Page 18 of Little Bitter Truths
No answer.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
I was about to turn back toward my car when something caught my eye through the living room window.Inside the house, on the wall, was a dartboard with a photograph of Wren in the center.And that wasn’t all.Someone had drawn a thick black X across her face.
7
Clive’s screen door was unlocked, and after I called out to him a few times and didn’t receive an answer, I made an executive decision to let myself in, stepping into the living room and over to the dartboard to get a better look.Three darts were embedded in the board.Two landed just outside the photograph, and the third in the center of Wren’s forehead.
I stood there for a moment, studying it.
The sense of anger, real anger, couldn’t be missed.
The photograph looked like it had been cut from a company newsletter.Wren was standing in the middle of a group of elderly residents, smiling at the camera.
Turning away from the dartboard, I focused on the house.It smelled of cigarette smoke and stale beer, and the living room looked like it hadn’t seen a cleaning cloth in years.Old magazines were stacked on the floor, dishes crusted with food sat on a small side table, and a sagging couch rested in the corner.
My eyes moved across the table.
More darts.
An empty beer bottle.
A folded newspaper.
The back screen door snapped open, a sharp sound cracking through the house like a gunshot.
I turned.
A man stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen.He was tall but stooped with age, his gray hair wild beneath a faded baseball cap.Dirty overalls hung over a stained white tank top, and in his hand he held a rifle.
He lifted it, pointing the barrel at my chest.
“Well,” he grunted.“What do we have here?”
So much for easing into the conversation.
“You’ve got about three seconds to explain who you are and why you’re in my house,” he said.
Annoyed with myself for not thinking through the consequences of entering his house uninvited, I raised my hands.
“You have every right to question me,” I said.“Please, allow me to explain.”
His eyes narrowed.“I could shoot you right where you stand and get away with it.You’re trespassing.”
My heart thumped against my ribs, but I kept my voice steady.
“My name is Georgiana Germaine.I’m a private investigator.”
“And?”
“I’m looking into Wren Mayfair’s murder.”
At the sound of Wren’s name, something flickered in his eyes.
Still, the rifle remained in position.
