
“This was originally a bedroom, the largest of the seven,” the senator informed them. He pointed to the doors. “Then I had that wall constructed and the pocket doors installed. When I go in there, I can shut out the world.” He walked over to them and touched the right-hand door. “Al did me proud.” He gave it a light push, and it slid effortlessly into the wall. “Gentlemen?” He beckoned them with a crooked finger. “My collection.”
They walked into a darkened room where no daylight penetrated. The windows were hidden behind thick curtains. Then the senator flicked a switch, and spotlights burst into life, aimed at the paintings.
A great many paintings.
