Page 9 of Devil in the Details

Was he being too hard on himself? Delia didn’t know for sure, so she only made a noncommittal sound.

“Anyway,” Caleb continued, “now that I’m safely out of there, it’s even more important to get the house listed as soon as we can. Once they realize it’s for sale and there’s no sign of me, their pointy little heads are going to explode.”

That comment created a mental image that Delia wasn’t sure she’d be able to get rid of any time soon. Pushing it away as best she could, she said, “Well, I already went through the photos and dumped the ones I knew weren’t any good, so putting the listing together should go fairly quickly. What do you want to ask for the place?”

“Seven-fifty,” he replied promptly.

A decent price. Maybe a little high — she’d need to run some comps to be sure — but the house was in a very good area and had been completely remodeled within the last couple of years, so it would already be at a level above many of the other homes in the neighborhood.

“That should probably work,” she said, knowing her tone sounded too carefully neutral.

Caleb didn’t take offense, though, and only said, “I’m open to adjusting the price if you think it’s too out of whack. But I’ve been paying attention to what other homes in the area are going for, and I think it’s pretty inline.”

Then he’d done more research than she had. Her focus had been on the neighborhood where the Pueblo Street house was located, since she’d thought he’d be selling that one instead.

“In fact,” he went on, “I think you should go over there and stick a big ol’ ‘For Sale’ sign in the front yard even before you go home and post the listing. If anyone’s watching the place, it’s going to really stick in their craw.”

She supposed she could see that. “You’re the client,” she said with a smile.

No real lingering at Caleb’s new house — he pulled into the garage, she thanked him for lunch, and then she got in her Kona and headed over to the old place. Lucky for him, she almost always had at least one or two Dunne & Dunne Realty signs floating around the back of her SUV, so it wasn’t that big a deal to put up the sign before the house was even officially for sale.

The street was quiet enough when she got there, the group of middle-schoolers on their bikes long gone. She got out of the car and went around to the back to retrieve one of the signs, along with the mallet she always kept there as well.

Unlike newer homes in Las Vegas, which either had artificial turf or drought-tolerant native plants, the house had a lawn with real grass, grandfathered in after laws had been passed to protect the area’s water supply. While Delia understood those restrictions, she was always sort of glad when she could put up one of her signs in actual grass. Even with a mallet, pounding those things into gravel or turf was a massive pain in the ass.

But this sign went in easily, telling her the lawn had probably been watered the night before, or maybe even this morning. A pause to adjust it ever so slightly so it sat perfectly straight, and she figured her job was done…or at least, mostly done. She still had to go home and put together the actual listing.

As she was getting back into her SUV, though, a flicker of movement caught the corner of her eye. She quickly turned in that direction, and could have sworn she saw someone disappearing behind a large clump of Mexican honeysuckle planted on the side of a house two doors down.

Probably one of those kids, she told herself. Now they’re playing hide and seek, or whatever.

Did kids that age even play hide and seek?

Whoever it was, though, they were long gone, and standing here and staring at the luxuriant plant with its cheery sprays of yellow and orange-red flowers wasn’t going to make them come back.

No, she needed to get back to her house and put that listing together.

All the same, she kept looking over her shoulder the entire drive home.

Chapter Three

The listing looked great. Lots of pictures, all of them crisp and clear and shot from angles to maximize the feeling of spaciousness in the open first floor, with close-ups of the materials used and images of the pool that were so stunning, they looked as if they’d come from a brochure advertising some sort of resort rather than a listing for a single-family home in suburban Las Vegas.

Well, Caleb had already known that Delia was very good at her job.

She’d texted him to let him know the sign was up at the house and included a link to a private page on the Dunne & Dunne website so he could look everything over. While he appreciated her conscientiousness, it was clear that he hadn’t needed to vet the listing, not when everything appeared perfect to him.

Still, he carefully read it three times, doing his best to keep an eye out for any pesky typos that might have slipped through. He didn’t see anything, however, so he sent her a reply letting her know it was good to go. She answered a moment later with a brief, It’s live, and that seemed to be that.

Well, except for the part where he wished he could have thought of a good way to invite her over for drinks by the pool. Temperatures outside were just kissing eighty, and it would have been perfect.

But she’d done enough back and forth on his behalf today, not to mention helping him haul his stuff over here. No complaints, no annoying questions, just an understanding that they needed to get it done and, with any luck, give the demons who’d been surveilling his house the slip.

If it even was demons at all. Caleb knew he couldn’t entirely discount the theory that a regular human with burned-off fingerprints had been the one to leave the back door ajar, but that scenario still didn’t feel right to him. A regular burglar would at least have stolen the TV and some of the art, even if there wasn’t a stash of jewelry or cash at the place.

Thanks to her work helping ghosts move on, Delia had a handy supply of holy water at her house, and she’d loaned him a half-dozen bottles of the stuff, just to be safe. He hadn’t used any of them — and he was kicking himself for that now, because splashing some on the doors and windows of his old house might have kept the interlopers at bay — but better late than never.

Or rather, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

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