Don't Cage The Birdie (Book 2)(rough first draft)

Chapter 2. The house by the lake

The town of Cazenovia sat by the Cazenovia Lake. It was approximately 10 miles around and an incredible 45 feet deep. It was a gorgeous view, especially when the sun set and the clouds above it turned bronze red. To have a house situated by the shore of it told James enough about Nigel Mole without having to meet him and so that just made James even more eager to be acquainted.

And just as he imaged the house was impressive. It was brown brick with multiple stories, peaked roofs and stone chimneys. A gravel driveway led up to the front gate that stood open and James made his way to the cul-du-sac at the front door and parked. The grass around the house was lush green and the air had the tiniest hint of the lake on it.

James hated places like this. Not the houses, or the architecture, but the feel. The big, imposing look. The majestic facade of it being better than other places, because if people could afford to live in a place like that, in his experience, they tended to think they were better than other people. So, he mused, as he walked up to the door, perhaps it wasn't the house he hated so much but the people in them. However, he still couldn't shift the feeling he felt when he saw places like this.

There was no door bell, but James didn't have to knock. Instead, when he reached the door it swung open and a middle aged man with a fat nose and balding head dressed up in a red dressing gown with gold creasing on the edges and a fishing rod in one hand and a tackle box in the other emerged. The two men came face to face with each other and stared in surprise, both equally shocked by the other.

'Oy vey you got the heart pumping,' the old man said, his had a whine to it with hints of Eastern European. 'What'cha you want? I ain't giving no donations to nothing.'

'Uh, no,' stuttered James. He composed himself quickly. 'I'm looking for Nigel Mole.'

'You found him. What'cha you want?'

'I'm Detective James Holland, I'd like to ask you some questions about a house you own in Syracuse, No. 47 -'

'Ah what you coming to me for complaining about Claudia for? I don't care what racket she's making with that louse of a boy she's going with. She rent the place and she keeps it neat and brings no cost to me. What do I care if she disturbs the neighbours? Means nothing to me. You take it up with her.'

The words cascaded over James at overwhelming speed and he had to duck once to avoid being whipped in the face by the fishing rod.

'I'm not here about noise complaints,' he said loudly, breaking into the Nigel Mole's flurry of words. 'I'm here for another matter entirely.'

'Eh?' Nigel Mole's eyebrows rose in puzzlement, his attention caught. 'What matter?'

'A break in at the house was reported this morning by one of the neighbours. A woman was found dead there.'

'Eh?' Nigel Mole's face turned pale and he swayed on his feet and James stilled himself ready to catch him in case he fell. The older man steadied himself against the door post and put his tackle box on the ground and leaned his rod against the wall, moping his forehead with a large red handkerchief he pulled from the breast pocket of his dressing gown. 'Claudia's dead?'

'We don't have a positive ID on the deceased as yet,' explained James. 'Do you mind if I come in?'

'Yeah, sure.' Nigel Mole nodded, a faraway expression on his face as he stood still in the doorway not moving.

James gently guided him back inside and found himself in a massive open room with a high painted ceiling and red cushioned sofas spread around the floor on handwoven rugs. James led the man to one of the couches and helped him down, then found a decanter with a gold liquid inside and splashed some into a glass.