Chapter Ten #2
“It’s not you. It’s me.” She shook her head. “I keep… Anyway. I found something.” She showed him the picture she had snapped with her phone. “This was on the back side of the Barbie Dreamhouse elevator.”
“Bradley Street.” His gaze shifted to hers. “Do you know the place?”
“I’m familiar with the area but I don’t know anyone who lives there—at least I don’t think I do.”
She couldn’t be completely certain, since there were some people she knew whose home addresses were not something she had ever learned or needed to.
Most people had acquaintances—particularly with all the social media—with whom they spoke from time to time but whose personal information they didn’t really know.
“We’ll see what we can find out.” He glanced toward the front of the house. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you have a surveillance detail. One man in a black sedan. Judging by the vehicle and the license plate I’d say it’s the Bureau.”
Brenda bit her lip. That could complicate things. “Is there a way to prevent him from following us or knowing that we’ve left?”
“We have to use my rental car so, yes, we should be able to do that.” He thought for a moment. “We’ll exit through the back door here and make our way via the alley to my garage. We can drive to the other end of the alley to make our getaway, and he won’t ever see us.”
Unless they had someone else watching the alley.
“Let’s give it a try.” Her nerves were jumping. She wanted to see what or who was at this address. Surely if Scott had written the address in a place no one was likely to find it then it meant something. But what?
The real question was how had he known she would find it?
No. Wait. She got it. Because this was something she did in her books.
If there were hidden clues, they were always in some unsuspecting place.
Oh yes. That was it. He had known she would look for exactly the sort of place he’d chosen.
A place the police and anyone else searching was not likely to look.
Not to mention she was the one who put that Barbie Dreamhouse together and she had not left any wobbly parts.
The fact that the elevator was loose, askew just the tiniest bit, had ensured she would check it.
Her confidence building, she followed Ben through the back door.
She locked it and hoped the man watching her house didn’t notice them leaving.
The trees and shrubs were fairly thick so she expected he wouldn’t.
Still, the possibility made her nervous.
It would be dark soon but waiting until then was not happening.
She needed answers and she needed to be able to see the house before approaching it.
Actually, she admitted if only to herself, she had no idea what she needed except answers.
In the alley, she followed Ben to his garage.
He entered the code and the door opened with a slow groan and grind.
She winced at the noise it generated. Once they were in the garage, he did a thorough search of his car—to ensure there were no devices for tracking or causing harm, he explained.
Even after his careful examination, a moment was required for her to work up the nerve to get inside.
Brenda wasn’t sure she would ever look at approaching or climbing into a vehicle the same way.
While she buckled up, he backed out of the garage and lowered the door by pressing a button on the bottom of his rearview mirror. At the end of the alley, she held her breath as they pulled out onto Holmes Avenue. It wasn’t that far to the mill village, but the hour ensured plenty of commuters.
As he navigated traffic and made the necessary turns, he kept an eye on the street behind them.
Obviously he had done this many times before.
Brenda followed his example, dividing her attention between the passenger-door side mirror and the street in front of them.
It wasn’t that she wanted to hide her movements from the authorities.
Her intent was not to deceive anyone. But she needed to check things out before the police, otherwise she might not be given the full details.
Though she trusted the police mostly, she recognized that there were some things they weren’t allowed to tell her or chose not to because of her status as a potential suspect.
As awful as all of this was, she couldn’t deny it certainly gave her a whole new perspective on how this side of an investigation felt. A good storyteller used moments like this as research. Maybe if she focused on that aspect of this nightmare, it would make getting through this easier.
“Turn there,” she told Ben as he neared the intersection with Triana Boulevard.
The past few years the southwest side of Huntsville had been making a comeback. Lots of people were buying up the old millhouses and renovating. Businesses were filling the once empty warehouses and abandoned retail spaces. She’d read about the revival.
“What do you mean when you say you’re familiar with the neighborhood? Have you lived in the area?”
She hauled her attention from beyond the window and turned to the driver.
“No. I mean I’m familiar with the area in a very general way.
Several local bookstores joined forces and held a signing event at Merrimack Hall last year.
” She pointed to the building as they passed it.
“And I think there used to be a ceramic shop along this block that I visited once.” She leaned forward to better see the street signs.
“We’ll take the next right, Holly Avenue. ”
“Do you participate in book signings often?” He glanced at her as he made the turn onto Holly.
“Sometimes. Not so much now as in past years.” She stared at the street ahead. “Everything changes. Especially after you have a child.” She pointed to the upcoming intersection. “That’s Bradley. We’re going left.”
He slowed and they scanned the numbers on the mailboxes. “Looks like the next house on the left,” he said as he slowed a bit more.
Brenda stared at the house. Looked vacant. Disappointment rattled through her. Then again, looks could be deceiving. Like most of the rentals in the village, the house was a duplex. No curtains or blinds on the windows on either side.
Ben parked at the curb. “I can have a look around first,” he offered.
She reached for her seat belt and unfastened it. “I’d prefer to go with you.”
He gave her a nod. “Let’s do it then.”
They emerged from the car together, met at the hood.
A single sidewalk led to the porch, then split off to meet two sets of steps.
The one on the right was their destination.
The door was a solid wood one with no windows.
While Ben knocked, Brenda wandered to the first of the two large windows along the wall next to it.
She put her hands on either side of her face and peered through the grimy glass.
The front room appeared empty. Her hopes sank. The place was vacant.
“The front room is empty,” she said as she walked past Ben to the set of windows next to the neighboring front door.
Ben knocked once more. “What about that side?”
She peered beyond the window, then groaned. “Looks empty too.”
Ben smiled.
“Why are you smiling?” A dead end. That’s what this was. Irritation flickered deep inside her.
“That just means we get to go around back.” He gestured toward the steps.
She smiled. “Good point.” Brenda was way past beating around the bush here. She needed answers. She wanted her daughter back…her life back.
Ben checked the street before they walked around the right side of the house.
The houses were old, end of the nineteenth century old.
Most had been wrapped in vinyl siding and the side porches closed in to add additional floor space.
This one was no different, but the addition of a rear porch provided another easily accessible view into the house.
Ben climbed the rear steps first. He moved from the two smaller windows to the door.
Brenda was right behind him. Cupping her face, she stared through those windows too. Still nothing. No furniture. No leftover household goods at all. With both sides of the duplex vacant, she would have expected a For Rent sign out front.
“The door is ajar.”
Brenda looked from him to the door. It was open just a crack. “If we go in…”
“Illegal entrance,” he finished for her.
“I’ll go in,” she said, moving toward the door. “I’m not in law enforcement and I have no real reason to know the rules.” Except she did. She used them in her stories all the time. She imagined that would work against her in a court of law.
“Funny,” he countered. “We’ll both go in. In my opinion, we were invited.”
Brenda chuckled. “I love the way you think.” She’d have to remember that line.
The back door entered into the kitchen. There was a musty, dank smell about the house as if it hadn’t been lived in for a very long time.
Some of the cabinet doors hung from a single hinge.
Others were missing altogether. A few soda and beer cans were lying around on the floor.
A burger wrapper and pizza box on the counter.
Thankfully nothing scary like needles or other drug paraphernalia.
More beer cans stood in one corner of the living room.
An old blanket was on the floor under a window.
“Brenda.”
She turned to him, and that was when she spotted the writing on the wall behind them—the one that separated the kitchen from the front room. The message looked exactly like the one left in black spray paint on her garage door.
YOU ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME.
Fear spread through Brenda like frost creeping through her veins, freezing all that it touched. Then, as if her emotions had shifted into an unexpected reverse, outrage abruptly roared inside her.
How was she supposed to find something when she had no idea what she was looking for?