Riley Thorn and the Corpse in the Closet by Lucy Score

35

11:17 a.m., Tuesday, August 18

“You live in a place like this, don’t you?” Nick asked, unlocking Larry Rupley’s door while Weber surveyed the street.

“I live in a townhouse, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

“I was going more for soulless bachelor pad with no future.”

“Just because you got yourself a girlfriend doesn’t put you in a better position than me.”

“That’s exactly what it means. I’m living with a woman. I’m better than you are.”

“Why are we here?” Weber asked, glancing around the living room.

It wasn’t messy because Larry didn’t own enough to mess up.

Nick led the way into the dining area, yanking a pair of gloves out of his back pocket. “Wait for it,” he insisted as he pawed through Larry’s mail. The first two packages were from Amazon. The third one was the right size and shape, and the return address said it was from a business called Shape Up.

“This,” he said, holding the box up triumphantly.

“A box. Congratulations, Santiago. You just broke the case wide open.”

“It’s a glitter bomb, jackass. At least according to my hot, psychic girlfriend.”

Now he had the detective’s interest. “You’re saying your missing person is tied to my two dead bodies?”

“Only one way to find out,” Nick said, nodding at the box.

“Very funny, glitter boy. I’ll have a uniform take it into the lab.” Weber ducked into the living room, already dialing his phone.

He returned minutes later. “This better be a glitter bomb. What the hell am I going to put in my report? My ex-partner called with information gleaned from his psychic girlfriend?”

“And her scary grandma,” Nick added. “Who drew this when I asked her where the body is.”

“Remember the good old days when criminals were too stupid to cover their tracks? I can’t believe it’s come to consulting psychics to solve murders,” Weber complained. “How scary is this grandma, by the way?”

“I keep expecting wings to sprout from between her shoulder blades so she can flap around the room biting people.”

“Lemme see this,” Weber said, taking the paper from Nick. He cocked his head. “Looks architectural.”

“Holy shit.” Nick snatched it back and gave it another look. “I know where our dead body is.”

* * *

They cruisedpast the property on Front Street first. A rusty iron gate blocked the driveway.

“Pull in at my place, and we’ll walk over,” Nick instructed.

“No, really, PI Obvious? I was planning on ramming the gate and kicking in the front door,” Weber said, heavy on the sarcasm.

“Who pissed in your Marshmallow Munchies?” Nick asked.

“Excuse me if I care about getting justice for the victims and their families.”

“How much justice are you going to get for three certified assholes?”

Weber slid into the Bogdanovich mansion parking lot, and they got out. Almost half an acre of thigh-high weeds and piles of dog shit lay between them and the Tudor-style estate.

Huge oak trees dotted what had once been a lawn. There was a detached three-car garage that matched the same buttery yellow and brown exterior of the main house.

They were halfway to the house, the dead grass and weeds crispy underfoot, when someone called his name.

“Yoo-hoo, Nick!”

They turned around and spotted Lily waving from the parking lot of the mansion. She had Burt on a leash. The dog was actively circling a prime shitting spot.

“If that dog sees a squirrel, that’s the end of that tiny old lady,” Weber observed.

“Burt’s a gentle giant,” Nick promised. “He’s too lazy to chase anything but an ice cream truck.”

He waved at Lily.

She cupped her hands and yelled, “You’re at the wrong house!”

“Does she think you don’t remember where you live?” Weber asked with a smirk. The joke was on him because he was about six inches away from getting his shiny loafer dipped in glittery dog shit.

“I know, Lily,” he called back. “Detective Weber and I are just having a look around.”

Burt’s head came up at the sound of one of his humans’ voices, and he ceased squatting.

“Uh-oh,” Weber said as Burt tugged on the leash. “It was nice knowing Lily.”

“You can let Burt go, Lily,” Nick yelled. “I’ll walk him.”

Lily gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up and dropped the leash. “I’ll make some lovely cucumber sandwiches for you and your handsome detective friend.”

“Son of a bitch.” Weber looked down at his shit-streaked loafer.

Nick snickered. “I forgot to mention you should probably watch your step.”

“I do not miss you being my partner.”

“Yeah, you do,” Nick said with a smug grin.

Burt bounded up to them, grinning doofily, and Nick picked up his leash. “Let’s go find a dead body, buddy.”

“Don’t let that beast contaminate the crime scene.”

“So you admit it’s a crime scene,” Nick said triumphantly as they continued the trek up to the house.

“I admit nothing—”

He would have said more, but the slow, summer breeze shifted then, wafting the unmistakable scent of decomposition toward them.

Both men covered their noses, Weber with a handkerchief and Nick with the neck of his sweaty, sparkly t-shirt. Burt lifted his nose and sniffed excitedly.

“Could be roadkill,” Weber insisted.

“Decomp and what the hell is that?” Nick asked, taking another sniff. “It smells like someone died on the john in an old lady’s house.”

“What?”

“You know how old ladies have that dried potpourri crap and those smelly soaps?

Weber lowered the handkerchief for a second. “Oh, God. That’s exactly what it smells like.”

The breeze died, leaving them with just the heavy humidity, and they both uncovered their noses.

“I feel like I can still taste it,” Nick complained.

“You never could handle the smell of death,” his ex-partner reminisced.

“I threw up one time!”

“Six times.”

“Whatever. How are we getting in there? Is that smell enough to get us in the door?” Nick nodded at the mammoth arched wooden door recessed into the long front porch.

“I have a better idea,” Weber said, pulling out his phone and heading in the direction of the For Sale sign.

* * *

Ten minutes later,the metal gate creaked open, and a shiny, white SUV rolled up the cracked asphalt of the driveway. A tall, lanky woman got out with a big, let-me-sell-you-something smile and sunglasses. She wore a purple skirt that showed off long legs and a sleeveless matching tank that showcased nicely muscled arms.

“Gentlemen! You obviously have great taste if you’re interested in this property. It’s the perfect fixer-upper for a handy couple.”

“We’re definitely not a couple,” Nick said. Burt let out a happy bark and swished his tail in the dead leaves on the driveway as if volunteering to be part of a couple.

“Investors with vision then,” she decided. “I’m happy to show you around.”

“Are you Haley?” Weber asked, stepping forward to shake her hand.

“I am. And this beautiful riverfront estate could be yours for a bargain-basement price.”

Haley was about to be very disappointed.

“I’m Detective Weber, and this is my consultant, Nick. We’re investigating a missing person that we think may be connected with this property.”

Haley deflated. “Well, hell. You really got my hopes up.”

Burt trotted over to her and leaned into her lower body comfortingly.

She blew out a breath and stroked a hand over his gigantic head. “Nice sparkly dog.”

“His name is Burt,” Nick said, making the introduction.

“Man, I’ve had this albatross of a mausoleum hanging around my neck for two years. Two years!” She kicked at a pine cone with very pointy shoes.

Burt trotted off to retrieve it.

Haley blew out a sigh. “Badge.”

“Excuse me?” Weber asked.

She hooked her fingers. “Let me see your badge, please.”

He held it up.

She grimaced. “You’re not homicide are you?”

Weber hesitated and she rolled her eyes. “Just great. Homicide’s at my abandoned shithole estate with a sweaty guy and a cadaver dog looking for a ‘missing person,’” she said, using air quotes.

“Technically, Burt and I are mostly civilians,” Nick put in. “I’m a private investigator.”

“And you think your missing person is dead in this house?”

“We can’t really say,” Weber hedged.

Haley tipped her head back and let out a strangled groan. “If you find a dead body in this house, I am screwed. No one wanted to buy this dump when someone hadn’t died in it. What am I gonna do with a corpse?”

“The police usually remove the body for you,” Nick offered.

“Yeah, the body, but the stench of death clings to a listing.”

“Would you mind opening the place up and letting us have a look around?” Weber asked.

Haley shrugged. “Sure. What do I care? I’ll just be stuck with this place until it falls down and gets condemned.”

She stomped past them onto the front porch and reached for the lockbox. “Some detectives you two are,” she said. “The lockbox is broken, and the door’s unlocked.”

“When were you here last?” Weber asked.

“Three weeks,” she said with a shrug. “I had a no-show showing. I got here early, opened the place up, and the guy never showed.”

Nick glanced around the porch. “Is that your security camera?” he asked, pointing to a small camera tucked into the eaves of the porch pointing down at the front door.

Haley looked up and frowned. “That’s not mine. There’s nothing in here worth stealing unless some antique nut wants to steal a big ass Kelvinator refrigerator installed in 1931.”

Nick and Weber shared a look. Three weeks ago meant planning, calculation. It meant the killer had scoped out a kill site right around the time he sent the glitter bomb. If Larry Rupley’s body was inside, it meant the killer had planned and executed three murders. And Riley was next on the list.

“Do you have a name for the potential buyer you were supposed to meet?” Weber asked.

Haley pulled her phone out of her bag and scrolled through her calendar. “Says Jackson Neudorfer. He contacted me through the online listing, so it’s probably a fake name.”

Weber nodded and stepped away, his phone to his ear.

Haley gave the front door a nudge, and it swung open. This time, the breeze wasn’t necessary. The smell of death hit them in the face.

“Oh, hell,” she groaned and yanked a pack of tissues and a spray bottle of essential oils out of her bag. She doused two tissues and handed one to Nick.

“You don’t have to go in there,” he said, accepting the tissue. It smelled clean, like eucalyptus and lavender. Better than his own sweaty pits or decomposing body.

Burt jogged for the door, and Nick stepped on his leash.

“I’m going in,” Haley said firmly. “My dad was on the job in Philly for twenty years. I’m more used to this than most. Besides, I know this place like the back of my hand.”

Weber returned, pocketing his phone and grabbing his handkerchief again. Together the three humans and one dog stepped inside.

“These are the original marble floors,” Haley said, sliding into real estate agent mode. “They were imported from Italy. The ceilings here in the foyer are twenty feet high, and that’s all original woodwork. And since you two aren’t buying the place, I can tell you they were assholes who made their money on the backs of underpaid, overworked coal miners and steelworkers.”

“Wow,” Nick said. It was a hell of a space with a big-ass grand staircase curving up and around to the second floor. Rooms opened off both sides of the foyer, and hallways flanked both sides of the staircase. Rooms that had a few pieces of furniture and zero glitter. Rooms that would make a pretty damn nice waiting room and office, Nick couldn’t help but notice. Burt looked impressed too. Weber looked grim.

“Depressing, isn’t it? The foundation is sound, and the roof is new. An investor with pockets that weren’t quite deep enough managed to rewire and replumb most of the house a couple of years ago. But he lost a boatload of cash in a divorce and ended up moving to Santa Fe. He rented it out to a couple of tenants over the years, including some wacky candle maker,” Haley said.

That explained the potpourri smell, Nick decided.

“I’ll take the south. You take the north,” Weber decided, handing out gloves before unholstering his gun.

“Got it,” Nick said, doing the same with his piece that he’d tucked into the waistband of his shorts. “You might want to wait outside,” he told Haley.

She produced a small Glock from her bag. “I’m coming with you,” she said firmly. “You’ll need my help accessing the secret passage between the servants’ quarters and the main floor.”

“Don’t shoot anyone,” Weber called. “I don’t want to deal with the paperwork.”

Nick jerked his head toward the left. “Let’s go.”

“What’s the asking price?” Nick asked.

“The asking price is practically free. That’s not the problem. It’s the tax liens. The mouse and bat infestation. The fact that no one in their right minds wants an eight-bedroom, ten-bathroom house with two kitchens, neither of which have been updated in a million years. There’s not enough parking for it to be an event space. It’s too chopped up to be a family home. It’s basically the perfect dumping ground for dead bodies.”

They cleared the first room on the left. It was a high-ceilinged living room with a fireplace and French doors that opened out onto the wraparound porch. Beyond that was a moody-looking den with wood paneling, an even bigger fireplace, and an entire wall of bookcases. No body, but both rooms looked like they’d make kick-ass offices. Beyond the den was a long skinny room with counter tops running the length on both walls. There was an exterior door that led out onto the side porch.

“Is that a ramp?” he asked, peering through the dingy glass.

“Yep,” Haley said morosely. “An owner added that in 1993. They were going to turn this place into a bed and breakfast until the bats ran them out.”

She directed him into the hallway, where they passed a large built-in hutch on the way to the last room on the first floor. It was a huge formal dining room with a high coffered ceiling and built-in hutches on either side of an ornately carved buffet.

The smell had intensified, making it impossible for him to fantasize about using the space as a fancy conference room.

“That secret passage you mentioned. Is it nearby?” Nick asked.

“It’s actually a staircase,” she said, gesturing for him to follow. Back in the hallway, she stopped in front of the hutch. “You just push here.” She pushed one of the trim pieces until it recessed into the wall. With a creak, the entire left side of the hutch popped out of the wall by an inch or two.

The smell was overwhelming.

Nick gestured for Haley and Burt to stand back and gave the cabinet a hard tug. He shoved his gun into the open space and peered into the dark, trying not to gag.

Burt whined.

“Looks like we found our guy,” Nick said grimly.