Free Courting Disaster by Carol Stephenson Page B

I entered the foyer and got my bearings. I’d been in the house once before when Borys had been alive.
    The bungalow had been built one room deep to allow the breeze to cool the house in pre-air conditioning days. Cypress wood flooring ran the length, protected here and there with sisal rugs. Arrangements of antique furniture defined the rooms’ transition.
    I went into the living room, spotting, on the cocktail table, a framed photograph of the two men, smiling in happier times. Somehow, I figured times were about to get a lot worse. I moved on to an abbreviated hall from which a bathroom, a small room that served as an office and master bedroom all fanned out. I glanced inside the office and faltered to a stop.
    A hurricane had struck. Paper was strewn everywhere, desk drawers emptied out and then tossed aside. A CD and DVD tower had been knocked over and the jewel cases smashed. The computer monitor, its screen cracked, lay on the floor while the computer mouse dangled to the side.
    Still spinning.
    My pulse doing a NASCAR lap, I hit the call button on my cell as I backed down the hallway. When the emergency operator came on, I reported the break-in all the while making a beeline for the door. Help was on the way and I was so out of here.
    For once my reckless side urged caution, telling me to get out of the house, but no, my responsible side whispered: Where was Drew? Was he lying hurt somewhere?
    I said aloud, “I’ve called the police. They’re on their way.” I listened intently but heard only silence. No sounds of a door opening or closing, no sounds of footsteps.
    Taking a deep breath, I returned to the hall and stepped into the bedroom. Once more chaos reigned, but there was no sign of Drew.
    Creak…creak.
    A ceiling fan with palm leaf blades whipped on high, stirring the air feverishly. Was it the motor’s sound that I was hearing? No, it made more of a humming noise. Then I saw the sliding glass doors to the rear deck were open. Borys had spoken with pride about how he and Drew played weekend warriors to build the redwood deck. I approached the doors and glanced out.
    A dark bank of thunder boomers loomed on the horizon, kicking up gusts of wind. Someone should close the doors, but it wouldn’t be the homeowner.
    Drew’s body swayed in the breeze, the rope looped over the roof beam and knotted around his neck creaking as he spun this way and that way.
    For a moment, as he turned toward me, his dark-red face distorted, I thought his sightless eyes contained a pleading look. Did he call out for help?
    Or for justice?

Chapter Six
    I ignored the growing ring of curious onlookers as I sat waiting on the front porch step. Behind me, police activity buzzed inside the house. I’d already given a preliminary statement to the first officers on scene but knew the lead detective would also want to speak with me.
    I just wished he would get his butt here. It was thirty minutes since I made the 9-1-1 call, and I wanted to leave…as soon as my legs regained a consistency stronger than jelly. The shock of finding poor Drew had definitely set in. To calm my nerves, I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out a paperclip from my stash to toy with.
    A nondescript tan sedan pulled up, followed by a midnight-blue Lexus. I groaned at the sight of the men getting out of their respective cars and buried my head in my arms. Since my legs still weren’t in any shape for me to run, I was stuck.
    The Texas twang came first. “Looks like you’re taking up where your partner left off.”
    I lifted my head slightly and shot Detective Sam Bowie an exasperated look. “How’s that?”
    He propped his booted foot on the step. “There was a time when Kate managed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time for every homicide in town.”
    That was true enough. Kate had quite a run during her last big case. Explosions, shootings, break-ins, all in the name of family. Her family.
    I pretended not to see the man who stood glowering