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“I see. That’s interesting.” That’s putting it politely. I’ve never had the kind of money they have, the kind where there’s not much concern for what happens on theother sideof that money. To me, though, it seems selfish of them to come all the way here from the big city, infiltrate a small community, and have their way with it. Why buy this beautiful home to just tear it down when so many people would love to have it or use it for historical purposes? I mean, Constance alone would have a field day.
Wait. Constance.
I lean forward. “Have these permits been approved?”
“A couple. We’re waiting on a few others.” Fred tilts his head to the side. “You don’t think this whole skeleton thing might have to do with that, do you?”
“Well, if you don’t have anything to do with it?—”
Fred scoffs, “Which we don’t.” A hint of irritation colors his words.
“Right. Which you don’t…” I continue, then sip my coffee to get a grip before I glare this man into submission. “Someone obviously is trying to complicateyourlives. And since permits are public record, they would be at least tangentially aware you were looking to do something with the property.”
“You think it might be sabotage?” Donna asks urgently. She’s almost smiling. Must be one of the most exciting things to happen to her since they’ve arrived in Horace.
I shrug. “Not impossible.” Not by any stretch of the imagination.
We talk a bit longer. I ask a few more questions. But the cogs are already spinning.
Constance said it best. Occam’s Razor. The simplest explanation is the best. And what could be more simple than Constance using her bones in order to cast some aspersions on the family who purchased the houseshewanted for historical purposes?
Okay, it’s not simple. But it’s not impossible or even improbable.
Before I leave, I take a turn in the bathroom, and on my way, I get to see a bit more of the house. It only adds to the dread that if everything goes to the Fredericksons’ plan, it won’t have a long life. I wonder what stories these walls could tell? The spindles of the staircase. The beautiful portraiture of people long past, maybe forgotten to time. Heck, even the creaking floors are charming to me. Over a hundred years of memories. Close to two hundred. Except not quite.
Not everything has to be perfect and pristine. The grid system of Chicago might be close to perfect, but perfection grows old. Perfection makes us restless.
What will they want once they have theircompound?
Not the job, Rory. Not important right now.
I take my leave after that, heading out the ornate wooden double doors and down the stone staircase.
I can’t keep from turning back and gazing up at the house now that I have a newfound understanding. Turrets and gables, almost like an abstract painting. Intricate lattice work. Sure, it could use a new coat of burnt orange paint, but that wouldn’t be hard, would it?
“Excuse me,” a small voice pipes up next to me. A teen girl brushes past me wearing a yellow raincoat, the hood almost completely obscuring her face, her eyes glued to the bulbous phone in her hand.
“Are you Liliana?”
The girl stops and glances back at me. She’s got the light eyes of her mother, the dark hair of her father. “Yeah?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to—” I put on my winningest smile and tap my badge. “I’m the sheriff. I don’t mean to scare you.”
Her eyes drop to my badge and then blink back up to my face. “Are youactuallythe sheriff?”
She’s good to be wary but I’m sorry to scare her. “Yes. Sheriff McEvoy. You can look me up, I’m on the county website!”Finally.Took them long enough.
“How do you know my name?” Liliana follows up quickly, no time to recover or get my bearings.
“I was just talking to your parents about an incident at the house. They mentioned you.”
“Did I do something wrong?” Liliana asks, her eyes widening.
Poor thing. I’m scaring her. “No, no. I…” I’ll let her parents deal with the intricacies of this one. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” It’s a weekday, after all.
“Spring break,” she squeaks, shifting back and forth.
“Oh. Spring break. Of course.” I should have known that at this point. “Anyway, sorry to keep you. Um—” I’ve made this conversation sufficiently longer than it needed to be. “Take care.”
