A Line To Murder (A Puget Sound Mystery) Read Free Page A

papers with an open briefcase on the passenger seat.
    As I approached, he looked up. “There are three days of papers on the porch. I knocked. She’s not home.” His tone of voice implied overreacting female.
    Maybe if he didn’t look so hot and tired, while I felt so much better in my comfortable clothes, I would have been irritated. Instead, I cut him some slack. “Unless she’s fallen or something.”
    Andy sat there looking at me.
    I didn’t want to go in by myself, but if he’d at least wait in the car, I guessed I could manage. I was fairly sure he wouldn’t drive away. I fished Isca’s front door key out of my purse. When I turned and started up the walk, his car door slammed. I sighed with relief. Andy was behind me when I put the key in the lock and opened the door. Rather surprisingly, he had to step in front of me and give it a push because humidity had made the wood swell. It swung back. We were instantly hit in the face with the overpowering odor of rotting meat.
    “My God.” Andy stepped back a little.
    “She must have left something on a counter.”
    “I don’t know why she would have. Anyway, Isca has a garbage disposal. Don’t touch anything.”
    “We need something to rub under our noses, like cops do on TV—Vicks, or something.”
    Andy ignored the remark, and we stepped inside to look around.
    Isca’s house was small by north-end standards. To the left of the short entry was the living room. Straight ahead was the dining room and to the left of that, the kitchen. A corridor to the right of the entry led to three bedrooms and two baths. My attention was caught by a birdcage near a window. In it, her miniature parrot sat on his perch looking dejected.
    “Oh, you poor thing.” I started for the cage. “He must be starving.”
    Andy’s hand on my arm brought me up short. “Let’s just check the rooms first, before we disturb anything. We can feed him and take him with us and leave a note.”
    Andy went first and headed for the kitchen with me behind. I’m sure we both hoped to track down the source of the smell there.
    Everything was tidy and the counters clean. I thought it odd he used a handkerchief to open and close cupboard doors. A garbage can under the sink held nothing but napkins, and the food in the refrigerator was fresh. On the window ledge, a few plants needed water. The smell was neither more nor less powerful there. I wrapped my arms around my torso, holding my purse against my side, trying to take in the least amount of air possible. Inhaling through my mouth made me feel I’d ingested whatever smelled so bad.
    After a quick look around the kitchen and enclosed back porch, we started down the hall, pausing to glance in each room. Andy continued using a handkerchief to open closed doors. I didn’t even question it. I did, however, think it odd all the doors were closed. Who does that?
    Isca was tidy to the point of being anal. She didn’t like clutter and actually suffered a little on the alternate weekends when her son visited. Dominic was an okay kid, as kids went, but he seemed to have dozens of tiny toys, metal cars, sports figures and little plastic “things.”
    “Does the smell seem stronger anywhere to you? Like from a bathroom clothes hamper or something?” Andy wiped his perspiring forehead.
    “Not really, but I feel funny being here without Isca, like a voyeur or something. Let’s get this over and get out.”
    By an unwritten agreement, we both spoke in hushed tones.
    The first door led to a guest room. The door’s latch hadn’t completely caught, and Andy pushed it open with his elbow.
    Everything was neat.
    Strange. Isca’s personality was as vibrant as her red hair and freckles, but she’d painted her home in shades of cream, beige and subtle pastels. The only real color in the guest room came from several framed working cartoon drawings—cells, they were called—from the Disney studio where she once worked.
    Both bathrooms were empty. Clean