The Killing Game(33)

The hell of it was that September didn’t feel quite the same. She loved Jake, didn’t want anyone else and wanted to be married to him. That was all true. But as far as the job went, she liked being a homicide detective, and after over a year on the job she wasn’t quite the newbie she’d been. Not that Jake was asking her to quit, but he did worry about the dangers.

“Are the steaks burning?” she asked.

“Nah. Just a char. I’ll leave the salad to you. Pour yourself a glass of wine.” He indicated the open bottle of red on the counter as he headed back outside.

“It’s salad in a bag,” she said.

“Of course.” He threw her a grin.

Cooking wasn’t exactly her long suit.

She poured a small amount of a red blend they both liked, looked at the glass, then added in another healthy dose. What the hell? It was Friday and she wasn’t working tomorrow, though today had been long. She and Gretchen had changed direction at the last moment and decided to meet with Grace Myles, which hadn’t worked. Grace was apparently having a bad day and the detectives were politely, firmly turned away. They’d been on their way to meet with Bromward, but Gretchen had decided she would rather call on the phone than face the man’s cats again. Back at the station, she’d phoned the garrulous older man, who’d proceeded to hang on the phone with the just-one-more-thing line long after Gretchen’s patience could handle. September’s partner had finally just clicked off while Bromward was in midthought, and after spewing a blistering string of swear words, Gretchen had said to September, “Bromward’s yours from here on out. I’m not talking to him anymore.”

“That’s not how it works,” September said.

“Yeah, it is.”

Now, September grabbed the bag of Caesar salad out of the refrigerator, cut it open, and dumped the hunks of romaine into a bowl. Then she cut open the inner bags of shredded parmesan, croutons, and the dressing. One of the things she loved about Jake was that he could swing from the most gourmet meal to pedestrian fare without comment.

She set the bowl onto the table, scooped up her wine glass, and joined Jake outside. “Gretchen said the skeletons-in-the-closet investigation would be solved in a few days.”

“Gretchen says a lot of things that aren’t true. You just noticed?”

“Smart-ass.” She shook her head. “She dragged me back from vacation last summer because the case was heating up, but it just came to a grinding halt. We don’t have a DNA match and no one on Aurora seems to know who belongs to the extra bones. I’ve gone back through property records to previous homeowners, but no one wants to get back to me.”

Jake pulled the steaks off the grill and slid them onto a plate, then picked up his own glass of red. They both walked back inside and sat down at the small kitchen table.

September exhaled heavily and picked up her wineglass. “Gretchen and I connected with Tynan Myles at Tiny Tim’s today. He lives at the house catty-corner across the street from the Singletons, where we found the bones. He wasn’t a lot of help. His mother, Grace Myles, owned the house before she turned it over to Tynan. She was probably the Singletons’ closest friend, according to Carol Jenkins, Jan Singleton’s sister. But Grace is in assisted living now and suffers from dementia. We tried to see her, but she wasn’t at her best and the powers that be at Maple Grove Assisted Living suggested we come back another time.”

“You said the bones are from an eighteen-year-old male?”

“Who would be about thirty now, if he’d lived. Tynan’s son, Grace’s grandson, is probably closer in age, but he never lived on Aurora. He lived with his mother out of state. And his wife isn’t interested in having us talk to him.”

“What about the other neighbors?”

“There’s a Chinese family in the house directly across from the Singletons. They’ve been there about five years. They’re very polite, but when I ask them questions they just nod and smile. I don’t know how much they understand. They have a grown daughter who lives in Los Angeles who I’ve talked to and who basically interprets. She says they don’t know anything, and I believe her. They haven’t been there long enough.”

“Any other houses?”

“Lots of houses, but no one who really knows the Singletons except the guy on the opposite end of the street. Gretchen had an illuminating conversation with him about pretty much everything but the Singletons, so, now I’m going over the records of people who lived on Aurora before. One house has sold six times.”

“Something’ll break.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” September grumbled. “Gretchen’s losing interest. Even though she likes the weird ones, she’s about ready to jump ship.”

Jake touched the rim of his glass to hers. “C’mon. Let’s eat. You’ll feel better.”





Chapter Eight



Saturday morning Luke drove to the Bellows’s cabin and was a little surprised to see how well-tended it was. The trees and bushes that lined the lane were trimmed back and there was fresh gravel along the lane that led to the small clearing by the lake, where a newly shingled two-story house had replaced the rustic abode Luke remembered from the pictures Bolchoy had in his file.

Luke parked and stepped out, conscious of the earthy smell of the lake and the light breeze that filtered the heat of the sun. It was late September and there was no discernible change from August. If it hadn’t been that he was worried about Andi, it would have been a perfect day.