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He stood, held out his hand. “Let’s clean up in the kitchen while I tell you all about it; then I have a plan that will take your mind off the bad day you’ve had.”
Finley grinned. “Sounds like a very good plan.”
The cleanup was done in record time with lots of touching and stealing of kisses. Finally, they moved to the bedroom and made love, then showered together and made love again. When Matt had fallen asleep, Finley scooted out of the bed and went to the living room. She rounded up her laptop to do some research on Howard Brewer. Aseries of pings warning her of notifications had her scanning her social media feeds.
District Attorney Briggs says O’Sullivan Not Fit to Hold Public Office.
DA Hopeful O’Sullivan’s Infamous Crash and Burn in the Courtroom.
The last one was accompanied by a video.
Finley closed all the tabs and forced her focus on searching for anything on the custodian.
Who was he? Where had he come from? What made him obsessed with Lucy Cagle?
Was he why Lucy was dead?
Then her thoughts drifted to her neighbor. Something about the scar on her hand nagged at Finley. It shouldn’t. She’d never really looked at her neighbor that closely. Not at all the little details anyway. The woman was always working in her yard. She probably injured herself with pruning shears.
Unable to consider going back to bed at this point, Finley set her laptop aside, grabbed her cell and the keys she needed, and headed for the door.
Didn’t matter that she wore a nightshirt. It was late, and the neighbors were in for the night. Most of the houses were dark. She locked her door and stepped off the porch in her bare feet.Cold.So maybe she should have taken the time to put on her shoes. Too late now.
The air was chilling as she scanned the block before hurrying across the street. She entered her neighbor’s yard, closing the gate behind herself, and hustled up to the porch. It took a couple of tries before she got the key in the lock and gave it a twist. She reached inside and flipped on a light.
“Spot,” she called. “Where are you?” She didn’t want to startle the fur ball and end up being nipped on the ankle for it.
The dog lifted his head but didn’t bother getting out of his bed. She pulled the door closed and walked over to him. “Hey there.” She reached down and scratched him between the ears. To her surprise, he rolled onto his back as if hoping for the same attention to his belly.
Finley frowned. Spot was not a he. She leaned down and did a closer inspection as she scratched his belly. A girl for sure. Maybe she’d misunderstood.
Finley sighed. She straightened and moved through the living room. The house was sparsely furnished. No family photos—no pictures of any kind—hanging on the walls. No decor items placed around the room. There was a television, a single chair and a sofa. One table that sat between the sofa and the chair. She walked toward the hall. The house was larger than Finley’s. Three bedrooms but still only one bath. One of the rooms was empty. How strange that Roberts just left it empty. No storage boxes, no nothing. The third had a bed and a dresser, but again, no photos or decor items at all.
In the entire house, there were no photos of anyone—not even of Roberts. Nothing related to a husband. Not even in her bedroom.
“You are one strange lady,” Finley muttered. Maybe it was her religion. She did keep to herself most of the time.
Spot had climbed out of her bed and was following Finley from room to room. She hadn’t checked the garage since Roberts was hospitalized. Maybe she should check it out. Not because Finley worried that something needed her attention but because she was nosy. She wanted to know more about her neighbor and her weird habits. Maybe there would be boxes stored in the garage that gave some insight into her story.
It was a distraction. Finley was sick of the case ... sick of Carson Dempsey. She needed a distraction, and her neighbor was it.
At the back door, Finley grabbed the garage key from the wall. The garage was like Finley’s, detached. When these old houses were built, no one had attached garages, apparently.
When she opened the door, the dog darted past her, nearly tripping her. “Spot!” Damn it. She rushed after the animal, the white fur making him—her—easy to follow in the dark.
Spot ran all the way to the garage walk-through door and started to scratch as if to get inside.
Finley was grateful the little shit didn’t go any farther. “You trying to scare me to death, girl?” she demanded. She was fairly certain she had closed the gate, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
With the dog under one arm, Finley used her free hand to unlock the door, then slid her palm over the wall until she found a switch. Light filled the space. A vintage Buick sat in the middle of the garage. Finley hadn’t been out here before, but all looked to be good. There were lots of built-in shelves, but oddly they were all empty.
“No Christmas decorations,” she commented. Nearly everyone kept that sort of thing in their garages. No boxes of stuff. She stared down at Spot. “Maybe she’s like me and stopped doing Christmas and decided not to keep anything that reminded her of the past.”
The garage actually looked like Roberts had just moved in.
Finley walked over to the Buick and peered through the window into the front seat. Spot scrambled out of her arms, and before Finley could stop her, she took off. Finley called for her, but it was too late: the dog was under the vehicle. Finley went on with her inspection of the car. Nothing in the front or back seats. She glanced around the space once more. Nothing here but the car.
Her gaze stalled on the ceiling. Were those skylights? A total of six lined the backside of the space. Not something she would have noticed from her side of the street. Who put skylights in their garage? Maybe the builder had expected to use it as a sort of greenhouse. All those empty shelves may have held plants at one time. Who knew?
