It’s a peaceful neighborhood, and not at all what I expected. Never having visited the man at home, I’d expected him to live in an apartment in the city, or possibly with an aged mother, but this house seems neat and well-cared for.
A home.
The front door is unlocked, but a camera winks at us from above the stoop. It might be a safe neighborhood, but it’s clear Ronald wasn’t taking any chances.
“Nice place,” Kane comments as we both scan the street. Dusk has fallen, and it’s quiet, but I have a feeling our presence hasn’t gone unnoticed.
“Let’s get in, look around, and then get the fuck out of here.”
He nods as I step inside.
The scent of beeswax and baking assails me. The floors gleam, and there isn’t a speck of dust anywhere. I walk down the halland peek into the adjacent living room. It’s small but cozy, with a green sofa and a fireplace stacked with logs.
In the kitchen, I find modern, high-end appliances and luxury cabinets, but there are small touches to show it’s a well-used room, such as a stack of recipe books and a collection of herbs growing on the windowsill.
“Was he married?” Kane picks up a photo in a simple frame of a younger Ronald with a gray-haired man wearing spectacles.
“No idea.” I leave the kitchen and head upstairs, leaving Kane to check the rooms downstairs. The small box room at the back of the house appears to have been his home office. There’s a filing cabinet plus a bookcase filled with lever-arch files of invoices and other documents. A cursory glance tells me they’re not related to our business, thank fuck, so I check his desk.
There’s nothing of interest. Just a bunch of stationery, a desk diary, and a legal pad.
The pad offers nothing useful until I peer at a note scribbled on page two. It’s a list of figures and an account number, which I recognize as one of ours. From the way Ronald circled the note repeatedly, it’s obvious he thought it was important.
Had he found something while doing the end-of-year stuff?
I rip the page out for safekeeping. Just as I’m about to move on, a small calico cat appears from a side room.
Meow. It rubs its head on my leg and purrs loudly. I’m not a cat person, but I reach down anyway. The cat purrs harder and chirrups at me before trotting to the stairs.Meow!
Dammit, what are we supposed to do with a cat?
The sound of a woman’s voice raises my hackles. The cat strolls downstairs like it owns the place, the collar around its neck jingling merrily.
“I’ve called 911 to report intruders!” A spry old woman wearing a pink velour tracksuit decorated with sequins stands in the doorway resting on a cane.
“Calm down, lady.” Kane raises his hands as the woman glares at him. She has to be pushing at least eighty, but she’s not backing down in the slightest.
“Who are you anyway?” She steps back when she sees me. “You don’t look like friends of Ronnie!”
I force a smooth smile. The kind of smile that soothes irritable politicians and nervous investors.
“Angelo Di Rossi, ma’am. Ronald worked for me.”
The woman snorts. “Ronnie was an accountant, not a hoodlum, son. Accountants don’t carry Berettas or dress like thirst traps on the cover of a mafia romance novel.”
“She nailed you, Angelo,” Kane laughs.
It’s hard not to scoff at the idea of me gracing the cover of a romance novel. That would be more a Luka thing. He loves being photographed, whereas I actively avoid it.
“I’m a property developer. Kane’s my head of security. And you are?”
“Hmm.” It’s clear the woman doesn’t believe us. “Is Ronnie okay? I saw the ambulance take him.”
Ugh, so she doesn’t know. I knew I should have asked Fina to come with us. How the fuck am I supposed to break the news that her neighbor is dead?
“Um…”
There’s an awkward silence before she gasps.
