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“I do have some questions for you,” Asa said.
“And I’m happy to answer ’em. But I really do gotta be somewhere.” He rushed out the door, and Asa frowned.
“Let’s go see this room.” As the team headed for the case room, John’s phone rang.
Unknown caller.
Instead of following, he hung back and answered. “Detective John Orlando.”
“If you think you’re going to come up here and poke your nose into everything, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
Chapter Four
Monday, October 16
8:00 p.m.
After grabbing a bite to eat at a meat-and-three diner that was literally called Meat and Three Veg—Violet only eating the veggies and wondering how much butter they had been cooked in—the team headed for their lodging accommodations. They were staying in an old boarding house that had been converted into a bed and breakfast, propped on the banks of the Kentucky River with the Cumberland Mountains encompassing it.
But it couldn’t be described as quaint or cozy.
Looming and ominous, it boasted of deep-seated secrets and a past that would curl one’s toes, from the cracked, peeling paint on the four porch pillars to the sagging dormers over the three windows across the second story. Soggy earth and a hint of brine from the river swirled with falling leaves, and the two glowing lights opposite the front double doors flickered.
“Are we being punked?” Ty retrieved his phone from his pocket. “I’m texting Cami right now.”
Wasn’t like they hadn’t stayed in some odd places before.
“I’m willing to make the hour drive to a hotel in Pikeville. That’s all I’m saying,” Ty added. “Remember what happened at the last creepy home? Fiona?” He stressed her name and she frowned.
“Well, it needs work,” she said cautiously. “But maybe the inside will be better.”
Asa put his arm around her. “You didn’t sell that, hon.”
No. She hadn’t. Fluttering called her attention to an old clothesline where a flock of crows perched, emanating raucous caws. Like something out of a Hitchcock film.
“Are we gonna stand here like teenagers afraid to go into the haunted house in a movie, or are we going to go in like dumb adults in a slasher film? Me? I prefer the juvenile approach.” Ty glanced at his phone. “Cami says she didn’t know it was creepy, but it provides beds, so get over it. I do not like that woman.”
Fiona snickered, and Asa elbowed her ribs. Cami and Fiona had a salty past.
This was ridiculous. They were cowering like the Scooby-Doo gang, not top-notch federal agents who ate monsters for breakfast. “Enough already,” she muttered and approached the house, climbing the concrete porch and ringing the doorbell.
John followed. “Beggars can’t be choosers, huh?” The subtle scent of his aftershave tickled her nose. She never thought she’d be working a case with John Orlando—other than when she’d been working her mom’s case. But here he was. He’d said he’d driven straight here once he got the call about the murders and hadn’t thought anything else through. Seemed more level-headed than that, but it was concerning his dead wife. Hysteria got a pass. Ty said he’d bunk with Owen, and that opened up a room for John. The house was now at full occupancy.
Violet suspected they’d be here the whole two weeks, which was their longest possible stay in a location due to the budget and people needing a life. Sometimes it was only a couple of days or an over-the-phone consult. Violet didn’t mind the traveling or the living out of a hotel for two weeks and guzzling gas-station coffee. What else did she have going on other than her hunt for Adam?
The front door opened.
Not much surprised Violet, especially after the Nursery Rhyme Killer and all that came with his identity, but to say she was taken aback at this moment was a gross understatement.
“Detective Owsley,” Asa said.
Violet reined in her bewilderment. Why was the Criminal Investigations Division’s lead investigator at their B and B? Was this why he had to rush out of the station? To be somewhere. Here. Did he know they’d be staying here? He recognized their shock and grinned. “Agents,” he said in a gravelly voice, thanks to the nicotine.
“Do you own this place?” Talk about coincidence.
He laughed. Gritty but jovial. “Nah, Aunt Hossie does. But I played here all the time as a kid. Come in. Come in.” He took her bags, and she glanced at John, who shrugged with his eyebrows, then she tossed another look to the team behind her. Ty’s lips spread wide like the Cheshire cat.
“Hossie. Really?” he said through the side of his mouth and bypassed Violet into the foyer.
