Page 48 of Max's Mission

He kissed her temple. “I know.” It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they do something to make her ungrumpy.

A slight increase in pressure behind his fly had him shifting. He leaned away from her, then stood. “Come on. Let’s go check the next thing off our list.”

Nineteen

Ashiver crawled up Margot’s spine.

This place was eerie.

She stared out the car window at the farmhouse they’d rolled up to. Backlit by the setting winter sun, the shadows only intensified the grime coating the once-white clapboard siding. Leafless vines crawled up the latticework around the base of the porch on the left side. It twined over the railing to climb the square posts holding up the porch roof and speared the tongue-and-groove ceiling, disappearing beneath the wood.

Behind the overgrown beautyberry shrubs, boards covered several broken panes in the front windows, giving the front of the house a patchwork look, though much less friendly and comforting than a quilt. A rusted, gray pickup sat in the gravel drive beside the house. It listed to the right, the rear tire flat.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say no one’s home.” Max peered through the windshield. He cut the engine. “Let’s take a look around.”

The overhead light came on as he opened his door. Margot tugged on her doorhandle and got out.

Strands of her hair whipped over her eyes, and she snagged them with a finger, tucking the lock behind an ear. At least thebreeze here was warmer. She’d packed her heavy parka away and donned a thick sweater. Texas was much more favorable than North Dakota for her tropical blood.

But a chill still crept through her.

Folding her arms over her chest, she followed Max up the driveway. They walked along the house, peering through grimy windows. The time of day made it difficult to see inside. Vague shapes filled the room. Margot squinted, making out a couch and a small table, but little else.

“I wish we could go inside.” She cupped her hands around her eyes, leaning forward until less than an inch separated her skin from the window.

“Me too. But we don’t need to give Gallagher even more reason to be suspicious. Your alibi for Tad’s death is strong, but we all know killers can be hired.”

Margot frowned and dropped her hands. When she turned, he had his phone out. The low ring of a call going through filled the air as he put it on speaker. “Who are you calling?” she asked.

“Asher.”

The ringing stopped.

“Hello?” Asher’s deep voice joined the rush of the wind.

“Hey, we’re at the address I sent you. Did you find out anything about this place?” Max glanced up at the house. Their shoes crunched on the gravel drive as they wandered away from it and toward the outbuildings.

“I did. Property records show a Dale and Marie Conroy on the deed. I ran a search on them. Marie died about five years ago, but Dale’s still alive. His driver’s license shows that address.”

“Really?” Max gave the house a skeptical look. “This place is pretty rundown. I can’t imagine anyone living here.”

“It’s possible he moved out and didn’t update his license. It’s a couple of years old.”

“They have any kids?” Margot asked.

“A son. He lives in St. Louis. So, I guess it’s possible he’s living up there.”

“Okay,” Max said. “We’ll poke around here a little more. See if there’s anything to point us to why Tad found this place important enough to put a map to it in a safe deposit box.”

“Sounds good. If you need anything, call.”

“You know it. Thanks, Asher.”

“Yep. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.” Max hung up.

Margot huffed. “This is bizarre. Who the heck is Dale Conroy? And how did Tad know him?”

---