Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TEDDIE
Try to look like you're not up to something, I told myself.
What was it Dad used to say? Pretend you belong and no one will ask you questions. His version of fake it till you make it. It wasn't as though I didn't live here already, but sneaking around was new to me.
As was faking it.
My phone in my back pocket, I walked downstairs and into the kitchen, my arms swinging by my sides.
Very casual, I thought sarcastically. No one would notice a thing.
I relaxed my shoulders and reminded myself to stay calm.
Shannon was busy rolling out what looked like pie pastry. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, forearms covered in flour. Her attention on her work, not on me.
"Do you need any help?" I offered.
"Nah, I've got this." She brushed the back of her hand over her nose, leaving a smear of flour.
"If you're sure." I pulled a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with water from the faucet.
"I'm very sure," she said. "Although, that has to be the first time anyone around here has offered to help me." She glanced sideways, her eyebrows raising and falling before she looked back at the pastry dough.
"Would you accept their help?" I leaned my back against the counter, glass in hand, hoping I wouldn't tremble and slosh water on myself.
Apparently, I wasn't as good at playing cool as I'd hoped.
"Absolutely not," she said with a laugh. "Those boys would make a mess and I'd be the one cleaning it up. Flour would be spread from one side of the kitchen to the other." She jerked her head to the right then the left.
"That's just one of them. Get all three of them in here and they'd be having a fight with it. Not to mention the eggs."
"I'm sure they're not that bad," I said, not all that certain. If anyone was going to throw eggs, it would be those three. If it wasn't eggs, it would be shade.
"No, they're not that bad," she said. "They're worse." She winked and went back to rolling out the pastry dough.
"Have you ever considered working somewhere else?" I asked. Any number of business in Saltgrave would be happy to have her, attitude and all.
"I threaten to leave at least three times a month, but they pay well," she said. "They're all pains in the ass, but mostly they leave me to do my thing and I leave them to do theirs. You might say we have an understanding. I don't get too deep into their business and they don't get into mine."
Does that include the basement? I wondered.
"I bet you have some interesting dirt on them." Would she be forthcoming with it? If anyone had dirt on those guys, apart from each other, it would be her.
She tipped her head back and chuckled. "I've seen some things that's for sure.
You know the previous owner of this house was murdered?
No one else would touch the place. Those three, though?
They didn't even blink. Saw the place online and bought it then and there.
I mean, they went to parties here before.
They knew the place, but they didn't care about having a second walk though, or looking upstairs. Hel put in an offer and that was that."
I scratched my earlobe. "Murdered? What happened?" Unease crept up my spine. The place had an air of violence about it but I hadn't realized it was literal.
Shannon put down the rolling pin, peeled the pastry dough off the counter, turned it and started rolling it from the sides.
"No one talks about it, but they whisper.
It didn't happen here. Rumor is they had money trouble.
Got involved in some shady shit they shouldn't.
Stuff like that has a history of ending badly. "
She didn't seem scared or even worried. Of course, if she didn't feel safe here she wouldn't stick around. Would she? I mean, sure, they paid well but did they pay well enough for her to risk herself?
"It wasn't one of them that killed the previous owner, was it?" I asked. It shouldn't have been this easy to imagine them doing it. Should it?
"Not that I know of." Shannon shrugged. She leaned over the counter and rolled with practiced strokes.
"Why do I get the impression you wouldn't be surprised if they did?" I asked. Was this my cue to pack my things and get the hell out of here?
"If any of them murdered someone, it's their business," she said. "I won't be poking my nose into it." She glanced at me sideways and gave me a brief nod, her message clear.
In spite of that, I asked, "Is this where you tell me I shouldn't poke my nose into it either?"
"Chances are, there's nothing to poke your nose into," she said.
That wasn't a no.
"They aren't secretly mafia, are they?" I asked.
"I know some mafia folk, these boys aren't it," she said. She seemed certain. So much so I almost missed what she said.
"Wait, you know mafia people?" I squinted at her, trying to figure out if I should be running away from her instead. She seemed to know her way around a rolling pin. Would she use it as a weapon?
"Between you and me, I was raised in that lifestyle," she said easily.
"My family has ties to the Irish mafia that go back a long way.
I also know some of the Italians. They aren't the worst people I ever met.
" She made it sound like they were people she ran into in the bookshop, perusing the romance novel section.
Which was extensive if you frequented the store in town.
Delilah, the owner of Broken Spines, was a big fan of the genre. Indie authors in particular.
"Who are the worst people you ever met then?" Who could be worse than organized criminals?
Okay, disorganized criminals, but still.
"Politicians," she said without hesitation. "Them and the people who circulate around them. Bunch of predators if you ask me. I wouldn't trust a single one of them."
"No, I guess I wouldn't either," I said. No doubt there were some good ones out there, but the bad ones were more prevalent. More powerful.
"I knew you were smart." She pointed the rolling pin at me. "I better get this in the pie dish and back in the fridge. The boys love a good chicken pot pie for dinner."
"So do I," I said. "I'm sure yours will be delicious.
" One of the best things about living here was the food. There was no way I could pay Shannon enough to come with me when I moved out. I’d have to ask her to teach me a few things, then I could enjoy her food long after I was gone from here.
If my cooking was half as good as hers. Right now, there was no competition. She earned every dollar she got.
"Of course it will, and if it isn't, you'll eat it anyway." She flashed me a quick, sly smile, pulled out a baking dish and started to grease it for the pastry.
"Absolutely. I'll leave you to it." Comfortable she was distracted and would be for a while, I stepped out of the kitchen and into the corridor that led down to the bedrooms.
Knowing the previous owner was someone suspicious led to a few questions about the door to the basement. Had the guys hidden it or was it like that when they bought the place? I might be suspicious of them for no reason.
On the other hand, I was still curious about where it was. I considered waiting to ask them. If they weren't hiding anything, they'd tell me. Right?
Since I might be wrong, I decided to look anyway. Also, they might not tell me. Having a hidden basement might serve their needs somehow. What kind of people needed a hidden basement? The kind that wouldn't welcome me snooping around, so I was going to have to be careful.
I tapped my finger against my lips and eyed the doors to Oak and Fade's bedrooms.
After a moment’s thought, I decided to try Fade's bedroom first. He was sly, and secretive enough to choose the room that held the secret the tightest.
All right, so was Hel, but it seemed unlikely a secret door was in his room. If it was, a staircase might go past my bedroom wall. One with peep holes they could look through, and watch me while I slept.
Stop being paranoid, I told myself. There's no secret staircase. They aren't watching you while you sleep. They couldn't be, I'd accounted for the distance between my bedroom walls and the outside walls of the house. If there was a staircase, it would only be big enough for mice.
I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure Shannon was still in the kitchen before placing my hand on the knob and turning it.
I expected it to be locked, but it opened easily, the door swinging inward.
I also expected some kind of dingy sex dungeon, but his room was light and airy, decorated in a variety of shades of blue and gray. A bit too modern for the space but it suited him.
There wasn't much in the room. Just a bed, a bedside table on each side and a door leading to an ensuite bathroom. The wardrobe along one wall was full of clothes. Several suits, pairs of jeans, cargo pants and T-shirts. Expensive brands, judging by the labels visible at a glance.
I slid open a drawer inside the wardrobe and found a neat pile of boxer shorts and a variety of tank tops. All of them black. The drawer and its contents smelled of him. That masculine scent I could have inhaled all day. Why did he have to smell so good? Fucker.
I closed the drawer and looked into the bathroom. Like the bedroom, everything was neat, clean and minimal. One toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a hairbrush. Shampoo, conditioner and soap. Towels hanging from chrome bars on the wall.
That was it. No fancy body washes. No handcuffs attached to the shower wall. It looked like he was hardly here. As if he had no physical or emotional attachment to the place, in spite of living here.
I crouched and glanced under the bed, but found only hardwood. No sign of a trapdoor. Not even dust. No hidden door down to the basement. No discarded, used condoms. No handcuffs here either.
If I wasn't careful, I was going to become intrigued by Fade Mitchell.
Wrinkling my nose, I stepped out of his room, carefully closing the door behind me.
How much longer did I have? Shannon was still in the kitchen, singing to herself. I didn't recognize the tune, but she sounded happy for the moment.
My heart racing, palms suddenly slick with sweat, I moved through the corridor, down to Oak's room. Would this one be locked? Oak didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd leave his bedroom door unlocked. Anyone could wander in if he did. Anyone was going to if it was unlocked.
It's me, I'm anyone.
Half-listening to Shannon's singing, I placed my hand on the door knob and twisted. Like the rest of the door knobs in the house, this one looked original. Worn from use, only small sections of paint remaining here and there.
His door was also unlocked. Him and Fade must only lock their doors when they were inside, not wanting to be interrupted but trusting that no one would violate their space in their absence.
Sorry not sorry?
I eased the door open and peeked inside.
Oak's bedroom wasn't a mockup of a sex dungeon either. No sex chair hung from the ceiling. Not even a sex couch.
No, was it as dreary and surly as its owner.
All of the furniture was made of a dark wood.
Mahogany, unless I was mistaken. The coverings on the bed were dark gray and black, as were the curtains.
The walls were painted white, the same as the rest of the house, brightening the room, if not the mood.
A dresser occupied a corner of the room, covered in a variety of things that look like they were pulled out of his pocket and dumped there.
A couple of paper clips, an empty gum wrapper, an unopened packet of condoms. Two or three of what looked like stress balls, each well worn as if they'd been squeezed or thrown a lot.
At the back of the dresser was a photo of a woman with a boy that looked like Oak. Was that his mother? I leaned forward to take a closer look.
He looked like her. Same blonde hair, same shaped eyes. They even had the same face shape. He could have been a clone. They were smiling at the camera, her arm around his shoulders protectively. They looked happy. Content.
If he ever had that carefree expression now, I hadn't seen it. The kid in the photo looked like he had nothing to be guarded about, or angry. He'd changed since then, that much was clear.
Remembering what I was here for, I straightened up and stepped over to the wardrobe.
The door was half open, clothes hanging in no particular order. Pants here, shirts there. It reminded me of my own wardrobe. Organized chaos, I liked to call it. Disorganized chaos might be more appropriate. Whatever, I knew where to find things.
My breath caught in my throat.
At the side of the wardrobe was another door. Made of timber, it was exactly like every other door in the house. Except for the lock beside the worn knob.
This had to be it.
The door that led to the basement.
"Bingo."
I place a hand on the knob and twisted. I thought it would be locked, but the door opened easily as though it was well-oiled or used often.
Was that? Yes it was. A set of stairs led down, deep under the house.
I pulled the door all the way open until it lightly touched the inside wall of the wardrobe, took out my phone and turned on the flashlight.
The stairs looked well worn from hundred years of people making their way up and down.
Something dark stained the outer edge but I decided not to think about that too much. Instead, I'd dwell on the fact the doorway was in Oak's room. That tracked. After all, he was the security guard. Was he guarding something in the basement as well?
I sucked in a breath but couldn't smell anything nasty. Nothing that smelled like rotting corpse, although the smell that came from the basement wasn't pleasant either. Whatever it was, I couldn't put my finger on it. It was heavy, thick.
I swallowed hard and started down the stairs.