“You’ll be the first,” he said.
Elijah Weston stood in the unfurnished home that smelled of fresh paint and pine cleaner. As he crossed the glistening hardwood floors of the living room, his footsteps drifted up toward a vaulted ceiling with faux beams. The fireplace was not large and was covered in a veneer of stone, but it was impressive to look at. The kitchen was not the eat-in kind, but it was a hell of a lot bigger than the small, greasy kitchenette of his mother’s trailer and the cramped 1970s avocado-green version at the halfway house. The gleaming windows let in lots of natural light, and the wide patio doors looked out onto a lush backyard that was enclosed by a white privacy fence.
“What do you think, Mr. Weston?” the Realtor asked.
Her name was Sue or maybe Susan, and she lingered by the open front door. Curiosity combined with traces of fear, suggesting the desire to make money warred with the temptation to run away from the town’s convicted arsonist.
Sue or Susan knew as well as most in town that he had sued the state of Montana for wrongful imprisonment. The state, instead of taking the case to trial, had settled for $2 million. The monetary payout may have seemed large, but given that he had spent a decade in prison, it felt paltry. As much as he wanted to fight the state and bloody its nose, he’d opted to take the money. Time to get on with living.
“I will buy it,” Elijah said.
“Buy it?” she asked.
“Time to invest.”
“Do you want to discuss financing?” she asked.
“It’ll be a cash offer.”
“Seller is asking five hundred and twenty thousand dollars.”
“I’ll pay four hundred and eighty thousand if they agree to sell it to me by close of business today.”
“That’s forty thousand off asking. Will you negotiate?”
“The house has been on the market sixty-one days, which in this town is a lifetime. It’ll cost me at least fifty thousand to bring the house into this century, and given that the seller has removed the furniture, I’d say he is already on to his next property. Do you want to put in the deal, or do you want me to find someone else who will?”
“No, I can do it,” Sue/Susan said quickly. “I’ll draw up the papers right now.”
“Perfect.” He turned his attention to the backyard. There were trees to be cut and weeds to be pulled, but the idea of being outside appealed to him. Being in a box had created a new addiction to sunshine.
“Why this house?” the Realtor asked. “Single men don’t usually move into suburban neighborhoods.”
“It’s an excellent school district, and there’s a large yard that backs up to woods. When it’s renovated, I can flip it for thirty percent more.”
Her face relaxed, as he had expected it would. He had fed her the explanation that she needed to hear. It would also be the story she would tell her friends.
The truth was, he had chosen the house for one simple reason.
It was close to Ann and Nate.
CHAPTER NINE
Missoula, Montana
Thursday, August 19
7:15 p.m.
What was it about the victims that had drawn the killer?
The question rumbled in Ann’s mind as she walked toward her front door, carrying two shopping bags. She had finally made it to the home goods store and bought the rest of what she needed. What was not in stock the cashier had ordered online, which meant she should have her items in a couple of days. That suited her. She had no desire to spend the evening unpacking dishes.
A soft breeze brushed her skin as she fished in her purse for her keys, which had already sunk to the bottom. Her fingers finally brushed the metal, and she quickly unlocked the door.
Tonight, she would chill. Have a glass of wine. Heat up the to-go meal from a small Italian restaurant and think about the two murder cases that would not leave her alone. She flipped on the lights and tunneled through the room between the unpacked boxes. It takes time to make a house a home, she reminded herself. Rome was not built in a day.
She set her bags on the kitchen counter. The pasta dish went in the microwave, and she twisted the wine bottle top off with a quick turn.
She filled a paper cup with the red and, after a sip, determined it was passable. Moving around the first floor, she closed all the curtains and shades. Other than the school district, the instant privacy of the existing drapes had been a big selling point for the house.
Her phone buzzed with Maura’s number. Grateful for the distraction, she answered, “Maura, how’s it going?”
“It’s great. I found a few items at the Beech Street house I thought you might like to have. Can I stop by?”
“Sure.” What did this near stranger think was important to her? “I’ll text you my address.”
Fifteen minutes later, headlights swept across her front window as the cleaner parked behind her car. Ann set her wine down and opened the door to see a smiling Maura carrying a box. “Come on inside.”
“Great.” Maura stepped into the foyer, her gaze sweeping the barren room. “I thought you might like these. They seemed personal.”
“Set them on the kitchen counter. I’ll go through them later.”
“I have the truck loaded, and I’m headed to the charity center. If you have a quick look, I’ll haul off what you don’t want.”
She could not imagine wanting anything. It was all she could do to save what she did. “You don’t have to wait.”
“Honestly, it’ll be more efficient if you have the time to do this now. I’ve done enough of these moves and know the faster you can get through miscellaneous items, the better. They have a tendency to clutter our lives.”
That was why she had left them behind. “Can I pour you a glass of wine?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s been a long day.”
“Does red suit?”
“Always.”
Ann filled a paper cup and handed it to Maura. “No glassware yet.”
“Thanks.” Maura held up the cup. “I have boxes full of real glasses in the truck. I can bring them in now.”
“No, I don’t want them. Making a clean break, if you know what I mean.”
“I hear you. I’m on a journey of self-discovery myself.” She took a sip of wine.
Ann held up her cup. “Here’s to one foot in front of the other.”
Maura gently tipped her paper cup toward Ann. “Amen.”
Ann peered in the box, and her gaze went directly to a small teddy bear. Nate had named the bear Montana Mac, and it had been his favorite when he was four or five. Guilt jabbed her as she wondered how she could have left Montana Mac behind. “Where did you find this?”
“It was in the kitchen in one of the lower cabinets. I figured it was a favorite hiding place.”
She straightened the bear’s black, off-kilter nose. “The bottom kitchen cabinet was Nate’s space. He used to pretend it was a spaceship.”
“He and his little buddy must have been on a trip when he forgot about him.”
When Ann had made the decision to move out, she had done it quickly, fearing if she thought too much, she would change her mind. She had packed some of her clothes and Nate’s and driven straight to her parents’ ranch. In all the confusion, Nate had never asked about Montana Mac or, if he had, the request had been lost in the noise of her own guilt and worry. “Thanks, Maura. Good save. What else do you have?”