Expired Cache - Lisa Phillips Page 0,55
to Ellie, not liking how guarded her tone was. “Where?”
She lifted her chin. “I want to look at Mr. Holmford’s house.”
Twenty-One
“This is kind of creepy.” Ellie looked around Holmford’s entryway. “While he’s in the hospital, we’re in his house without him knowing.”
“Welcome to my job.” Jess shrugged. “Creepin’ on other people’s lives. Usually on the worst day of their life.”
Ellie turned to her sister. “That’s…”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” Jess said, “Where’s Dean?”
“He said he was going to walk around outside.”
“Guess that means I’m clearing the house.” Jess held up a hand. “Stay here and don’t move until I get back.”
Her sister wandered off, not relaxed. With those strong lines of tension in her shoulders and legs. Gun out, ready to face down whoever might be here.
While Ellie stood around uselessly.
She pressed her lips together and studied the entryway. Peter Holmford had lived alone for years. No wife, not even a girlfriend. His house smelled a little musty, not something she wanted to dwell on. The décor was utilitarian. Card table in the entryway, on which was a collection of keys and mail. On the floor underneath was a pile of shoes—boots and tennis shoes.
Life, set up in a way that meant he did what was convenient with no concern for aesthetics. Because if no one came over, then there was no one he needed to impress. Right?
Her own apartment was comfortable. Her decoration consisted of periodically adding another bookcase until they all overflowed. It was set up for comfort, the way Holmford’s was set up for function.
She didn’t have time to think about what that meant before Jess was back. “It’s all clear.”
Ellie nodded. They walked through the sparse living room and reasonably clean kitchen—though it was hard to leave a mess when there wasn’t much food in the house beyond a couple of condiment bottles in the fridge and a box of pasta in the cupboard. No sauce.
“I’m trying to marry this—” She waved her hand around wildly. “—with the put-together man we met.”
Ellie agreed, “He clearly saw no need to impress anyone with his home.”
“Probably put all his money into sprucing up the office and didn’t have any left for a house he never invited anyone over to anyway.”
“So it’s an appearances thing?” Ellie was stuck on what her home and office said about her. Was she superficial, or did she not care what other people thought as she’d always told herself?
“Maybe.” They found the bedroom. Not difficult, considering there were only two and the house was one story. Jess opened the dresser drawers but didn’t move his things around.
Ellie slid the mirrored closet door aside. Rows of suits hung on the rail, two suitcases and a duffel on the floor. One pair of sneakers, one pair of work boots. Enough suits to get through the work week while the dry cleaners took care of the ones he needed cleaning.
Above the clothes, a shelf had been packed tight.
Jess moved to stand by her side. “Grab that one.”
Ellie looked at her.
“You’re taller than me. You can probably reach it.”
“I’ll get it.” Dean was suddenly there, pulling down the shoe box Jess had indicated with one hand. “I’ll put it on the bed. Anything else?”
Ellie moved to the shoe box and flipped the lid off. Inside was a collection of memorabilia she recognized as being from the Vietnam War. “Do we know if he was in that photo?”
Jess said, “Conroy thinks so, but I believe he’s confirming it with Department of Defense records.”
Dean moved beside her. “Anything we should know?”
“There’s nothing in the rest of the house about his service.” Ellie said, “It’s all here in one place, tucked in a shoebox he had stuffed in a closet.” She shifted some of it. “Uniform. His discharge papers and service record. A Vietnam service medal and a Purple heart—so he had to have been injured somehow.”
Jess folded her arms. “But he hid it because he didn’t want anyone to know. Instead of being proud of what he did, serving his country, he never told anyone.”
“It was a tough time,” Ellie said. “There was a lot of public outcry. Those who did serve were drafted, so many of them never would have enlisted if they’d been given the choice.”
Jess made a face.
“Not everyone will jump to fight—and possibly die—for their country.” She said, “It takes a certain kind of person.”
“I know that.” Jess frowned. “I put my life on the line every day for the people of Last Chance.”
Ellie nodded. She