“I had a little car trouble…If you could give me a lift into town?”
“Hop on in,” said a goateed man in a plaid shirt. His cap had a buck head on it. Another deer, this one jumping through a thicket, graced his right forearm in ink. She guessed him to be a few years younger than herself, probably late forties.
She climbed in. “Thank you.”
“Yer all wet,” he said, pulling back into traffic.
She glanced into the plastic pocket on the side of his door and spotted a knife in a leather scabbard. Crossing her legs to block his view of her right hand, she pulled the weapon free and slipped it from the sheath.
He leered at her, attempting some sort of wink.
She smiled.
Chapter Seventeen
After the FDLE arrived to investigate the situation at The Fairways, Frank dropped Charlotte off at her house. He honked as she walked toward her door and she jumped.
“Yeesh.”
Frank motioned to her to return, lowering the passenger window as she approached.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she asked, leaning in the window.
“I forgot to tell you not to get involved.”
“I have no idea what you mean, sir.”
“Nice try. I know you. We found two bodies in one day so I know you think there’s a serial killer on the loose.”
“There is. I told you about Jamie.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “That’s Stephanie trying to get you wound up.”
“Probably. But still, sort of a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“No. Even if we knew The Puzzle Killer was out and about, these don’t have her signature.”
“No. True. But maybe she’s trying to lie low.”
“Stop it. It isn’t Jamie and it isn’t some other serial killer. They’re probably both accidents. Leave them alone.”
Charlotte straightened. “Fine.”
“But be careful anyway,” he called as he rolled away.
She waved goodbye and he raised a hand as he rolled around the curve of the road and disappeared.
Coincidences.
I don’t believe in coincidences.
She said the words in a gruff, old-timey detective growl in her head and made herself giggle.
But seriously...
She had to look into these two deaths. If Jamie was killing again, it could be in preparation for coming after her, Declan or even Frank himself. Surely, even Frank would agree the possibility warranted a little poking around.
Charlotte jogged up her driveway and bounced inside to get her lockpick kit and gloves. The house where they’d found the man who ‘fell off the roof’ sat on the other side of the neighborhood, a quick golf cart ride away. It wouldn’t be right not to take a little look around. Jack, the unpleasant neighbor, probably still stalked the rolling fairways, so it was the perfect time to get a second look at poor old Ted’s house.
She hopped into her golf cart and wheeled it a few streets away. So as not to make her presence too obvious, she parked in front of the suspicious neighbor’s house and pretended to walk down the street before bouncing toward Ted’s.
The ladder from which Ted might have fallen lay on the ground beside the house, no doubt to keep it from killing again.
If only stopping Jamie was as easy as lying her on her side.
The FDLE had crisscrossed crime tape over the front door and Charlotte stared at it for a moment, wondering how long it would stay before Penny Sambrooke sneaked over and tore it away. Pineapple Port’s founder hated anything that made her development an undesirable place to live, and evidence of possible murders was probably high on her list of no-nos, positioned somewhere above empty houses and beneath tacky lawn ornaments.
Charlotte moved to the back yard. The brick had disappeared, she assumed into evidence.
I guess that was blood on it. I knew it.
Crime tape crisscrossed the back door as well. There was no way to open the back screen door to get to the inner door without breaking the tape.
Shoot.
She stood on the back porch, considering her options. Above her head hung a pot filled with red and hot pink geraniums, a festive touch for a bachelor. She tapped the pot and it swung, creaking.
Hm.
Plucking her gloves from her pocket, she climbed on the porch railing to remove the pot from its eyehook and used the wire hanger to tear away the crime tape before letting the pot drop to the porch. It cracked, dirt spilling on to the doormat. The crime tape fluttered to the ground.
What a shame. Hurricane winds have knocked down the geranium pot and it tore the crime tape on the way down.
Charlotte opened the back door and picked the inner door’s lock. Slipping inside, she closed the door behind her.
Ta da! Let’s see...
The kitchen appeared as clean as a model home’s. Even the well-worn coffee pot sparkled. Apparently, he’d cleaned it before heading outside to work on the roof, so early in the morning.
Or, he chose not to have any.
Or, someone killed him before he had a chance to make it.
She flipped the hopper open to find fresh coffee inside.
Never made it.
She wandered into the living room. The sparse décor left few surfaces for clutter and dust to accumulate. That Ted had been a bachelor for a long time, there was no doubt. Dark furniture sat clumped in front of a large television set. Not a single frill or feminine flair adorned the walls. A pillow with a Marine insignia sat in the corner of the worn plaid sofa.
Charlotte opened a closet to find even it uncluttered and organized, brooms and mops lined along the back wall like a detail of soldiers.
She moved to the door leading to the garage
