When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(93)

Another sigh, then more noises from the background.

“I never got to talk to Howard.” Sheriff Smithers returned to the phone. “By the time I got here, the deed was done and bedlam already erupting.”

“You don’t know the username or password,” D.D. filled in.

“No, ma’am.”

D.D.’s turn to sigh. “I’ll let Keith know. But, Sheriff, don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve seen Keith in action before. Howard’s death slows us down, but we’re not out.”

“I’m very sorry, ma’am.”

Which was echoed by more apologizing from the background. Franny again, probably wringing her hands or clutching her golden cross.

“We already knew they were one step ahead of us,” D.D. said. “All the more reason to keep moving forward. Maybe you should join us at the Mountain Laurel. Usernames and passwords are often based on personal information. It’s possible there’s something written down or a key photo in the office or bedroom that might help us out.”

“I’ll help,” Franny was saying in the background. “Please let me do something. I feel terrible!”

D.D. rolled her eyes. She didn’t care who came, as long as it was someone.

“Give me an hour or so,” the sheriff said. “Gotta sort out the body here, then we’ll be by.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” D.D. ended the call. Bonita was gazing at her expectantly. “Howard Counsel is dead,” D.D. told her.

A flicker of expression crossed the girl’s face, then nothing. Had she hated the Counsels for treating her like a maid? Or had she been grateful that they’d taken her in when she had nothing left? Maybe a bit of both. It was possible to love and hate your captors—just ask Flora.

Bonita finished leading the way down the stairs. They stopped at the office long enough to give Keith the news.

He was no longer working the desktop, but had a laptop open in front of him. Now, he shrugged philosophically. “Found the Tor browser. This is the machine.”

“At least we have some progress for the morning. The sheriff will be by to see if he can help search for the username and password.”

Another shrug. “Lotta data in this office. I can start with birth dates, anniversary dates, name of their favorite cat, that sort of thing. I’ll get it eventually.”

“Exactly what I told him.”

“Where are you going?”

“Down to the basement. It was where the servants lived.”

Keith frowned. “In these grand old homes, the servants’ quarters were generally in the attic. Homeowners needed the chillier temps in the cellar for storing root vegetables and other perishables. Add to that a large enough space to hold all the coal and wood used to heat a home of this size, plus a much smaller, contained room for dumping kitchen offal, other . . . waste products.” Keith wrinkled his nose. “Basically a nice cool cellar was too valuable to waste on servants.”

D.D. had no idea. “This basement has a dozen tiny rooms and hallways. Maybe the Counsels did it later.”

Keith clearly didn’t like her answer. “I have to back up the original hard drive before I can start working,” he said slowly. “While I wait, I think I’ll go with you.”

“You really want to tour the basement?”

“Yes. I really do.”





CHAPTER 36





FLORA





I HAD SEX LAST NIGHT.

It brings a surreal quality to my morning. After so many years of believing I would never be that woman, never have that experience again . . .

Do I look different?

Am I different?

I’m grateful to partner with Kimberly today. D.D. would study me. She’d know. Kimberly and I don’t have that kind of relationship.

Keith kissed me lightly before departure. Then stood with his forehead pressed against my own, a quiet moment that said even more. No awkward morning after for us. Instead, we’d gone from bedroom to crime scene. I’m not sure how many couples do that, but with Keith, it doesn’t feel extraordinary at all. Just another day in the life.

Now, I try to pull myself together. Maybe I had a sublime night. Maybe I’m even more excited for this evening. But some things haven’t changed. The pile of dead bodies. A town where nothing is as it seems. And now a morning call on a man who probably isn’t right in the head and will be greeting us with a shotgun.

We’d switched vehicles with D.D., giving her the official fed car while we commandeered the rental. Kimberly had taken to heart what I said—Walt isn’t the type of guy who’d take kindly to police on his property. Kimberly had ditched her credentials as well as her sidearm. I don’t believe for a moment, however, that she’s weaponless. I’m guessing ankle holster. Fits well with my knife.

Just two armed, paranoid women paying a visit to an even more paranoid man. What could possibly go wrong?

Walt’s gate at the edge of his property is locked up tight. Kimberly pulls over to the side and we both get out. Given Walt’s propensity for cameras, I already have an easy expression pasted on my face. Kimberly appears faintly bored, wearing a tight-fitting black tee with jeans. She appears wiry and athletic. In a fight, I wouldn’t bet against her.