Chapter 15: *CHAPTER 15*
The drive back to my neighborhood was uneventful. Malcolm had led the way out of Jenna and Richard’s house and to a small black pickup truck in the driveway that I assumed belonged to him. I’d found my sandals that I’d lost in my driveway last night sitting neatly by the front door. I couldn’t imagine Malcolm scouring through he darkness last night for my lost sandals, but thankfully he had because I’d be going barefoot otherwise. Being out in the fading sunlight after being inside the house all day was nice, even if the air was scalding and I took some deep breaths, the air baking its way down my throat and my head felt clearer than it had all day.
The rattling of cicadas and the distant sound of traffic calmed something inside me, and I breathed in that familiarity. It was a quiet drive except for the roaring of the AC blowing in both of our faces and the low sound of the radio playing. It wasn’t a long drive. The neighborhood was quiet when Malcolm steered his truck down my block. Glenda Burman was out watering her flowers, hose tucked in her wrinkled hand when we drove past. He parked his pickup right against the curb.
It took me a moment to realize what was different about my house when I noticed the empty place in my driveway where my car should have been. It was like looking at a mouth that was missing a tooth. Sad and empty. I felt a pang in my chest knowing that my poor car was gone for good.
I opened my mouth to ask him where my car had ended up, but he seemed to sense what I was going to ask before I had the chance and sighed loudly, “A clean up crew from the Coven came by to take your car away. We couldn’t have it just sitting out looking suspicious on top of everything else, it would hinder the investigation.”
I guessed that made sense, so I nodded, grimacing. I had to admit it was probably for the best. Seeing the burnt remains of my car in my driveway would probably freak out my neighbors after everything that had happened with…George. Thinking about him still brought with it a wave of sadness for him. It was beyond repair anyway, so it sitting in my driveway or off somewhere else wasn’t going to make a difference.
Malcolm turning off the engine for his truck brought me back to the present, he turned slowly in his seat. And I met his gaze with a raised eyebrow before turning to get out of his truck.
“Wait,” the reluctance in his voice—like he was fighting with himself—had me turning back to him, curiosity getting the better of me. A muscle in his jaw twitched as I turned back to face him. I raised my eyebrows in question, waiting. His mouth turned down and then his shoulders drooped the tiniest bit as if a part of him finally won a fight I hadn’t been privy to.
“When was the last time you’ve been inside George’s house?”
I felt my eyebrows twitch together, thrown off balance by the unexpected question. I sifted through my recent memories of George, counting back the days to the last time he’d had me over to play scrabble with him, “About two weeks ago I think. Why?”
The side of his mouth twitched down, and he let out a huffed sigh, “As of right now, you’re the last known person to see the state of his house before he was murdered.”
“Okay,” I prompted, the word drawn out, as I waited for him to continue.
He huffed a sigh, running an impatient hand through his hair, the expression, barely visible behind his sunglasses, looked pained, “It would be…helpful for the case if you came by and took note of anything different around his house from the last time you saw it. Anything missing or out of place.” He said stiffly.
Ah. He was asking for my help. That’s why he looked like someone was yanking the teeth out of the back of his mouth one by one.
The small, petty part of myself wanted to send him a huge gloating smile and rub it in a little bit. Just because he looked so pained to be asking me for help. I wondered if it was just me or everyone he took such difficulty asking for things from. Then I remembered who the favor ultimately was for and the smile died before it even had a chance to make an appearance.
If helping Malcolm would ultimately lead to the capture of whoever did that to George—kind, gentle, George—then I couldn’t say no. I would do anything I could to help make sure the person who did that to him was caught.
Suddenly sober, I nodded, “Alright, I’ll help.”
A shocked expression flitted across his face and was gone so quickly I wondered if it had been there at all. He pulled off his expensive sunglasses, polishing the lenses before tucking them into the pocket of his leather jacket. The sharp set of his cheekbones and the cast of shadows made him look even more like a model than he had before. It annoyed me.
“Let’s go, then.”
The feeling of being back in George’s house was like stepping into a tomb. Silent and unsettling. I’d never believed in ghosts before, but I couldn’t help but wonder if George were watching us from somewhere out there. The entry way of his house was a similar floor plan to my house next door, everything just opposite.
“We’re allowed to be in here, right?” I asked, voice hushed to match the unsettling atmosphere.
Malcolm eyed the room in a slow swivel, hands crossed over his chest, “Does it matter?”
“Yeah,” I turned an accusing look his direction, “it actually kind of does.”
He turned his back to me to step into George’s living room, “Take a quick look around and let me know if you see anything out of place,” He said to me over his shoulder. The fact that he ignored the question was not at all lost on me. In fact, it made me a thousand percent sure that we were not, in fact, legally allowed to be here. Great. I glared into the space he’d disappeared into.
If I got arrested because of Malcolm of all people.
I stopped myself before I let myself finish that thought. This wasn’t for Malcolm, this was for George. I could do this for George. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself before forcing myself to take a few measured steps further into the silent shadowed house.
With a cursory glance, it was the same as it had always been. Knick knacks from George’s late wife, Eileen, still crowded around a glass cabinet. Cat toys and other memorobilia lay scattered around the room. A large book case filled to the brim with books, mystery novels and encyclopedias. Thankfully, there wasn’t any blood, anything that would make you think that anything had happened here at all.
The only thing out of place was a plate of uneaten food on a TV stand sitting set out in front of his ottoman. I didn’t let myself look that way too long. As far as I could tell, nothing seemed to be missing. Though, there was a something sitting out on the counter.
A black wrist band, one of the plastic ones they wrapped on your arm before an event that you could only take off by cutting, lay off to the side by the garbage. Like he’d just finished cutting it off and hadn’t bothered throwing it away yet. I picked it up, eyeing the band, only to find a red symbol on the side. It looked like a trident with three lines cut through where the handle should be.
“Find something?” The sound of Malcolm’s voice directly behind me had my heart stopping before kicking up into stampede. I elbowed him hard against the planes of his stomach and he grunted, bending slightly from the blow, he hissed, “What was that for?”
“Don’t sneak up on people!” I whipped around to glare up at him.
“I wasn’t sneaking anywhere,” he coughed, glaring, “Who has elbows that sharp?” He muttered under his breath, so low I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to hear. I chose to ignore that, brandishing the cut wrist band between us for him to take.
“Everything looks normal except for this.”
He snatched the band from my hands, with deft fingers, careful not to touch me as he brought it up to study. He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat.
“Any idea what that symbol is?” I asked.
He gave me a noncommittal look before pulling out his phone to take a photo. In the silence that followed, the gloom of the house felt oppressive. It really did feel like a ghost was here. I shivered. Unable to force myself to stay here any longer, I turned back to Malcolm, and said, “I’m going to go pack.”
He grunted out his agreement, distractedly, his thumbs tapping at his phone screen as he typed out a text, “Don't take too long. If you’re not out in twenty minutes, I’m coming to get you.”
I rolled my eyes, making a beeline for the front door.