Page 25 of Alibi for Murder
“I was just thinking the same thing. Most were in public places, at our house or at the house on Justen. This is such a large property I’m surprised they didn’t do hikes or picnics or something here.” She supposed they could have and for whatever reason hadn’t taken photos that day. It was a very attractive property, discounting the needed maintenance, particularly if one was a nature lover.
“Let’s check out the detached garage and barn.”
Allie followed him, still wondering why no photos had been taken here. It really was the perfect setting. They had moved here an entire year before her parents died, so it wasn’t because it had been unavailable to them at the time.
The detached garage was unlocked. Although they had no official business here and certainly no legal right, Allie needed to look. Before she could say as much, Steve opened the doorand they went inside. The electricity was still on, so the flip of a switch provided the necessary light to survey the interior. Inside were the tools found in most home workshops. Those for making repairs around the house as well as a few for vehicle maintenance. Nothing that personalized the space. No photos or calendars or brand memorabilia hanging on the walls.
The low roof-line barn was their next destination. Inside were stalls for horses but no indication horses had ever been there. The floors were clean. No leftover animal droppings or deteriorating straw or hay. No gear for riding horses in the tack room. The barn looked as if it had never been used for any purpose.
From there, they returned to the house.
“I guess we’ve seen all there is to see,” Steve commented, “unless we opt to do a little breaking and entering. Bearing in mind the Bureau and the police have both likely searched the place already, I don’t see any reason to cross that line. Yet, anyway.”
Allie glanced around. “I’m with you on that one. I suppose we could have a look under some of these flowerpots. They don’t appear to have been disturbed recently, and there’s a lot of them.” She smiled with a memory. “My grandmother used to hide a house key under one. Sometimes when we played games, she would hide clues under the flowerpots.”
This was probably a task that really would prove a waste of time, but why not give it a shot?
Steve considered her at length, his expression serious. “I really do like the way you think, ma’am. Your grandmother too.”
She laughed. “You can let me know if you still believe that when we’re done and all the spiders who probably call those pots home have shown their displeasure.”
The clay and ceramic pots were in various sizes and styles as well as colors. The plants in each were long dead. Allie resistedthe urge to dump the contents just in case something was buried in all that potting soil.
Just because the FBI and cops had been here already didn’t mean they wouldn’t be coming back. No one would be happy with the news that Allie and Steve had been on the property having a look. Disturbing anything at all that would be easily noticed wouldn’t be smart. They hadn’t broken into anything—technically. But they were trespassing, and the foray into the garage was not exactly a legal move. Maybe not the barn either, no matter that it was fully open with only stall gates on one side.
She kind of liked that Steve wasn’t afraid to stretch the boundaries. Another indication that he wasn’t so perfect or so uptight.
The fact was she liked everything about him.
The distinct sound of an engine and then a car door slamming had them both lowering the pots they held.
The next sound they heard was someone shouting, “Hello.” Female.
“Stay here.” Steve walked around the end of the house toward the voice.
Allie wasn’t inclined to follow orders at the moment, so she did the same, ensuring that he was well ahead of her and didn’t notice.
A woman stood next to a white sedan. She held a shotgun braced against one shoulder, but the barrel was extended toward the ground. “This is private property,” she stated, looking directly at Steve.
“Yes, ma’am.” Steve came to a stop at the front corner of the house. His arms hung loosely at his sides. His hands visibly open. “My name is Steve Durham. I work for a private investigations firm, the Colby Agency, and I’m following up on Mr. Thomas Madison’s death.”
This was true. Mostly.
The woman leaned to one side and peered past him. “Is this your colleague?”
Allie came to stand beside him. “My name is Allie Foster. Mr. Madison was a friend of my family. I’m the one who hired Mr. Durham.”
The woman was older than she had looked from a distance. Closer to seventy than sixty. She was trim and well dressed. Her light-colored hair was actually a very flattering shade of gray. And she appeared quite fearless.
“The FBI and the police have been here already,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you hope to find.”
“We have a photo,” Steve said, “if you wouldn’t mind taking a look. It’s a couple who associated with the Madisons, and we’re attempting to identify them. We believe knowing who they are might be very helpful to our investigation.”
She hitched her head for them to come to her, but she didn’t put down the shotgun. “I’ll have a look.”
Steve went first. Allie stayed close behind him.
“Do you live nearby?” Allie wondered how this woman had known they were here.
