I nodded, certain that if I opened my mouth to answer properly, my thundering heart would fall out onto the car floor.
Stepping out of the car, I followed behind Hayes, who stopped to talk to an officer guarding the door.
“It’s our second time out here in as many days,” the officer was telling Hayes. “The owner called it in. It seems there was an attempted breakin here yesterday.”
“Or an attempted murder,” Parker said solemnly.
The officer nodded his head slowly and then stepped aside. He looked from Detective Hayes to me, his tired eyes going a bit softer as he looked at me. “It’s pretty gruesome in there.”
“Aren’t you people supposed to be impartial at stuff like this?” I leaned up on my tiptoes to whisper into Hayes’s ear.
“Come on, Lawson,” Hayes said, ushering me inside.
My mood wasn’t helped when we were each handed a pair of latex gloves and papery booties to cover our shoes. I struggled into the gloves and slipped the booties on. Hayes already had his on when he looked over his shoulder, studying me. “You sure you’re ready?”
My deodorant went into hyper drive as a bead of sweat rolled down my back. “Yep,” I whispered, following him through the front door.
When we walked into the foyer, I sucked in a breath—not at anything crime-related, but at the sheer beauty of the place. Although the room was littered with cops unfurling yellow-and-black crime-scene tape, the opulence of the house still shone. My entire apartment could fit in the enormous, open entryway, and from the looks of it, I could park my CRV in the guest bath with room to spare.
“Whoa,” I whispered under my breath.
Despite the paper booties covering them, my heels clattered on the marble floor and echoed up to the high, vaulted ceilings.
“This place is unbelievable,” I told Hayes.
“And secured like Fort Knox,” he replied, glancing at a sophisticated-looking jumble of wires and flashing lights hung in a metal box on the wall. He shook his head. “Whoever it is that’s doing this is not the least bit fazed by modern security. This is certainly not the work of your run-of-the-mill opportunist perpetrator.” He closed a metal door over the alarm system and slid a painting back over it. “Not a single wire has been tripped or cut.”
“Is that bad?” I asked.
Hayes took me by the elbow, steering me out of earshot of the other officers as they milled about.
“You tell me. Do”—his voice dropped—“your people have the ability to get around technology?”
I chewed on my lower lip. “Well, not exactly. I mean I’m pretty sure there are spells to get around that kind of thing. Witches and warlocks would know, I suppose. And a vampire could certainly trance or glamour a human into turning off an alarm system. A fairy or pixie might be able to do that, too, with a glamour, but they usually wouldn’t have the patience. And I’ve heard that on occasion, certain demons can wreak havoc on an electronic field.”
Hayes’s expression was suspicious, and I hurried on. “But the bottom line is that it’s not exactly standard operating procedure. Alarms—and disarming alarms—that’s really more of a human thing, don’t you think? I mean, demons are pretty much old school.”
“Old school, huh?” He seemed to consider this and then said, “Come on,” one paper-bootied foot poised on the bottom stair. “We’re going upstairs.”
I followed Parker up the winding staircase, our booties making a soft shoosh-shoosh sound as we sunk into the lush ecru carpet. I glanced down, noticing fresh vacuum lines and stared behind me, seeing the lone trail of our footprints.
“Who vacuumed?”
“The maid. She told the officer who’s with her that she vacuums before she leaves each night.”
“Is there another way up?” I asked. “A back set of stairs or something?”
Hayes wagged his head. “Not that we’ve found. Why do you ask?”
“No footprints on the carpet. I mean, other than ours.”
“Good catch.” Parker grinned, chucking me on the shoulder.
I nodded, a bit proud, feeling very junior sleuth.
Maybe I could get used to this detectiving.
“The maid said she found the vic when she let herself in this afternoon. The discovering officer didn’t mention another set of footprints.” Parker glanced down, pointing at his feet. “I’ve been walking in the prints already left here.” He picked up one foot. “See? No tread. Those marks are from the booties.”
“And there were no footprints.”
Parker nodded. “So, the victim was either killed last night while the maid was in the house,” Parker paused, frowning. “Or it could fly. Are we looking for something with wings now?”