“What, that we were going to ride up on a murder scene? Yeah, that might be a disclosure worth making in the future. You know, something to keep in mind.”
“It’s not a murder scene,” she murmured as she sat forward and put her hands on the dash.
He gave the car some gas. “You sure about that?”
No. “Yes, of course. People don’t get murdered in Walters.”
“Tell that to the hiker who’s all over the newspaper.”
“That was not a murder.”
“Assault with a dangerous wolf, then.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Then why are you smiling.”
She rubbed her mouth back into a straight line. “Why are we arguing about this?”
As the paired-up maples passed by, they were like deciduous sentries guarding a driveway that seemed rarely used, and she braced herself for … well, she didn’t know what. But her sixth sense was ringing a bell’s choir worth of alarm, and her skin was prickling with anxiety.
And she was really glad Daniel was with her.
Around a final turn, Peter Wynne’s converted barn came into view. The two-story structure had bright red planks and brilliant white trim, the whole thing looking like it had been taken out of a cardboard box, fresh from the toy store, and set on what should have been an Astroturf lawn with plastic models of horses, dogs, and feral mouse-chasers. That brand-new Mercedes SUV that Lydia hadn’t recognized was parked off to the side, and assuming it was a new acquisition of Peter’s, the shiny status symbol seemed just his style—although on his paycheck, she wondered how he could afford it considering all the renovations he’d been doing to the property.
Maybe he had family money. Which would explain all those Brooks Brothers blazers and wool slacks.
“Nice place,” Daniel said as they pulled around the circle in front and he put the car in park. “Belongs in a magazine.”
“I just want to see …” She opened her door and got out. “Whether he’s home.”
Daniel cut the engine and got out as well. “That car didn’t drive here itself. Unless your boy’s got visitors.”
“He is definitely not mine,” she muttered.
As she went up to the varnished oak door, she glanced back. Daniel was surveying the acreage, his body relaxed, his hands in his pockets, his expression alert, but disinterested. And that was when she noticed the downed tree limbs. The leaves crowded around the bases of the overgrown bushes under the windows. The fact that there were three newspapers in their plastic bags sticking out of the mailbox’s slot.
Turning back to the door, she lifted the brass knocker and let the heavy weight fall once. Twice. A third time.
Inside, she could hear the sound reverberating.
“No answer?” Daniel said as he came up behind her.
She shook her head. “But that car …”
“Let’s walk around back.”
Before she could answer, he was off, heading over to the SUV and glancing into the front seat. Then he continued on to check out the facade of the detached garage.
Lydia had a thought that they were trespassing. That they should call the sheriff, if she really believed something was wrong. But she wanted answers more than she was worried about the law, and besides, she didn’t trust the law.
Going down the barn’s short side, she came to the rear and wasn’t surprised at the build-out. A porch had been added, and it extended the full length of the structure—and vertically, there was a new second-story expanse overlooking the view of the rolling lawn and far-off line of trees.
“Business in the front, party in the back,” Daniel remarked as he went over to a door marked with wind chimes.
“Those chimes should be moving.” She joined him under the overhang. “I can feel the wind.”
“Bad angle for the breeze, then.” He curled up a fist and bang-bang-bang’d on the jamb. “Hello?”
His voice was deep and loud, the kind of thing that would get the attention of anybody inside. And maybe a couple of people across the valley.
As he did another round of fisti-knocks, Lydia went to the first of the windows. Cupping her hands, she leaned into the glass. The sitting area was arranged around a flat-screen TV that had been left on, the white slipcovered furniture balanced by red rugs and black-and-white photographs of nature scenes on wood-paneled walls. It was like a stage set for a home-town Christmas love story.
Except it was a mess. Newspapers were everywhere. There were half-filled mugs littering the coffee table, and plates with crumbs on the floor, and even a bowl with something congealing in it on the arm of the sofa.
“Jesus,” she said. “Peter’s ordinarily a neat freak.”
“I’m going in.”
“Wait, what?” She lunged and grabbed Daniel’s sleeve. “We can’t.”
“Why not? We’re knocking on the man’s door with his car parked right out there.” Daniel nodded around the corner. “And it’s why we came. Isn’t it.”
“Maybe we should just call the sheriff.”