homestead stood out for its weathered, enduring look, sort of like a sentinel protecting its younger counterpart, Oyster Landing, from the elements.
After twenty years of neglect, though, the damp, coastal weather had accelerated the aging process. The white paint had faded to a dull gray and long since peeled off in chunks or as small dust particles, carried on the wind, and likely blown out to sea. Seismic activity had shifted the foundation until it sat at a somewhat lopsided angle.
“Poor farmhouse,” Gemma stated as she stared at the colonial structure, then took in the entrance to the driveway and its two fieldstone pillars, topped with lanterns. “This must’ve been some kind of house in its heyday. Wonder why the sister doesn’t tear it down?”
Her friends weren’t as impressed or interested in answering those questions.
“Are you sure you want to go in there?” Leia asked, clutching her cell phone. She’d been leaning against the side of Gemma’s Volvo scanning the Internet, but now, she shoved off the car and stared at her companions. “I was just looking up the murders online. Gruesome is an understatement. What happened in that house was blatant excess. The killer beat each victim with a hammer. That took time. Back in the day, Chief Caulfield convinced himself that the killer was some random guy passing through town, carrying a hammer around with him to use as a weapon.”
“The hammer came from the garage,” Gemma corrected. “The killer used it to strike each one in the head while they slept. I think the killer knew the family, which means he was probably a local.”
“A local? And could still live in the area?” Lianne uttered, swallowing her disgust. “So why am I here? The dogs and I could’ve stayed behind at the shop. I have work to do.”
“You’re here to provide support,” Leia cracked, bobbing her head toward Gemma. “The psychic has an itch she needs to scratch.”
Gemma cut her eyes back to the house. “I wouldn’t use the term psychic so much as a seer into the past. Come on, let’s get this over with and take a look inside.”
“How do you intend to do that?” Lianne stated before taking a tentative step she didn’t want to take toward the front door.
“The killer got in using the backdoor. We’ll start there. The lock doesn’t work.”
Leia traded looks with Lianne. “Here we go down the rabbit hole again. We should probably go with her despite knowing better.”
Gemma had already reached the corner of the house when the other two women caught up with her.
At the backdoor, she turned the knob and glanced back at her friends. “Here we go, ready or not.”
Lianne shook her head. “Not. But how did you know about the lock?”
Gemma stood just inside the kitchen without answering the question, looking around at the empty room. “Does anyone know what happened to the furnishings?”
“Sandra’s sister would probably know the answer to that,” Leia said, running her fingers along the countertop, causing an inch or two of dust to flutter in the air.
As the dust scattered, Lianne sneezed in rapid succession. Reaching in her pocket for a tissue, she wiped her nose. When she looked up again, Gemma had disappeared down a hallway into another part of the house.
Lianne took Leia’s arm. “I’ve never seen her like this before. Have you?”
“Not lately. Come on. We can head her off in the dining room.” Leia burst into the room to see Gemma standing, arms crossed, looking out through the bay window into the backyard. “Are you feeling anything yet?”
“We’re wasting time down here. All the murders happened upstairs,” Gemma announced as she headed for the staircase.
Lianne and Leia exchanged looks again before Lianne lifted a shoulder. “She must be picking up something. She’s on the move.”
“I’ll alert the media,” Leia mumbled as the two women followed Gemma up the front staircase.
Once they reached the landing, it was clear to Lianne that Gemma had picked up on what happened that night. She could see the distress on Gemma’s face. “What’s going on right this minute? What do you see? Tell us.”
Gemma sucked in a breath and spun toward the master bedroom. “The killer came up here carrying a hammer that he’d found in the laundry room.”
“You said it came from the garage,” Leia pointed out.
“I was wrong. The killer went in where Sandra and Todd were sleeping first. Up to that moment, the killer had been so quiet, so determined. He’d spent some of his time in