Page 17 of Dark Terror
“We are. Did one about thirty minutes ago. No sign of anything suspicious.”
“Good. Keep it up until we catch our bad guy.”
“Will do, Detective.”
Having done all he could to ensure her safety, he headed to Sheri Carstad’s row house to meet Nate.
* * *
“She’s a messy one,” Nate said as they stood in Sheri Carstad’s living room.
Gabe wrinkled his nose. “A hoarder would be a better description.” It looked like ten years of magazines were stacked against one wall. Lining another wall were bulging black plastic bags. He and Nate snapped on rubber gloves. They were here hoping to find a lead on their killer if the murder hadn’t been random and Carstad had known him. The Bureau of Identification people would come in later this afternoon to do a thorough search.
“At least the place doesn’t smell.” Gabe had been in a hoarder’s home last year that had required wearing a mask to stand being inside. He took his Kershaw knife from his cargo pants’ pocket and cut a slit in one of the bags. “Winter coats.” He cut into another one. “Socks. Hundreds of socks.”
The row house was long, narrow, and open. A dining room table behind the sofa was hidden by the twelve-packs of bottled water on it. More covered the floor around the table.
“Maybe she’s preparing for the apocalypse,” Nate said.
“Who knows what goes through the minds of these people.” A path just wide enough to walk through led to the kitchen, and Gabe made his way there. Two bowls were on the floor, one with water and one with dry dog food. Next to the refrigerator was a large cardboard box overflowing with dog toys.
“Looks like she had a soft spot for Cricket.” There were more toys here than that dog could play with in a lifetime.
Nate raised a brow. “Who’s Cricket?”
“Her little dog. Ugly as shit, but he kind of grows on you.” And he couldn’t believe he was even thinking that, much less admitting it.
“Where’s the dog now?” Nate asked, glancing around.
“Cara’s taking care of it until we find the next of kin.” He thought Sheri would be grateful for that.
“That’s nice of her.” Nate studied him for a moment before saying, “So, Cara, she’s very pretty.”
Refusing to bite, he ignored the bait his friend was tossing out and opened a door, revealing a small pantry. It was crammed full of canned goods, and more cans covered the counter surfaces. “Just crazy,” he muttered.
Behind the kitchen were two doors, both open, and Nate poked his head in the one on the left. “Jesus,” he said. “Where does she even sleep?”
Gabe peered in. “Obviously not in here.” The room was filled to the brim with piles of clothes and newspapers and other crap, to the point that it was impossible to enter the bedroom.
He turned to the other room. “This is weird.” The second bedroom was set up as an office with a small desk, chair, and a daybed, neatly made up. That was it.
“It’s like she was two different people. Crazy out there and a neat freak in here.”
“The woman had issues, that’s for sure.”
Nate walked to an end table next to the daybed, picked up a photo in a silver frame, and whistled. “If this is Sheri Carstad, she was gorgeous.”
“No kidding,” Gabe said, peering over Nate’s shoulder. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman with an hourglass figure in the picture was stunning. “That’s Cricket.” The little dog draped over her arm was staring up at her as if she were his moon and stars.
Nate wrinkled his nose. “He’s as ugly as she is beautiful. You’d expect a woman like that to have one of those fancy designer dogs.”
“Or maybe she had a good heart and gave a home to a dog no one else wanted.” Gabe wandered to the desk and picked up a small stack of papers, rifling through them. “Here’s a pay stub from Sherman Enterprises. Aren’t they that real estate developer?”
“Yeah. They’re the ones building that new shopping center west of downtown.”
“Thought so.” Gabe searched the desk, but other than finding more pay stubs from Sherman Enterprises and some utility bills, that was it. “There’s too much shit piled up to even try and search the place. We’ll leave the fun job of doing that to the Bureau of Identification.”
“Poor sods,” Nate said.
