The house was at the dark end of a cul-de-sac. The only streetlight was halfway down, and was only useful to help with parking on the street. Old houses. Looked like the neighborhood was built in the 1950s. Well maintained, judging by the close-cut lawns and motion-detection exterior lighting on most of the homes.
She sat watching the house from a discreet distance, as René had taught her. There was one light on, but there didn't seem to be anyone moving around. No car in the driveway, but it could be in the garage. She'd watch a bit longer, then go peek inside.
Ten minutes of that and she was done. Torture, that's what that was. She walked over to the house. Front door – direct approach, she decided.
She rang the doorbell and quickly thought up a suitable story.
No answer. She rang it again. A few moments later a scruffy older man opened the door a crack.
"What?" He coughed once.
"I've lost my dog. Any chance someone's been by asking if it was yours?"
"Right. No." He shut the door.
She sighed. This complicated things a bit. She rang the bell again.
"What now," he scowled.
"Are you related to Alexandra? People are always bringing my dog here when it's lost. The address tag is hard to read."
"Alex moved. I rent here now." He slammed the door.
Not good enough. She rang the bell again.
He opened it wider, scouting. "If you mention your dog again, I'm calling this harassment."
"Well, it's just that she didn't tell me she was moving and I have one of her sweaters. Did she leave a forwarding address?"
He paused. "I don't know her. Call the Palace Rental Agency." He shut the door again.
That was something, at least. She walked back to her car, drove out of the cul-de-sac and parked again up around the corner. Hurrying back, she circled the house, hoping for an open window. The old man was on the phone but she couldn't quite make out what he was saying. That was okay. She wasn't here to eavesdrop, although that would have been a definite plus.
While he was busy with that, she went over to the mailbox and checked it. It looked like the old guy rarely left his house. The box was nearly full, forcing the postal workers to get creative. She pulled all the mail out and went to his front step to sort under the light. Hopefully the neighbors didn't care about the new guy just yet. Or maybe they'd think she was a relative.
She sorted the mail by post-mark date, looking for the oldest one. Six days ago, local return address. She'd been gone at least four days then, once you subtract two days for sorting and delivery.
All of the mail was in Alexandra's name. Well, to be a good Samaritan, maybe she could take these all to Palaces Rental Agency so they could forward it. Added bonus – she could check to see any of the senders had been given a forwarding address yet.
* * *
Back home, Kae spread twenty-three pieces of mail across the kitchen table, sorting by date and return address. It was all the usual bills and fliers. No real clue that way. But now she had an excuse to call them. She'd tell anyone who asked that Alexandra asked her to pick it up but she'd lost the slip of paper with her new address on it. They didn't need to know she was dead.
A footstep behind her caused her to jump and turn.
"Forgot I was here already, eh?" Diane reached into the fridge and grabbed a milk jug.
YOU ARE READING
Uncertain Truths
Mystery / Thriller"Two bodies in a car at the bottom of a ravine - one is a stranger, frozen solid; the other is her brother-in-law. Country girl Kaelynn Barrows has a compulsive need to understand what happened, and no respect for secrets. The police suspect h...
