Steven was waiting for me in the kitchen when I came downstairs.
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
“Everything okay?” he asked as he turned on the water and checked the garbage disposal.
“Everything’s fine… here,” I clarified. “But I was hoping you could take a look at Mrs. Haggerty’s house. The power and water are still turned off since her basement flooded. She’s staying with us until the damage can be fixed.”
Steven’s eyes went wide. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“She was here when you came over last night.”
“My hands were a little full,” he said curtly.
“I’m sorry. I probably should have said something.”
“You’re damn right, you should have said something. I thought the woman was in jail!”
“She didn’t do it,” I said, lowering my voice so the children wouldn’t hear. “She was released last night. It was all over the news.”
Worry lines cut into Steven’s brow. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Do the police have any idea who did it?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe I should stay here with you and the kids, just to be safe.”
“Absolutely not. I have too many people sleeping in my house already. The sooner I can get Mrs. Haggerty’s power and water back on, the sooner I can get her out of my room.”
He sighed. “I guess I can take a quick look at the place.”
He grabbed his Maglite from the cab of his truck and followed me across the street. I checked Mrs. Haggerty’s mailbox on my way to the front door, tucking the handful of bills and circulars under my arm as I sifted through the keys on her key ring. The door creaked as I unlocked it and pushed it open. The house smelled musty, the air dense with a damp, pervasive chill. Diffuse gray light seeped through the closed curtains. The shadows they cast left a pall over the house. Steven’s wary expression suggested he was as uncomfortable here as I was.
“The electrical panel is probably in the basement. I’ll go take alook.” He flipped on his flashlight. The beam wobbled as his boots thumped through the kitchen and down the basement steps.
While he went to inspect the damage, I checked out the rest of the house. Dried mud and footprints tracked a path through the hallway to the living room. It smelled like old furniture and faintly like damp wool. A pile of knitted throws sat in a basket beside the hearth. The fireplace looked like it hadn’t been used in years. The log holder was empty and the firebox was clean, the whole of it probably too much trouble for an elderly widow to bother with. The mantel was crowded with framed photos and keepsakes. A fancy wooden cigar box was engraved with her husband’s initials. Every surface in the room was filled with collectible ceramics, candy dishes, and stacks of old golden-age mystery books, some still carrying bright stickers with handwritten prices, as if they’d been purchased from a library clearance sale.
I ran a finger over Mrs. Haggerty’s shelves on my way to the kitchen. It came away with a layer of dust. I made a mental note to mention it to Brendan. He’d need to hire a cleaner once the repairs were finished. The house had been sitting without power for nearly two weeks, and the fridge and freezer would need a good scouring, too. The smell would be awful once they were finally opened, and I knew better than to disturb things that had been left in a freezer to rot.
I sorted Mrs. Haggerty’s mail into piles on the counter, tossed the junk in the trash can, and sifted through the bills. A thick envelope from State Farm was among them. I skimmed the packet of renewal forms inside it. A declarations page was attached, listing her various policies. Her late husband’s 1979 Lincoln Mark V was due for renewal next month, but her homeowner’s coverage was (thankfully) up to date. I found a copy of the policy in the packet as well. That would be helpful to have handy if any contractors came.
I was gathering up the pages when I noticed something odd…
Two life insurance policies had been listed on the last page—one for Margaret Haggerty and one for her husband, both of them due for their annual renewal.
Which wouldn’t have been strange at all if Owen Haggerty hadn’t been dead for five years.
Why continue paying seventy-five dollars per month to insure her deceased husband? Mrs. Haggerty’s Social Security checks were nowhere near enough to live on, especially in this area. Why hadn’t she cashed in Owen’s life insurance yet?
Steven’s boots thudded back up the steps. I tucked the insurance forms in my coat pocket as he entered the kitchen. He turned off his flashlight and tapped the handle against his palm. “I’m not qualified to handle a job this big, Finn. I made a few calls, but the soonest anyone can get here is Monday—”
A throat cleared behind us. Steven and I both turned to find two plainclothes police officers standing in the living room, their badges displayed on their hips and a uniformed officer behind them.
Steven paled.
“We’re not trespassing,” I said, holding up the key ring Brendan had given me. “The owner of the house is staying with me. I live right across the—”
“I know who you are, Mrs. Donovan.” The plainclothes officer wasn’t looking at me. His thumbs were hitched in his belt, his stony gaze locked on Steven. “I’d like to know what your ex-husband is doing here.”
My stomach tightened as I caught the flash of blue lights through the front window. Three police cars were parked outside; one blocked Steven’s truck in my driveway, the other two blockedboth sides of the street. “I asked him to help me with Mrs. Haggerty’s repairs. Is there a problem, Officer?”
