You always want to. Such silly questions they ask. Wasting your time . . .
“How is the school district?” Lorna Simmons asked somewhat anxiously.
Elliot looked at her. She had a clipboard and had been making notes, clutching pens of four different colors in one hand. He smiled. “It’s excellent. Prosperity may be a small town, but the name is accurate, and the town council feels strongly about education. So the schools get the best of everything, from the best teachers to the latest equipment.”
Stupid cow.
Charles Simmons, walking into the master bedroom to explore, asked, “Is there enough hot water in the showers? I really hate running out of hot water.”
“No problems there,” Elliot replied, still smiling. “The house has one of those newer systems that heats water instantly as it’s needed. Even if clothes are being washed and more than one person is taking a shower, there’s plenty of hot water.”
Stupid bastard.
“Electric or gas?” Simmons asked.
“You have an efficient combination in this home. The cooktop and water heater are gas, while the HVAC system is electric.”
“Is there an HOA?” his wife asked, still anxious, as she made a note in blue on her clipboard. “I mean, are there rules about what colors we can paint the outside, and what flowers we plant, like that?”
“There’s no official homeowners’ association in this neighborhood,” Elliot assured her. “Just the usual ordinances and zoning common in any residential neighborhood. I can assure you the people who live here are very laid-back, very easygoing. I live a few streets over myself. Terrific neighbors.”
Come on, Elliot. You know you want to do it.
Trying to ignore that increasingly insistent, even seductive voice in his head, Elliot said quickly, “Beautiful tile work in the master bath, as you can see. And plenty of closet space. And the master’s here at the back of the house, of course, so it’s very private, and you can hardly hear anything from outside, not traffic or the neighbor’s dog, or anything troublesome.”
“There’s a leash law, right?” Simmons demanded.
“Certainly. No roaming dogs; we have a strictly enforced leash law. This development was carefully planned so that all the backyards are fenced, with plenty of room for the kids and for the family dog. And there’s a nice dog park just outside the development where neighborhood dogs can play and get to know each other. We also have several good vets in town who can take excellent care of family pets.”
“I hope the people on either side here don’t have dogs that bark all night.”
He’s one of those. Those assholes who believe whatever they want should be law.
“No, I can assure you it’s a very peaceful neighborhood.” He wondered why the other man looked more and more ugly, with eyes a weird color and too many teeth in his mouth.
He’s an animal, Elliot. You can see that.
Lorna Simmons, her voice increasingly strident to Elliot’s sensitive ears and her face beginning to remind him strongly of an aunt he’d disliked his entire life, said, “I couldn’t bear living in a cookie-cutter neighborhood, I just couldn’t. I have an artistic flair, Charles always said so, and I’m very particular about my surroundings. They have to work for me. Colors we choose, and I have to have my garden gnomes in the flower beds!”
Elliot, listen to her. That voice could cut glass. You know you don’t want them anywhere near your family. You don’t want them anywhere. You know that.
Charles Simmons rolled his eyes slightly at the mention of gnomes but said, “Long as nobody tells me I can’t wash my car in my own damned driveway and play music while I do it, I’m fine with neighbors. There are services available to cut the grass? I’m a busy man.”
“Several lawn services work in this area of town, very good ones,” Elliot promised, his smile beginning to feel horribly unnatural and an odd, red mist sort of drifting between himself and the very demanding couple.
“The kitchen really is lovely,” Lorna Simmons said, a pleading note adding to the stridency as she looked anxiously at her husband. “Just what we’ve been looking for, darling.”
“I’m not sure about that carpet in the living room,” he countered.
“Carpet is easily removed,” Elliot murmured, wondering if his teeth were gritted the way they felt. Why did everything seem to be turning red? Why could he feel his own heart beating, harder and harder?
“Hardwood floors underneath?”
“In this particular home, no, but—”
“So there’s another added expense,” Charles Simmons said bitterly, his very ugly face even more ugly wearing a grimace.
Go on, Elliot. Do it. You know you want to.
“The price will have to come down quite a bit to cover the cost of laying hardwood—”
You know you do. That’s why you brought your gun.
* * *
? ? ?
HAVING BEEN TOLD by the FBI unit chief he’d spoken to that a team was very nearby, Archer had asked that the feds come directly to the Gardner home, the same request he’d made when he spoke to one of the state medical examiners who worked, she told him, out of Asheville and could get a lift at least partway to Prosperity in one of the MAMA—Mountain Area Medical Airlift—choppers. So the help he had called in was near.
Near enough that there was still some sunlight when a big, black SUV pulled to the curb in front of the house not more than a couple minutes after a discreet white van parked in the driveway behind Ed Gardner’s car. A man and woman got out of each vehicle, all casually dressed without a suit or tie in sight, and only Archer’s experienced gaze could detect that both feds wore guns under light jackets.
The guy fed wore a big, silver cannon in a shoulder harness.
The four newcomers met in the center of the yard, obviously acquainted.
“Hey, Jill,” the slender brunette said as she and her tall, blond partner reached the other pair. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Hollis. Reese. My assistant, Austin Messina.”
As Archer approached them, he saw the feds nod to the ME’s partner, who was fiddling with some piece of equipment and who nodded with an absent smile in return, and then the brunette asked, “What happened to Sam? That last case make him rethink his career options?”
“Sort of. He’s with your bunch at Quantico for a few months. Special training. After the last time, we figured it wouldn’t hurt.” She wasn’t very big, was very pretty, and didn’t look like messing about with dead bodies would be her specialty, but it was clear the two feds obviously respected her and felt comfortable with her.
Archer wished he felt comfortable. About anything. He wished he felt something other than the queasiness that lay in the pit of his stomach and an overwhelming sense of dread.
“Sheriff Archer,” the brunette fed said when he reached them, rather discreetly flashing her credentials in perfect sync with her partner, then reaching to shake his hand with a good grip. “I’m Hollis Templeton. My partner is Reese DeMarco. Sorry for the obvious Fedmobile sticking out in this nice neighborhood, but we tend to carry quite a few supplies and such, so it couldn’t be helped.”
Archer, feeling a bit swept along in her briskness, merely nodded as he shook hands with her partner, then nodded again and shook more hands when Dr. Jill Easton introduced herself and her assistant to him.
“Do you want to get started first, Doctor?” he asked her.
“I imagine Hollis and Reese will want to study the scene for a bit first, Sheriff. We’ll be getting our equipment out and getting suited up in the meantime.” Her partner was already sliding open the side of the van, which was clearly crammed—neatly—with more rather enigmatic equipment and supplies.