“Yeah, the body, but the stench of death clings to a listing.”
“Would you mind opening the place up and letting us have a look around?” Weber asked.
Haley shrugged. “Sure. What do I care? I’ll just be stuck with this place until it falls down and gets condemned.”
She stomped past them onto the front porch and reached for the lockbox. “Some detectives you two are,” she said. “The lockbox is broken, and the door’s unlocked.”
“When were you here last?” Weber asked.
“Three weeks,” she said with a shrug. “I had a no-show showing. I got here early, opened the place up, and the guy never showed.”
Nick glanced around the porch. “Is that your security camera?” he asked, pointing to a small camera tucked into the eaves of the porch pointing down at the front door.
Haley looked up and frowned. “That’s not mine. There’s nothing in here worth stealing unless some antique nut wants to steal a big ass Kelvinator refrigerator installed in 1931.”
Nick and Weber shared a look. Three weeks ago meant planning, calculation. It meant the killer had scoped out a kill site right around the time he sent the glitter bomb. If Larry Rupley’s body was inside, it meant the killer had planned and executed three murders. And Riley was next on the list.
“Do you have a name for the potential buyer you were supposed to meet?” Weber asked.
Haley pulled her phone out of her bag and scrolled through her calendar. “Says Jackson Neudorfer. He contacted me through the online listing, so it’s probably a fake name.”
Weber nodded and stepped away, his phone to his ear.
Haley gave the front door a nudge, and it swung open. This time, the breeze wasn’t necessary. The smell of death hit them in the face.
“Oh, hell,” she groaned and yanked a pack of tissues and a spray bottle of essential oils out of her bag. She doused two tissues and handed one to Nick.
“You don’t have to go in there,” he said, accepting the tissue. It smelled clean, like eucalyptus and lavender. Better than his own sweaty pits or decomposing body.
Burt jogged for the door, and Nick stepped on his leash.
“I’m going in,” Haley said firmly. “My dad was on the job in Philly for twenty years. I’m more used to this than most. Besides, I know this place like the back of my hand.”
Weber returned, pocketing his phone and grabbing his handkerchief again. Together the three humans and one dog stepped inside.
“These are the original marble floors,” Haley said, sliding into real estate agent mode. “They were imported from Italy. The ceilings here in the foyer are twenty feet high, and that’s all original woodwork. And since you two aren’t buying the place, I can tell you they were assholes who made their money on the backs of underpaid, overworked coal miners and steelworkers.”
“Wow,” Nick said. It was a hell of a space with a big-ass grand staircase curving up and around to the second floor. Rooms opened off both sides of the foyer, and hallways flanked both sides of the staircase. Rooms that had a few pieces of furniture and zero glitter. Rooms that would make a pretty damn nice waiting room and office, Nick couldn’t help but notice. Burt looked impressed too. Weber looked grim.
“Depressing, isn’t it? The foundation is sound, and the roof is new. An investor with pockets that weren’t quite deep enough managed to rewire and replumb most of the house a couple of years ago. But he lost a boatload of cash in a divorce and ended up moving to Santa Fe. He rented it out to a couple of tenants over the years, including some wacky candle maker,” Haley said.
That explained the potpourri smell, Nick decided.
“I’ll take the south. You take the north,” Weber decided, handing out gloves before unholstering his gun.
“Got it,” Nick said, doing the same with his piece that he’d tucked into the waistband of his shorts. “You might want to wait outside,” he told Haley.
She produced a small Glock from her bag. “I’m coming with you,” she said firmly. “You’ll need my help accessing the secret passage between the servants’ quarters and the main floor.”
“Don’t shoot anyone,” Weber called. “I don’t want to deal with the paperwork.”
Nick jerked his head toward the left. “Let’s go.”
“What’s the asking price?” Nick asked.
“The asking price is practically free. That’s not the problem. It’s the tax liens. The mouse and bat infestation. The fact that no one in their right minds wants an eight-bedroom, ten-bathroom house with two kitchens, neither of which have been updated in a million years. There’s not enough parking for it to be an event space. It’s too chopped up to be a family home. It’s basically the perfect dumping ground for dead bodies.”
They cleared the first room on the left. It was a high-ceilinged living room with a fireplace and French doors that opened out onto the wraparound porch. Beyond that was a moody-looking den with wood paneling, an even bigger fireplace, and an entire wall of bookcases. No body, but both rooms looked like they’d make kick-ass offices. Beyond the den was a long skinny room with counter tops running the length on both walls. There was an exterior door that led out onto the side porch.
