Murder Comes Calling by C. S. Challinor Page B

ceiling lamp reflected the comforting glow through the window. The decor in tan and peach hues was soothing on the eyes. “My husband will be back any minute,” she added.
    Rex had already noticed she didn’t wear an engagement ring or a wedding band. Nor did any photos of nuptials or children adorn the tables or shelves.
    She perched on an armchair opposite a sofa and waited for her visitors to take a seat. Although her wavy hair was loose about her shoulders, she was dressed in business attire comprising black slacks and an expensive-looking sweater in a sludgy green that set off her eyes. A pair of high heels lay discarded by the sofa. Through her nylons peeped bright red toenails. She tossed back her dark curls, sending a pair of silver hoops bobbing and glinting in her ears.
    “So,” she said, clasping her hands, “why the interest in a young couple looking at Mr. Blackwell’s property?”
    “Lottie Green mentioned them as potential buyers for his house,” Malcolm said while Rex continued to mull over the contradiction of a married woman without a ring.
    “Not now, surely?” she asked. “I mean, it’s a crime scene. Who’d want to buy a house where two violent murders have been committed?”
    “Ghouls,” Rex said.
    She smiled.
    “You know Lottie?” Malcolm asked.
    “I know of her. I don’t have much to do with the neighbours. I run a business from home and I’m often away for meetings.”
    “What do you do?” Malcolm wanted to know.
    “I have a travel website called Get Up and Go. It’s geared towards last-minute deals for spontaneous travellers. I go out and solicit sponsors and advertisers.”
    “Well, anyhow,” Malcolm went on to Rex’s amusement. Usually his friend wasn’t so assertive. “We were keen to find out if this couple had been here and whether you could tell us anything about them.” He glanced at Rex to see how he was doing, and Rex nodded in approval.
    “Okay,” the woman said in a hesitant voice. “But I still don’t see what they have to do with the murders. Are you working with the police?”
    “I am,” Malcolm replied. “I’m a forensic medical examiner by profession. I went to the station today with additional information, and now this other bit of news has turned up. This couple may know something. We’d like to talk to them. Rex here is really the brains of the team.”
    “I should have introduced myself,” she said, turning her attention to Rex and smiling wide enough to produce two charming dimples. “Charlotte Spelling. And my husband won’t be turning up. I don’t have one. Anymore. I just said that before because I didn’t know who you both were, and I was acting out of precaution.”
    “I understand,” Rex said.
    “Okay, well, I don’t know what you need to know exactly, but a young couple did come by to see my house. They wanted a quiet neighbourhood and so were looking in Notting Hamlet. They saw my For Sale sign and rang the doorbell on spec.”
    “Can you describe them?” Malcolm asked.
    “A nice-looking couple. She was quite stunning, actually. Blonde, medium height. John and Mary Jones, they said their names were.”
    “You said ‘they said their names were,’” Rex queried, picking up on the fact that Charlotte Spelling had not simply stated their names.
    She flashed him a look, her gaze lingering on him for a second. “Right. They didn’t sound like a John and Mary Jones.”
    “How so?”
    “I’m not sure, but they sounded Romanian or Russian—something like that. It wasn’t immediately noticeable, and his accent was rather heavier than hers. He had broad features and cold dark eyes that really stood out in his pasty complexion. He gave me the chills, actually.”
    “You are very observant, Miss Spelling,” Rex complimented.
    “You can call me Charlie. My friends do.”
    Malcolm raised an eyebrow at Rex, which Rex chose to ignore. “Did they spend long looking around?”
    “Yes, quite awhile. Mostly he paced around