A tinkling sounded: the key falling to the deck. It had stuck to the bottom of the fox.
Shit.
I picked up the key and slid it into the lock. Twisted. One. Two. Three.
Pushing the door inward, I readied myself to run the moment the alarm system started blaring.
But there was nothing. No one had armed it.
I pocketed the key and went inside.
For an agonizing second, I thought the adrenaline rush was going to make me sick. I planted my hands on my knees and breathed. When I was sure I wasn’t going to pass out or throw up, I shut the door and listened to the house.
I’d always thought a house sounded different when everyone who lived there was gone. But what about when someone died there? What did that emptiness sound like? I was hearing it, and it made my skin crawl.
The penlight’s little button clicked, and a tiny beam of blue light splashed the floor. I took a step into the back foyer and approached the stairs leading up to the kitchen. There was a gravity here I wasn’t imagining. Everything weighed more. Each movement I made was a potential mistake. I had to be careful. So careful.
In the kitchen I took stock of the clean counters, the lack of dishes in the sink, the strange smell in the air. It was tangy and unpleasant, a sour scent of ammonia and something else. In the next room I realized what it was.
A dark blotch covered the hallway floor. Dried blood. David’s blood. The man who I’d gone to school with, lived alongside, spoken to dozens of times—his blood coated the floor. The ammonia smell was probably from when his bladder let go after he died.
I gagged. No. You will not spray your last cup of coffee all over the crime scene, because if you do, you might as well drive yourself to the police station and confess you were here. It would expedite things.
The pungency of the smell eased, and my stomach returned to where it normally sat. Stepping carefully over the splotches of blood, I made my way down the hall, cupping the penlight with my hand whenever passing by a window.
A door to the left, one of the boys’ rooms, bed made, toys on the floor. A door to the right, bathroom.
In the next room on the left, someone stood against the far wall.
A strangled shout of surprise died in my throat as I shone the light inside. A life-size cardboard cutout of the Patriots’ star running back stared back at me. I cursed under my breath and saw the room belonged to Asher. Movie posters covered the walls, and there were some dirty clothes on the floor.
At the end of the hall, the last two rooms branched in opposite directions. One was the main bedroom. Inside, the two matching dressers jutted drawers and vomited clothing. More clothes were pulled out of the closet and strewn around the floor. The lamp on the right nightstand sat at an angle. I stared at the messy bed and wondered which side Rachel slept on. She always preferred the right when we were together.
Stop it.
I needed to focus. But on what? What the hell was I looking for?
Something out of sync. Something only I would pick up on.
I moved around the room, taking care not to disturb anything. Someone had gone through here like a whirlwind. They were looking for something. Kel had said cash and jewelry were missing. This seemed on point as I shone the light across a small necklace stand toppled over on a dresser. Earrings glinted in the carpet, and a wristwatch Rachel sometimes wore lay unclasped near the en suite bath. I looked at that for a long time before moving on to poke through the open dresser drawers, under the bed, and in the medicine cabinet.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The room across the hall was the office. A long desk, office chair tipped over, darkened computer, broken glass from a capsized lamp near the far wall.
Gathering what was left of my nerve, I began opening the desk drawers.
Folders with financial statements all bearing the name of David’s lending agency, pens, printer ink cartridges. A leather-bound ledger caught my eye, but when I flipped through it, all the pages were blank.
I turned the computer on in the hopes it wasn’t password protected, but it was. Turned it back off.
In the lowest drawer, under a fan of printer paper, was a scatter of business cards. Most of the names were local businesses in town. A few were out-of-state lending agencies and accountant services.
Just as I was sliding the paper back into place, words on one of the cards caught my eye.
New York, New York.
I picked the card up, exposing it fully.
HerringBone
Bar & Grill
5123 Prince Ave.
New York, New York
Something clicked and whirred in my mind, a processor chip coming to life. Nothing on the card stirred anything besides the city name. Then it hit me.