The Second Mouse - Archer Mayor [65]
Finally, some twenty minutes after finding the address, he also located a parking spot and walked back to a three-story wooden building of typical nineteenth-century triple-decker design, complete with strung-up laundry hanging limply like a banner from the second-floor balcony.
He climbed a set of stairs to the building’s recessed entrance and paused there, overlooking the neighborhood while removing the stifling jacket he’d just put on out of habit.
“Hey, Mr. Policeman,” a young voice instantly called out. “Ya gonna arrest somebody?”
Lester shifted his gaze to two boys loitering on the stoop next door, one of them holding a ball. Their comment caused a couple of passersby to cast a look at him. Only then was he aware of having exposed his shield, gun, and handcuff case with the removal of his jacket. The second-nature aspect of the equipment often made it all but unnoticeable to him. Now, however, he became acutely aware of being in full sight of every window and parked car up and down the block.
“Not this time,” he said uncomfortably.
“Who ya lookin’ for?”
He spied the name “Redding” above one of the five doorbells near the front door.
“I got it,” he told them, and quickly pushed the button.
To his surprise, the front door lock immediately began buzzing, while the speaker above the bell remained silent. Gratefully, Spinney pushed the door open and stepped into the building.
It wasn’t as hot as he’d expected, the hallway’s windowless gloom being forever spared the sun’s direct onslaught. But it was dark, and he stood there blinking for a few seconds, his sense of vulnerability now expanded in scope.
“What d’ya want?” a woman’s voice asked, directly but not unkindly.
He squinted up the hallway to a shadow outlined against a door opening. “I have an appointment with Adele Redding.”
The voice was clearly surprised by his gangly appearance. “You the cop?”
“Yes.” He motioned toward the shield on his belt.
“Wow,” the voice said, its amusement clear. “That, I never would’ve guessed. Come on back.”
Lester walked slowly, not sure what he might stumble into on the way, and approached a small, squarely built gray-haired woman who emerged from her surroundings like a photograph surfacing in a tray of developer.
Face-to-face, he stuck his hand out. “Lester Spinney. Vermont Bureau of Investigation.”
Her handshake was surprisingly firm. “Adele Redding. Come inside.”
He followed her through a cluttered, dark entryway and along a narrow hall before turning a corner into a bright, sun-filled living room whose windows were crowded with stacked shelves of healthy plants. Lester wasn’t to know this, not having been to the Wilmington house of Adele’s daughter, but the propensity for successfully growing things evidently ran in the family.
The contrast between this virtual greenhouse and the gloomy corridor brought him up short. It also gave him a much clearer view of Redding’s face, which, despite its smile, was etched with grief.
“I’m really sorry for your loss,” he blurted out.
She seemed to understand that his words came from deeper than their blandness suggested.
“Thank you,” she told him, gesturing to an armchair. “Would you like something to drink? Or to use the bathroom?”
He shook his head, sitting down and draping his jacket across his knees. Despite the warmth, there was a pleasant breeze wafting in from the windows. Through the clutter of plants, he could make out a small backyard and an alleyway beyond a wooden wall. The room was filled with old furnishings, carefully framed pictures, and assorted treasured objects ranging from vases to family photos to a dark, heavy grandfather clock. None of it was expensive, but the place was clean and tidy and proudly maintained, which seemed to reflect the woman, who took a rocking chair next to a basket full of knitting to face him.
“You’re