2. Claire
CHAPTER 2
Claire
“ G ood morning.” I held open the door to The Cozy Cup and smiled at Mrs. Tewksbury as the older woman exited the building, a steaming vanilla latte in her hand. How did I know that’s what the woman carried? Because Mrs. Tewksbury had ordered the same drink every Monday for the last five years. Ever since the coffeeshop opened.
“Well, good morning, Claire. You’re running late today.”
“Yeah. Pebbles was being a stinker. Put me behind a bit.” Usually, I was in the coffeeshop, chatting with the owner—my best friend—by the time Mrs. Tewksbury arrived. There would be no chatting today, though.
“Well, I hope the rest of your day goes more smoothly.”
“Me too, thank you.”
“Bye, dear.” Mrs. Tewksbury waggled her fingers and strolled away, off to meet her friends for their morning walk.
I stepped inside the coffeeshop, letting the door swing closed. The bell overhead rang, announcing my arrival.
“Hey, you. Good morning.” Mina Kensington, my best friend, waved from behind the counter.
Waving back, I walked over to the pickup counter. “Can’t stay and chat. Got an early meeting.”
Mina gave me a thumbs-up. “Stop by later? I have something to tell you.”
“Oh?” I paused, my interest piqued.
Mina laughed. “It’s nothing that important. Just an idea I had. We’ll talk later.”
“Oh.” I glanced at my watch. I really wanted to know what Mina had to say, but I would be late—later—if I didn’t get a move on. “Okay. I’ll try to come back around lunch.”
“Sounds good.”
With another wave, I left. Juggling my purse and breakfast, I pushed the button on the door handle to unlock my car, then got in. The plush brown leather seat enveloped me, and I set my coffee in the cup holder. Tossing my purse and the bag with my muffin on the passenger seat, I closed the door and started the car. With a quick glance in my mirrors, I backed out of my parking space and headed around the corner to my office.
Homes by Holmes’s office was a quaint single-story white bungalow converted to office space probably thirty years ago, long before I bought it. Before I moved my real estate business in, it had been an insurance agency, and before that, a dentist’s office. But I liked the small building with its black shutters and black and white awnings. It was a little vintage and retro and a whole lot inviting. Deep red vases I kept on either side of the door all year-round spilled over with greenery. I’d removed the poinsettias and holly after Christmas, but it was too early to add spring flowers.
We were firmly in the doldrums of a southern Alaskan winter, but in just a couple of months, the warmth would return. We’d seen shades of it the last couple of days, actually. For February, it had been warm. Low to mid-forties with more rain than snow, though we’d seen a couple of skiffs, including one last night. In fact, it had been warm enough, lately, I’d taken several strolls on the beach just beyond my back fence. There was something awe-inspiring about watching the steel-gray waters of the Pacific in the winter.
Next week, though, they were calling for a return to more seasonable temperatures and another significant snowstorm. I’d be back to digging paths through the yard, so Pebbles didn’t disappear into the snow as soon as she stepped outside.
Tugging on the door, I let myself in. “Morning, Tamara.” I smiled at my receptionist, Tamara Martin.
“Morning, boss.”
“What are you doing here?” One of my realtors, Savannah Smith, poked her head out of her office. “I thought you had to go meet the staging crew at that house on Autumn Creek Road?”
“I do, but I wanted to drop off the contracts for the Spring Street sale so Tamara can make copies and get it all filed.” I shrugged one strap of my large purse off my shoulder and reached inside, removing a folder. I passed it across the desk to Tamara.
“I’ll get it taken care of.” Tamara took the folder with a smile.
“Thanks, Tam. Could you also call Will Davis and see if he has room on his schedule for a closing this Friday?” One of my properties was moving through the sale process faster than expected, so we needed to move the closing date up a week. “And put this in my office?” I set my coffee and my muffin on the desk. It would only take me fifteen minutes to open up the Autumn Creek house. Then I could come back and start my day at a slower pace.
“You got it.”
“Great, thank you. Okay.” I spun on my heel. “I’m off.” Throwing a hand in the air, I waggled my fingers and left again.
Back in my car, I maneuvered out of my small parking lot and pointed my vehicle toward the middle-class neighborhood of Willow Den and my new listing on Autumn Creek Road. My homeowners had signed the contract Friday and were eager to sell, so I’d sent pictures to the head of my staging crew, Lynne Young, and asked her to meet me at the house with whatever she thought she’d need to make the house more attractive to buyers. I had the key to let her and her crew inside.
Pulling up behind Lynne’s box truck, I hopped out, keys in hand. The driver’s door of the truck opened and Lynne got out.
“Morning.”
“Hey. Sorry I’m late. Pebbles was a pain.”
Lynne waved a hand. “I’ve only been here a couple minutes.”
“Good. I’m glad I didn’t keep you waiting.” My heels clicked on the concrete driveway as I headed for the front door. “I’ll get this unlocked so you can get started.”
“So, what did Pebbles do today?”
I huffed. “Ran out the front door after a stray cat when I opened it to pick up the newspaper. I had to chase her down the sidewalk in my robe and slippers.”
Lynne laughed. “You need to take that dog to obedience school. Maybe then she’ll listen.”
“She does. When she wants to.” I chuckled. Pebbles most definitely had selective hearing.
I slipped the key into the lock. “Anyway, I’m just thankful some guy running came around the corner when he did. He corralled her against the Winslow’s fence.” I frowned as the memory of his attitude toward my dog came back. “He wasn’t too enamored with her charms, though.” I stepped over the threshold.
Lynne smiled. “Maybe he hadn’t had his morning coffee yet.” The older woman followed me inside.
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “So, do you need help bringing things in?” I hoped not. That coffee and muffin called my name, but I hadn’t seen any of Lynne’s crew outside and didn’t want to leave her alone to unload everything by herself.
“No. Sammie should be here soon. You weren’t the only one with animal trouble this morning. Something got into her trash last night and left a mess on her patio.”
My nose wrinkled. “I’ll take chasing my dog down any day over that.”
“Me too.”
“Okay, well, do you want to walk me through what your plan is, then?”
“Sure.” Lynne pointed behind me. “I brought an entryway table to put in here and some trinkets to display. In here”—she pointed to the living room to the right—“I brought some décor to spruce things up. A mantle display and some blankets. And this really cool—” She stopped. “Claire. Did you leave the door open the last time you were here?”
“What?” I turned to look at the French doors leading to the backyard. One was open a crack. “No. Why is that open?” I walked toward it, looking at the lock. Maybe it was broken. Reaching for the handle, I stopped, remembering the spate of burglaries we’d had lately. “Crap.” I looked at Lynne. “We should probably check the house. Make sure nothing’s been stolen.”
Lynne wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. You go up, and I’ll look around down here?”
I nodded. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Don’t worry.” Lynne pulled her sleeves down and tucked her hands inside. “I won’t.”
With a nod, I left the room and went upstairs. Hopefully, I didn’t find anything missing. Maybe someone forgot to lock the door—whether it was me or the homeowner—and it blew open. Filing a police report and calling my homeowners to explain a break-in was not on my agenda for today.
Reaching the landing, I paused, frowning as I realized I would have to touch the doorknobs to check the rooms. They were all closed. Well, except for the master bedroom. That door stood open. Which was weird, because I know I closed all the doors the last time I was here. It was an odd quirk I had when I showed houses. It was how I made sure no one was still in the home after an open house. When everyone was supposed to be gone, I would walk through and check every room, then close the doors as I went. It had become such a habit that I did it when I showed homes privately and when I took listing photos as well. And I know I closed that door after doing my walk-through to take pictures for Lynne.
The plush cream carpet quieted my footfalls as I traversed the hall to the master suite. With a knuckle, I nudged the partially open door inward.
Rumpled bed clothes hung half off the black metal-frame bed. A lamp laid on the floor, having fallen from the nightstand. Clothes hung out of the dresser and littered the floor.
Eyes huge, I stared at the mess. “What on Earth?” Walking deeper into the room, I headed for the closet. There was a floor safe hidden behind some long dresses. I wanted to check that it was still there.
I rounded the end of the bed.
For half a second, I wondered at what I was seeing. Then it registered.
A scream bubbled up my throat, but got stuck and came out as a strangled cry. I stumbled backward, tripping over my heels to land on my butt on the floor. Like a crab, I scrambled back, then pushed to my feet and stared at the space between the bed and the closet, horror making my stomach do somersaults.
There, on the floor crumpled into a heap, was Mrs. Hammond, one of the homeowners. Eyes open, sightless and slightly cloudy, her gaze fixed at a point under the bed, she lay in a pool of deep red blood.
Dead.