Point of Danger (Triple Threat #1) - Irene Hannon Page 0,99
aren’t there any photos of her husband around the place?”
“Maybe they remind her of her loss and make her sad.”
“Maybe.” Ramirez didn’t seem convinced. “You want to try the living room?”
“Yeah. There’s nothing in here that will help us.”
As they retraced their steps down the hall, his colleague bent near the spot where the woman had fallen and retrieved a key from the floor. “What’s this for?”
“No idea. I noticed it earlier but didn’t bother to pick it up.”
Ramirez set it on a credenza. “Let’s check out the living room.”
They worked the space, each taking half again.
Nothing useful surfaced.
“I don’t get this.” Clark fisted his hands on his hips. “No address book, no names, no legal documents—nothing.”
“Like I said . . . weird.” Ramirez motioned toward the door near the hall. “That must lead to the basement. You want to rummage around down there?”
“We could do a quick pass—but if it’s like the rest of the house, it’ll be a dead end.”
He descended to the mostly unfinished space. Other than a washer and dryer, the lower level was empty except for the usual heating and air conditioning equipment.
“There may be contact information in there.” Ramirez motioned toward a drywalled area in the far corner. “Some people keep records in filing cabinets in their basement.”
“Why would she do that? The unused bedroom and empty closet upstairs could accommodate that kind of storage.”
“You have any other ideas? There’s nowhere else to look.”
“True.” He crossed the concrete floor. Twisted the knob on the door to the space.
Locked.
“Huh.” Ramirez moved beside him. “Could be she keeps her valuables in there.”
“How many valuables could a woman living in a neighborhood like this have?”
“You might be surprised. Ever hear of a book called The Millionaire Next Door?”
“No.”
“My sister told me about it. The premise is that most millionaires in this country are simple, hardworking people who’ve saved their money, invested well, and lead a modest, unpretentious life. People like your next door neighbor.” He shrugged. “Just saying.”
“That doesn’t help us find any contact information for Olivia Macie.”
“It could be in here.” Ramirez tapped the door. “But I don’t want to break in without an okay from Sarge.”
Except . . .
“We may not have to.” Clark headed back to the stairs. “That key we found on the floor? It’s possible she was holding it when she went down. And she was close to the basement door.”
“Worth a try.”
Clark took the steps two at a time, retrieved the key, and rejoined Ramirez.
His DIY colleague was down on his haunches, examining the base of the uprights. “You know . . . on a first pass, this room appears to be thrown together—but that’s deceptive. The construction is solid, and the door is steel.”
“Which would support your theory that she stores valuables in here.” Clark fitted the key in the lock and turned it. “Let’s see if that includes emergency contact information.”
He twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
Ramirez followed him into the room. Stopped. “Whoa. I didn’t expect this.”
No kidding.
Clark walked over to the desk. Gave it a scan. Blinked. Repeated the process.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Ramirez spoke from behind him.
“Yeah.” Clark pulled out his radio. “And this is way beyond our pay grade. We’re handing it off to the higher-ups. Now. Let’s get out of here.”
Ramirez didn’t argue.
And as they ascended the stairs . . . as he connected with headquarters . . . as he gave the closed door to Olivia Macie’s basement room a final perusal, Clark expelled a breath.
A millionaire living next door was one thing.
But he’d be willing to bet no one in this quiet suburban neighborhood had a clue what was going on in the cellar of the amiable older woman who baked them cookies and shared their cul-de-sac.
“How did we manage to pull two back-to-back homicides?” Brent stripped off his latex gloves and tossed them in a trash can outside the upscale house that had become a crime scene.
“Rookies tend to get the weekend and late-night assignments.” Colin dispatched his gloves too.
“That explains my presence—not yours.”
“They pair novices with experienced detectives. That would be me.” His colleague gave him a one-sided grin. “Since we worked the scene last night together, I’m assuming the powers that be decided to team us up for this one too.”
“Sorry to ruin your Saturday.”
“No sweat. It’s not the first weekend I’ve worked, and it won’t be the last. I’m sure this wasn’t in your plans, either.”