Killer Closet Case: a Danger Cove B&B Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 6) by Elizabeth Ashby, T. Sue VerSteeg Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Ashby, T. Sue VerSteeg
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local police department. The original owners are deceased and…" I made air quotes as I continued, "'I rather doubt they'd have anything like that in them, anyway.'" I dropped my head to the cool desk surface and huffed, "And my parents have murderer tattooed on their foreheads?"
"Well," he hedged. "The Renauds were a pretty sweet old couple. Reminded me a wee bit of me gran and granda."
I pushed up on my elbows and flashed him the best death glare I could muster.
He shoved his hands out in front of him, waving them around as though he could erase his prior statement. "Not that your parents aren't lovely too. I was just…" He looked around frantically again. "Leaving to go fix Old Lady Winstead's bushes, I suppose. Ring me if you need something." He practically jogged out the front door.
Cristal giggled. "You really know how to handle a guy."
I really wanted to snarl, but I popped a smile to my face instead. You catch more flies with honey, right? "I need your help."
She blew on her hot-pink nails and waved them about. "As long as I don't have to touch anything until I'm dry, I'm all yours."
I led her into the back living room, sat her in Dad's chair, and shoved the coffee table close to her. My makeshift bed was still cluttering the couch, so I'd flop there. "I'm going to pull some files from my parents' things. Just sift through the papers as best you can."
Her head bobbed in acknowledgement as she blew on her nails again.
After about ten failed attempts from random keys on the ring, I finally found the one to the desk drawers and all of my parents' receipts and records. Neither of my parents could pride themselves as anything close to an organized record keeper or even balance the checkbook on their own. Thankfully, they'd always been able to find a CPA willing to piece it all together for their taxes every year. I pulled out a huge stack of papers. The only thing defining it was a bright-yellow sticky note that stated keep .
Again, there was a growl threatening to escape, this time toward my folks. Again, I just smiled.
I split the pile of papers and put half in front of Cris. "Dry enough to dig some?"
She delicately touched a forefinger to her bright-pink thumb. "Still tacky." She sighed. "But I think I'll be okay."
"Thanks." I plopped down on my dad's comforter and started sorting through my stack. "We are looking for something that dates back to around the time my parents took possession. It won't be Mal's business. It'll be a company we don't recognize."
Cris blinked at me a few times, a vacant look on her pretty face. "I don't even know what Mal's company name is."
"You haven't seen his huge truck and trailer parked in the drive with his name in big black letters?"
She shrugged.
"O'Connell Construction and Landscaping. You can just flip past those, okay?"
"Oh, yeah, that makes sense." Her blue eyes widened as her head bobbed in acknowledgement. The woman amazed me. I'd seen her waffle between maniacal genius and dumb blonde at the drop of a hat.
We dug through things from other rehabs, pictures of vacations, receipts from meals in 2010, and cards from relatives. Finally, we came across a pocket of receipts dating around the time they took possession.
"Bingo!" I bellowed, eliciting a startled squeal from Cris. "I found something." I spread the papers out on an open area of the table near her. "Jiffy James Home Renovations out of Seattle. These work orders are all signed by a Jeffrey James."
I scurried out to the computer, with Cris on my heels, and plugged the information into the search browser. When images of a shady-looking man accompanied by even shadier-looking people showed up, I felt like I'd just hit triple sevens on a slot machine.
"Look!" I waggled an erratic finger at the screen. A giant hulk of a man filled the frame. Even with a gray receding hairline and sweet smile, his squinty eyes and harshly angled nose told a different story. The tattoo on his forearm of crossed revolvers and
"Well," he hedged. "The Renauds were a pretty sweet old couple. Reminded me a wee bit of me gran and granda."
I pushed up on my elbows and flashed him the best death glare I could muster.
He shoved his hands out in front of him, waving them around as though he could erase his prior statement. "Not that your parents aren't lovely too. I was just…" He looked around frantically again. "Leaving to go fix Old Lady Winstead's bushes, I suppose. Ring me if you need something." He practically jogged out the front door.
Cristal giggled. "You really know how to handle a guy."
I really wanted to snarl, but I popped a smile to my face instead. You catch more flies with honey, right? "I need your help."
She blew on her hot-pink nails and waved them about. "As long as I don't have to touch anything until I'm dry, I'm all yours."
I led her into the back living room, sat her in Dad's chair, and shoved the coffee table close to her. My makeshift bed was still cluttering the couch, so I'd flop there. "I'm going to pull some files from my parents' things. Just sift through the papers as best you can."
Her head bobbed in acknowledgement as she blew on her nails again.
After about ten failed attempts from random keys on the ring, I finally found the one to the desk drawers and all of my parents' receipts and records. Neither of my parents could pride themselves as anything close to an organized record keeper or even balance the checkbook on their own. Thankfully, they'd always been able to find a CPA willing to piece it all together for their taxes every year. I pulled out a huge stack of papers. The only thing defining it was a bright-yellow sticky note that stated keep .
Again, there was a growl threatening to escape, this time toward my folks. Again, I just smiled.
I split the pile of papers and put half in front of Cris. "Dry enough to dig some?"
She delicately touched a forefinger to her bright-pink thumb. "Still tacky." She sighed. "But I think I'll be okay."
"Thanks." I plopped down on my dad's comforter and started sorting through my stack. "We are looking for something that dates back to around the time my parents took possession. It won't be Mal's business. It'll be a company we don't recognize."
Cris blinked at me a few times, a vacant look on her pretty face. "I don't even know what Mal's company name is."
"You haven't seen his huge truck and trailer parked in the drive with his name in big black letters?"
She shrugged.
"O'Connell Construction and Landscaping. You can just flip past those, okay?"
"Oh, yeah, that makes sense." Her blue eyes widened as her head bobbed in acknowledgement. The woman amazed me. I'd seen her waffle between maniacal genius and dumb blonde at the drop of a hat.
We dug through things from other rehabs, pictures of vacations, receipts from meals in 2010, and cards from relatives. Finally, we came across a pocket of receipts dating around the time they took possession.
"Bingo!" I bellowed, eliciting a startled squeal from Cris. "I found something." I spread the papers out on an open area of the table near her. "Jiffy James Home Renovations out of Seattle. These work orders are all signed by a Jeffrey James."
I scurried out to the computer, with Cris on my heels, and plugged the information into the search browser. When images of a shady-looking man accompanied by even shadier-looking people showed up, I felt like I'd just hit triple sevens on a slot machine.
"Look!" I waggled an erratic finger at the screen. A giant hulk of a man filled the frame. Even with a gray receding hairline and sweet smile, his squinty eyes and harshly angled nose told a different story. The tattoo on his forearm of crossed revolvers and
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