I stepped inside. The house was truly magnificent during the day. High ceilings and tall windows that allowed bright light to filter in made the home warm and cozy.
Then I smelled it. A scent like dog poop. I narrowed my gaze. “Did anyone bring a dog in here?”
“Yeah,” Kency said sarcastically, “we always bring dogs to crime scenes.”
“You know there are cadaver dogs.”
“We don’t have any of those.”
“Maybe you should get one.”
“Maybe you should get me a name.” Her eyes narrowed to slitty wedges of death. “Before I kick you out.”
“So touchy this morning, Kency. And I gave you a body. I would think you’d be more grateful about that.”
She opened her mouth to say something and then clamped her lips tight. “I have no comment.”
“All right. Let me do my work and get you what you need.”
Kency gestured for me to move along, which I did. But not before shooting her a dirty look in the process. No, I was not above shooting dirty looks to a woman I had helped out and who had been as gracious as a freaking cactus about it.
Come to think of it, her personality was about as prickly as one as well.
I decided to start upstairs since I hadn’t investigated that part of the home the night before. The grand staircase smelled of orange oil soap. From the lines splintering through the wood, it was obviously old, but the coat of polish on the surface made it look brand-spanking-new.
I wondered if putting oil soap on Kency Blount would give her a better attitude.
One could only hope.
I reached the second-floor landing. Several doors split off from the hallway on either side.
I walked the hall and closed my eyes—yes, I was walking with eyes closed. Don’t worry; I was mostly sure I wouldn’t bump into anything and break my nose.
I stilled my mind and listened, feeling to see if an entity was nearby. A wind rustled behind me, lifting my hair. I blinked my eyes open.
There she stood.
At the end of the corridor, wearing the same white dress.
My gaze shot straight through her to the wall behind. Her clothes fluttered as if she stood in front of an open window. Her dark eyes studied me.
A tingle swept from my scalp to my toes.
“Hello,” I said.
She nodded.
“Thank you for showing me where you were buried.”
Another nod.
Listen, broad, I really need you to talk if our relationship is ever going to go somewhere.
I cringed, hoping she hadn’t heard that. “The police want to know more about you. Who you are and how they can help. I want to help you. Can you tell me your name? I need a name. Something to help them figure out who you were and find whoever buried you in the cellar.”
“Molly.”
My eyes flared. “Molly what?” My fingers twitched. I felt like I was on the cusp of breaking open a pumpkin full of information. Okay, maybe a pumpkin wasn’t the best analogy. But I was on the precipice of something here.
