I’m excited. It’s only been two days since I put Carson’s house up and I already have interest.
Seems not everyone is put off by a high price tag, thank God.
It’s a large house, well cared for, on the river. Should be a slam dunk.
“Good afternoon,” I say, perhaps a little too cheerfully. I can tell right away that they’re not locals. Retirees, apparently, looking to get out of the city.
The female’s nose is in the air, a look of judgment on her face. “So what’s the latest on the Middle Valley murders?”
Ah, true crime fanatics.
“Nothing new at this point. I’m sure it’ll be resolved before long.” I absolutely did not want to get into a discussion about the ongoing investigations, and certainly not about the fact that they’re standing in the potential perpetrator’s living room.
I know real estate, and that would not sell this place.
“This house has a great personality and very large rooms, as you can see. Who might live here, just the two of you or will there be others, maybe an extended family?” As we walk through the house, I point out recent renovations and highlight the number of rooms, but I’m not sure she’s listening.
“The kitchen renovation is especially well done,” I say. “The prior owner lived alone but selected very high-end materials and the finest contractors in the region. Spared no expense, as you can see.”
I try to lead them from the kitchen as the woman strolls toward the refrigerator. Opening the door, she lets out a yelp.
I turn in time to see her bury her head in the man’s coat.
A carving knife sits in the middle of the first shelf covered in a red substance resembling blood, the surrounding walls red and wet. There are lumps of something – some wrapped and some unwrapped – on the top shelf, where the eggs would go.
“I knew it. Everyone’s talking about it. Sweetheart, we have to get out of here immediately,” the man says, then he turns to me. “Is this house connected with these murders?”
I am nauseous. I grab hold of the counter to steady myself, the Cambria counter I’d recommended he install when I sold him the house months ago. I feel faint.
“Nevermind,” the man says. “Let’s go, dear.”
The pair makes a quick exit.
I fish my cell phone out of my purse and call Mercury, who calls the Sheriffs to come and collect the items for testing along with other DNA samples that they have been working on.
Sloppy Carson. He must be crazy, he must be a mental case. He must have left Middle Valley in quite the hurry.
I step outside as two policemen arrive. I watch them for a moment and make my exit. I see them lock the door as I drive away.
No sale today, or possibly ever.
Jenny Page