A Song of Shadows Read Free Page A

okay?’
    ‘Absolutely.’
    Walsh took in the dunes and the ocean, his hands on his hips, like he’d just conquered the bay and was considering where to plant his flag.
    Soames coughed. He always coughed when he was nervous or uncertain about something. It was his only flaw as a Realtor, like a gambler’s ‘tell.’
    ‘Um, the lawyer, Ms Price, mentioned that some security consultants from New York would be coming by.’
    Walsh’s mustache lifted on one side in what was almost a smile.
    ‘Right, “security consultants.” Is that what she called them?’
    ‘I believe those were her words.’
    ‘Well, you’ll know them when you see them.’
    Soames had visions of black-clad operatives, bristling with weaponry, rappelling from helicopters. Even though it wasn’t a warm day, he took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and used it to mop his brow. This was like preparing for a presidential visit.
    ‘I guess there’s not much more that we can do for now,’ said Walsh.
    He started to walk back toward Bloom’s car, where the chief was already waiting. Soames trotted along beside him, trying to keep up. Walsh’s strides would have made Paul Bunyan’s seem dainty by comparison.
    ‘You got any idea when he’s supposed to get here?’ asked Soames.
    ‘A week, I think.’
    ‘Will that be enough time for the, ah, “security consultants” to do their work?’
    ‘If it isn’t, then he won’t arrive until they’re done. But I expect so. They’re professionals.’ Walsh’s mustache lifted again. ‘Are you concerned about them?’
    ‘A little,’ Soames admitted.
    ‘Good. You should be.’
    Soames tried to focus on his commission.
    Back at his office, he poured himself a drink after Walsh and Bloom had left. He resisted having a second, because that way lay a slippery slope, but he was pretty certain that, before the detective’s time in town was out, he’d be buying another bottle to keep in his desk drawer.
    Maybe even more than one.
    Soames was almost relieved when the consultants finally arrived, even though he’d been having disturbing dreams in which they appeared as versions of his father and complained about his alcohol consumption. He was starting to feel like Ebenezer Scrooge, anticipating the visit of the third specter whose coming he feared the most, when a terse call from Aimee Price informed him that the consultants would meet him at the house first thing on Friday morning.
    The men were already waiting when Soames arrived: one tall and black, the other shorter and whiter, although Soames thought that he might have been Latino, or part Latino, or part lots of things, most of them problematic. Soames knew better than to ask. All he knew for sure was that they both made him nervous, the black one most of all. He introduced himself as Louis, but didn’t shake hands. He was wearing a nicely cut dark suit. His head was shaved, and a hint of gray-flecked goatee adorned his face like moonlight reflected on a lake at midnight. The other man, who did shake hands, said his name was Angel, which was another reason for Soames to believe that he might be Latino. Or part Latino.
    Or something.
    He couldn’t say precisely why the men were unnerving. It might simply have been the pent-up concern inspired by the earlier references made to them. Then again, it might also have been to do with the fact that, when he began showing them the house, he got the distinct impression that they were already intimately familiar with its layout. Okay, so it was possible that they could have looked up the description and dimensions on his website, but the website didn’t detail which doors stuck, or which floorboards squeaked, and the men pointed out these flaws to Soames before they reached the doors or boards in question.
    They were also interested in the panel for the old alarm system.
    ‘How long has it been out of commission?’ asked Angel.
    ‘I can’t say for sure. The house hasn’t been lived in for two years,