Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [74]
Sean jogged back to the building, his mind on making the phone call to the D.A. to discuss a possible press conference. He wanted that sketch of the pendant out today. Someone might have seen it. Maybe they’d be willing to tell him where.
“Do you mind stopping at my house for just a minute?” Amanda asked as the police cruiser pulled out of the parking lot of Broeder’s one and only fast-food restaurant. “I wasn’t prepared to spend more than one night at Greer’s. It looks as if I might be there for a few more days.”
“Not a problem. It’s down Jackson, if I remember correctly.”
“Right.”
“This is a nice neighborhood,” Dana noted. “I like how you have such big lots, and those fields and woods behind. It feels like you’re out in the country, but you still have sidewalks and other houses along the street. When Kyle and I first moved to Broeder, this was the neighborhood we wanted, but there was nothing on the market at the time. I love these old houses. They all look so trim and homey. Like a neighborhood in a magazine.”
“I was lucky, I admit. Derek’s aunt had owned the house, and she had decided to sell it right about the time I’d decided to look for one.” Amanda pointed to their right as a reminder to Dana that they were almost to her house. “There, it’s three down from here.”
The car came to a stop, and Amanda opened the door. “I’ll be right back. This won’t take but a minute.”
“Uh-uh.” Dana shook her head. “I’m with you. White on rice and all that.” Dana followed Amanda up the drive. “Front or back?”
“We’ll go in the front.” She turned up the cobbled walk. “And I’ll just grab the mail while I’m here.”
Amanda reached into the box and pulled out a stack several inches thick. “Magazines, junk mail, and bills. And a new Publishers Clearing House thing. There’s something to look forward to. . . .”
She unlocked the front door and stepped into a silent house. Setting the mail down on the small oak hall table, Amanda paused, her head tilting slightly to one side.
“What?” Dana asked softly, straining as if listening to the house sounds.
“Nothing, I guess.” Amanda still stood in the same place near the table.
“Something off?”
“Something . . .” She laughed self-consciously. “You’ll think this is strange, but something smells off. Must be something in the trash.” She walked down the hall toward the kitchen. “Though I could have sworn I’d emptied it before I left the other day. . . .”
Dana’s hand was on her gun as she checked the first floor, room by room, on the way to the back of the house.
“Well, I’m not crazy. I did empty the trash.” Amanda opened the refrigerator and scanned its contents. “Nothing going bad in here. . . .”
“What exactly do you think you smell?”
“Can’t put my finger on it. Just something that shouldn’t be here. Cologne or something.”
Dana sniffed the air. “I don’t smell it.”
“I don’t either, not in here.” Amanda nodded. “Just there in the front hall. Maybe it’s my imagination.”
“Maybe not. Maybe someone was here.” Dana drew her gun. “Let’s go on upstairs. Stay behind me.”
They crept up the stairs and into each room, each closet. Behind the shower curtain, through the small attic, back down to the second floor.
“Anything look out of place?” Dana asked.
Amanda shook her head. “Not that I can tell. Let’s get my stuff and get out of here. I’m feeling spooked.”
She grabbed an overnight bag from a peg on the back of the guest room closet and went into her bedroom, pausing in the doorway to look around.
“Anything?”
“I guess not. Let’s just get out of here.” She laid the bag open on the end of the bed and proceeded to go through a few drawers, pulling out some underwear here, a few shirts there, another pair of jeans, tucking all into the oversized bag. Another pair of shoes from her closet, a small leather case holding her few good pieces of jewelry from a shelf under her bedside table.
She hesitated, frowning.
“What?”
“I must really be losing it. I don’t remember bringing this magazine up here.” She gestured toward the bedside table. “I guess I’m just letting my imagination