Page 13 of The Body in the Backyard
“It’s only for a little while.” Riley patted his chest and then pushed out of his grasp. “No power tools under my roof, Mr. Willicott.”
Lily elbowed her way past her roommate. Burt trotted after her, eyes glued to the plate in the elderly woman’s hands. Lily shoved the stack of mostly burnt chocolate chip cookies under Nick’s nose. “Does the birthday boy want a cookie?”
Nick sighed and picked up a blackened cookie. “Thanks, Lily.”
4
3:36 p.m. Thursday, October 31
Griffin lived on a cul-de-sac on the East Shore, where the houses were ostentatiously big, the yards professionally maintained, and the only people ever seen outside were housekeepers and nannies. His house was an imposing Greek mansion with White House–like columns and concrete urns on the front porch.
Nick parked on the street and scowled up the circular driveway, where Josie and the news anchor were recreating that morning’s shooting.
“Do you want to help them?” Riley asked.
“If by ‘them’ you mean the person who took the shot, yes.”
Nick Santiago was still all bantery charm, even when he was mostly serious about committing murder.
“Hehe. Good one. I like this guy.”
Riley had inherited the Jeep and, with it, her uncle Jimmy’s spirit. He’d passed away fishing on the river after eating one too many double-meat, hold-the-veg hoagies.
“At least Uncle Jimmy thinks you’re funny,” she said.
“I always liked the ghost of that guy. Let’s go knock on some doors and see if anyone saw or heard anything. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find the pretend attempted murderer so we can call it a day and go have birthday sex.”
“Good plan.”
They climbed out of the Jeep and headed for the property to the right of Griffin’s.
“Do you know any of the neighbors?” Nick asked.
“I never met any of them beyond waving when they drove by.”
An imposing stone wall surrounded the yard, and there was an open gate at the foot of the driveway. Unlike Griffin’s golf course–looking lawn, this property was more garden than yard. Huge maples and pines blocked out the late fall sunshine. Beds of ivy, bushes, and boulders ringed the base of tree trunks.
There was a fairy-tale vibe to the place, but Riley wasn’t sure if it was more pretty-country-manor-with-an-awesome-library or witch-who-eats-small-children.
“Maybe we should change out our lawn for an overgrown forest. Less mowing,” Nick said, eyeing a bed of ferns.
Riley waved to the trio of people in green jumpsuits raking stone around the base of a bubbling fountain in the front yard. “Less mowing might not mean less maintenance. This place looks like it might take an army of landscapers to keep up.”
The house was more stone and lots of glass. They followed a path made of slate slabs as it meandered to the portico and front door.
There was no doorbell, only a heavy gold knocker. Nick thumped it against the catch twice. “I feel like we’re about to meet Batman,” he said.
The woman who opened the door was definitely not Batman. She barely cleared five feet tall. Her brown skin was gracefully lined with age. Her salt-and-pepper hair was fashioned into a bulky bun at her crown, showing off chandelier earrings. A classy knit blazer hung regally from her shoulders.
Nick slid into lady-charmer mode and flashed the woman his dimples. “Hi. I’m Nick Santiago. This is my partner, Riley. We’re investigating an incident that happened next door a few hours ago.”
The woman rolled her eyes heavenward. “Now what did that Gentry twit do?”
“He experienced a hilarious chest-waxing incident,” Nick said.
“And then someone shot at him in his driveway,” Riley added, giving Nick a warning glance.
“Allegedly shot at him,” Nick corrected.
