Free Never Happened by Debra Webb

and she doubted his disposition would improve in thefield. She didn’t really need to get that close, she supposed. If the contact lens was in the house there definitely wasn’t anything left of it now.
    What she needed was to confirm who had lived here.
    Alex drove farther down the block and parked at the curb. At one point in her varied career, when she had been around twenty-one, she’d briefly sold vacuum cleaners door to door. Electrolux. No home should be without one had been her motto. Just another one of her early careers that hadn’t lasted. Maybe it was her impatience with the extreme pressure to meet a certain quota. How was she supposed to talk people into buying something if they didn’t, a, need it, or, b, want it? Then there were the folks who slammed the door in her face or the ones who were just plain rude.
    That was the nice thing about cleaning up after the dead, the dead didn’t talk back or argue or any of that stuff.
    She climbed out of her 4Runner and headed to door number one, an older ranch-style home that had obviously been remodeled to fit in with the escalating value of the property north of downtown Miami.
    Three rings of the doorbell later and a young woman, twenty-five maybe, opened the door far enough to check out Alex. “Yes?” she asked tentatively.
    Judging by the terry cloth fabric, she was still in her robe. The abrupt sound of screaming behind her signaled at least one toddler was likely vying for her attention even as she continued to scrutinize Alex.
    â€œI apologize for the intrusion, ma’am, but I’d like to ask you a few questions about the explosion last night.”
    Uncertainty flickered in her brown eyes. “Are you the police?”
    â€œThe detective and the forensics techs are digging through the rubble now,” Alex dodged. “My job is to find out if any of the neighbors saw or heard anything unusual before the event.”
    She hoped like hell the woman would accept that as a yes. Lying by omission appeared to be a steady appointment on her agenda today.
    â€œI answered the officer’s questions last night,” she said, seemingly to herself. She heaved a sigh at another bout of ranting behind her. “Give me just a moment and I’ll be with you.”
    The door closed and Alex heard the woman fussing at the children. Deciding she needed to lookthe part, Alex dug a small notepad and pen from her bag. When the fretting had quieted, the door opened once more. Leaving it open a crack, the woman stepped out onto the stoop with Alex.
    â€œI really don’t know anything useful,” she started off. “We go to bed early around here. I heard the explosion, of course.” She paused, her gaze expectant as if she didn’t know what to say next.
    Alex nodded. “What can you tell me about the residents?”
    â€œTimothy O’Neill lives—” she cleared her throat “—lived there alone.” She stared in the direction of the damaged house. “He leased it from the owners when they moved into the retirement center nearby.”
    â€œI see,” Alex said, nodding agreeably.
    â€œThank God Mrs. Baker was visiting with her sister in Tampa. Mrs. Baker lives in the house right next door. I’m sure the explosion would have scared her to death.”
    â€œWhat can you tell me about Timothy?” Alex prodded. That was what she really wanted to know. She didn’t need to know who his neighbors were.
    The woman shrugged. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but he was a little strange, if you know what I mean.”
    Alex scribbled a couple of words just to make herself look credible.
    â€œI didn’t mention this to the officer last night because I was too stunned, but Timothy was sort of…you know, a geek…or nerd.”
    More scribbling. “Really?”
    Uncertainty flashed in her eyes again. “Maybe I