Kelly gasped audibly. I couldn't blame her. This house was unreal. Like something out of a magazine in Nigel Hickenlooper's waiting room. How long had Aunt June lived here? Did she build the house? I felt a knot of loss, wishing I'd known her.
But first I needed to warn the girls of the not-so-beautiful critters located somewhere in this fairytale house.
"Hold on, ladies. Before you explore, there's something you need to know. Aunt June had a collection that's very dangerous. Deadly bugs and other creatures. You aren't to touch anything, no matter how cute it is. Do you understand?"
The girls stared at me as if in a trance. I'd just told my ghoulish troop that there were fascinating (and possibly adorable) things that could kill you in this very house. Considering the venomous toxicity inside these walls, we were probably safer surfing on the Mississippi.
Without prompting, the girls held up the Girl Scout sign and promised in unison. I checked to make sure their other hands weren't behind their backs with twisted fingers offering them an out.
"Now pinky swear," I insisted.
The girls did that telepathic conference thing again. Using the Girl Scout sign to promise was pretty serious. But the pinky swear—that locked you in like concrete. There wasn't enough candy or the threat of blowtorches that would violate the law of the pinky swear. In fact, I wish I'd known about its power when I was a spy. Of course, it only worked on little girls and not on lying, cheating world leaders, which was disappointing.
But for these purposes it would be ironclad. And that was what I needed.
"Pinky swear," Kaitlyn said, holding out her crooked pinky.
I took it and shook and then went down the line, doing the same with the rest of the girls. Kelly stifled a grin, which was odd since, as a nurse, she knew what kind of dangers we faced in this house.
"It looks like three stories plus an attic." Betty stared at the loft and its rose window.
"And a basement," Ava added. "Old houses like these had big basements. My grandma uses hers to can vegetables." She made a face. "Which I don't get because she always put them in jars."
"We'll stay together," Kelly decided. "And start with this floor, working our way up. We can end with the basement."
"What are we looking for?" Lauren asked.
I wasn't entirely sure. "I don't really know. Everything, I guess."
"But we can't touch anything because anything could be a crime scene," Betty said.
"Good thinking." Ava patted her on the back. "Keep your eyes open for blood spatter."
"Or weapons with blood on them," Lauren suggested hopefully.
Inez frowned. "How will we know if it's the weapon or not? The killer might have wiped it down!"
Kaitlyn looked around. "Anything can be a weapon. I'll bet Mrs. Wrath has killed people with paperclips."
"Whoa." I held up my hands. "Killing is wrong, and the CIA doesn't kill people."
The girls seemed disappointed as they walked toward the back of the house.
I leaned over to Kelly and whispered, "It takes three paperclips and a whole roll of Scotch tape. It's all in the wrist."
"Whatever." Kelly rolled her eyes. "Where do we start?"
"With that room." I pointed to our right.
It appeared to be a parlor with overstuffed upholstered chairs and a sofa in front of a fireplace. Two tables held little statues.
"Holy cow!" I bent over to stare. "These are Ugandan fertility totems!" I straightened up and went to the mantle, where there were more tchotchkes. "And these are erotic Chinese figurines from Shanghai!" I found a doily and dropped it over the little "attached" man and woman so that the girls wouldn't see them. "And authentic Russian nesting dolls!"
"So?" Kelly asked. "Maybe she shopped at Pier One?"
I stared at her. "So they're not something you can get here. Aunt June must've done some travelling in her day. I really wish I'd known her."
There was a lot to see here but not enough that it appeared crowded. The walls were painted in a warm, pale peach and would be cozy and inviting in the winter. If the rest of the house was like this, I might seriously consider keeping it.
After searching the obvious surfaces, with me annoying Kelly by calling out everything I spotted, we looked under the furniture and pulled up the rug. We examined the fireplace and crown moldings, but nothing seemed out of place. Passing through a set of pocket doors, we found ourselves in what appeared to be a study. An antique desk took up one dark green wall, and the other three held bookshelves stuffed with old, leather-bound books and framed photos.
"Is this…" Kelly's voice trailed off as she stared at a picture. "Is this Nelson Mandela?"
I ran over to her and picked up the frame. Nelson Mandela had his arm around a white woman with red hair, blue eyes, and a relaxed and happy smile.
"Is this Aunt June?" I turned the frame over and took off the back. Nelson and me, Liliesleaf Farm, 1961.
"And this looks like Barbara Streisand!" Kelly squeaked. "Same woman!"
All of the photos were like that. The same jovial redhead with twinkling eyes, arm draped intimately around some celebrity or politician.
"This is ridiculous!" Kelly said. "I think this is her with the Beatles!"
I took down a photo from a higher shelf. "And a young Prince Charles!"
Who was this woman? How did she know such a wide range of celebrities?
It was the same with each discovery. Aunt June had posed with politicians like Egyptian President Anwar Sadat and Jimmy Carter, with actors such as Charlie Chaplin and Cary Grant. There was even a photo of her with Picasso!
I went to the desk and began opening drawers and sifting through the contents. There had to be a diary or something documenting this woman's amazing life. Did it have something to do with her death? Most of these celebrities were old, but did Barbara Streisand or Jimmy Carter kill her? I stopped and shook my head to
