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“I did knock,” Allie says, one foot already inside the house. “And the door was open.”
I shake my head. “Still dangerous. For all we know, the place is full of mafiosi.”
Allie glances over her shoulder. “So you’re not coming?”
I sigh. I guess this is the part where she gets into trouble and I get her out. “Fine.”
Allie gives me a triumphant grin and enters the house. I look around before stepping in myself.
Just as Allie said, no one’s home. At least, no one’s in the living room. Or in the kitchen, although there’s a pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and empty beer bottles on the counter.
I follow Allie back to the living room.
“I don’t think Sergio Bianchi lives here,” I say.
I’m just not getting a sense that there’s a mafia boss living here. Or a mafia family, for that matter. Yes, it’s hidden away, but it’s also open, hard to defend. Also, if Sergio Bianchi lived here, we would have seen someone by now. With a gun. So far, I’m not sensing any danger.
Maybe he used to live here, but not anymore.
Allie, however, continues to look around. She starts taking pictures, opening drawers.
“What exactly are you hoping to find here?” I ask her. “Another Post-it?”
She snaps a picture of the mantel. “I was hoping for a family picture, but…”
She stops suddenly.
“What?” I ask her as I stand next to her.
“That perfume bottle.” Allie points to the large nail polish bottle on the mantel. “That’s Cerena’s.”
I shrug. “So? About half the people in this country probably buy Cerena’s stuff.”
“No.” Allie shakes her head and picks up the bottle. “This one is the same as what she had in her exhibit. It’s… rare.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Maybe it was bought at an auction, or maybe…”
This time, I stop because something piques my curiosity. A painting on the wall of an angel in a graveyard.
I touch my chin. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it somewhere before.
Before I can remember where, I feel a prickling on the nape of my neck and a pinch in my gut.
Danger.
I sense movement behind me. I catch the smell of grease. Someone else is in this house, this room.
I glance at Allie. She’s still examining that bottle. She mumbles something, but I no longer hear her. My ears are tuned in to the other person in the room, listening for every creak, every…
As soon as I hear the button of a gun holster pop, I turn. I charge at the man and throw him down on the floor. Then I pull the gun out of his holster and point it at him.
Only then do I look into the man’s eyes. As I recognize them, my own grow wide.
Shit.
I know this man. Charlie. Orso’s ass-kisser.
His eyebrows furrow as he, too, recognizes me. He opens his mouth.
“C – ”
“Oh my God.” Allie stands over us and gasps.
“For a moment there, I thought you were one of those big, bad daddy bears,” I tell Charlie, emphasizing “daddy bears” in the hope that he’ll realize I’m here on Orso’s orders and play along.
I gaze at him intently just to get my message across.
He puts his hands up. “I’m just an old man living in a house by himself.”
“Why do you have a gun?” Allie asks.
“To keep people like you away,” Charlie answers. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house anyway?”
I give him a nod. So far, so good.
“Sorry.”
I get off him and put the gun down on a table. He gets up and brushes the dust off his clothes.
“We’re sorry,” Allie apologizes as well. “We did knock, but no one answered.”
“I was in the garage,” Charlie says.
“And the door was open, so…”
“So you made yourselves at home,” Charlie finishes. “Well, if I’m Papa Bear, I guess that makes you Goldilocks. But who are you really?”
“This is Alyssa Chandler with the FBI,” I introduce.
Charlie’s eyes fill with alarm. I try to reassure him with my gaze.
“And I’m Cain Archer, a private investigator.”
For a moment, Charlie says nothing. Then he snorts.
“FBI agents and private investigators – my two least favorite people in the world.”
I give him a warning glance.
“We just have a few questions,” Allie says. “What’s your name?”
“Roger Smith.”
Good.
“How long have you been living here?”
Charlie shrugs. “Twenty years?”
“Who did you buy it from?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was this house empty when you moved into it? No boxes left behind? No papers?”
“None.” Charlie shakes his head. “This house was clean. And I mean clean. I bought all the furniture.”
Allie frowns. I can tell she’s disappointed.
Still, she keeps her shoulders square as she points to the mantel.
“That bottle? Did you buy that, too?”
Charlie shakes his head again. “That was my wife’s. Said her ex-husband gave it to her. She gave away everything else that he gave her but that.”
Allie nods.
“Told you,” I tell her.
