A thin mist hovered above the streets by the time Jordan and Jane pulled up to the modest, southern colonial tucked away in Windsor. It wasn't a gated community, but it had all the trappings of one: sleepy willows overhanging picket fences, bone black mailboxes on stark white posts, and emerald green lawns mowed to HOA specifications. Already people traveled the sidewalks, eager to take in the fresh autumn air while showing off their designer dogs and name brand sportswear.
The Chief had decided to keep the police presence to a minimum today, shockingly not interested in creating a scene within such an upscale community.
"Wow, this place is something else." Jordan stepped out of the car and into the sparkling clean gutter. Not a single car was parked on the street, and the only thing obstructing the long curb line was a matching trash can at every driveway.
"Tell me about it." Next to him, Jane tracked the hedge lined walkway all the way to the front porch. In the distance, they could hear the telltale clamor of the garbage truck banging rugged plastic against metal.
"Do me a favor and grab the bin before they come and pick it up," she said.
"Right." Jordan wandered down the sidewalk to where the driveway met the road. A single green can sat ready for disposal, and even that had a clean finish that said Dick power washed his trash cans. The small wheels rumbled along asphalt and passed the well manicured shrubs and dormant flower beds. Even the grass felt posh beneath his shoes as he wandered the side of the house until he found a spot to tuck the trash.
Jordan latched the enclosure shut again, then stopped as his eyes caught the side door. Despite there being no cars in the driveway, the door remained ever so slightly ajar.
"What the..." Jordan pulled his phone and sent Jane a text. Around the corner, he could hear a quiet ding followed by footsteps on springy grass.
"What is it?" Her voice was quiet, and he tilted his head towards the door. "That's strange. The report said no one else lives here."
"It could be our hunter poking around for any connections Dick might have had," Jordan suggested. "You know how thorough they are, especially if the money's good."
"I know how they feel about the police showing up."
"It's mutual, I assure you." Jordan tiptoed up the stairs, Jane a few steps behind.
"At the very least, they get the job done." She drew her gun from its holster once they were out of sight.
Jordan scoffed as he peered in the crack, looking for movement. "How do you, of all people, not have beef with hunters? They don't answer to the law, or the collateral damage."
"Because sometimes I get tired of sitting on my hands while monsters like Dick do even worse. You ready?"
He gave her a stiff nod, and Jane took position on the other side of the frame.
The door swung open to reveal an unoccupied kitchen. Much like the manicured front of his home, Dick's kitchen was a HGTV centerfold. Clean lines and polished granite made up the bulk of the aesthetic, though on occasion, the stark white was punctuated by brushed brass and stained teak. It had a vaguely retro feel, but minus the clutter and harsh patterns he remembered from being dumped on his grandparents for summer holiday.
Jordan kept an eye on both exits as he slinked around an island, first checking the pantry. The light came on the moment the door opened. It illuminated a dedication to organization that he'd not seen since Jane tore apart, then rebuilt his desk looking for a lost police report. Each box was properly closed, and every bag had a matching clip to keep it air tight. It was difficult to believe someone this dedicated to control could produce a crime scene as sloppy as they had seen.
YOU ARE READING
Night Beats: Ghost in the Vending Machine
Paranormal(Book 1) Night is a city of many names. It's a home to some, refuge for others and a glittering cesspool where monsters and humans live side by side. Join the semi-functional NCPD Cryptid Unit as they fumble their way through supernatural crimes by...
