Tennyson noticed the others had their badges clipped to the front pocket of their jeans. Ten pulled his out of the inside pocket of his parka and did the same.
“No forced entry,” Ronan said as he examined the front door. “No scratches or signs of tool marks.”
“According to the alarm company, Jennifer shut the alarm off when she entered the house but failed to reset it.”
“Christ, she was in such a hurry to eat, she forgot all about her personal safety. What about the front gate?” Fitzgibbon asked. “I saw a keypad when I drove up.”
“It was supposed to shut behind Jennifer’s car after it drove through, but it’s on the fritz, according to the husband.”
Ten watched Ronan as his husband’s eyes roamed over the front hall, taking everything in.
“Glove up, everyone. You too, Ten.” Ronan pulled gloves out of a box in an open evidence kit and put them on.
Everyone else followed suit.
Tennyson was hit by the smell of blood when he walked into the house. He paused in the hall, setting a hand against a wall to steady himself.
“You okay?” Jude asked.
Ten nodded. He was afraid if he opened his mouth to speak, his morning oatmeal would make a return voyage.
“Breathe through your mouth if you can.” Jude handed Ten a pair of rubber gloves before grabbing a pair of his own.
“I haven’t been to a crime scene since the one at West Side Magick, remember?” Ten shivered as the crime scene flashed before his eyes.
Jude nodded. “I do. If you need help, signal me and I’ll walk outside with you. Ronan looks like he’s all in with this murder, like he hasn’t missed a day at the BPD.”
Ten had been thinking the same thing. He stepped forward into the house. The entryway soared up to the third level of the house. A giant crystal chandelier hung above his head. He was willing to bet the pricey light fixture cost more than a year’s salary.
Shaking his head, Ten moved through the hall into the immaculate kitchen. There was no way Jennifer kept it this clean. He’d noticed her perfectly manicured fingernails yesterday. Nothing about them said dishpan hands.
Obviously, there was some kind of housekeeping staff on duty, but Ten also wondered if there was a resident chef as well. He made a mental note to talk to Cisco about his concerns.
From where Ten was standing in the kitchen, he could see through to the dining room. He didn’t want to walk in there and witness Jennifer Baldwin Blake lying dead on the floor. When Ronan retired from the BPD, Ten thought these days were behind them. Then there was a murder inside West Side Magick, and Ten had been right back where he started with Ronan, using his gift to solve a crime, only with Ronan as the main suspect.
He figured that when Ronan retired from the BPD, there would be no calls from colleagues or friends asking him to help solve a murder, but along came Cisco and the Washington case. Since it was cold, Tennyson thought he’d be able to handle it.
Ten had been barely holding on, working this cold case criminal investigation, and now there was another body. A fresh one. One that was possibly dead because she’d spoken to him not even twenty-four hours ago.
“You ready to do this?” Jude asked gently from behind him.
He wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot, but he’d walk into that room and let his gift assess the situation. “Ready.” Ten’s voice shook. Jude would see right through him.
“You know,” Jude said in a low tone, “this isn’t my favorite thing to do either. I’m here because it’s part of the job.”
“Thanks, Jude.” Ten stiffened his spine and walked into the large dining room. The table seated twelve easily. It was dressed in an elaborate white lace cloth, which was bunched up at the opposite end of the table where he could see a McDonald’s bag and a bright red fry box.
Ten reached out to touch the lace. He jolted when he saw a vision of an old woman making it by hand. A little blonde cherub sat next to her watching her grandmother make magic with her hands and a crochet hook. “Family heirloom,” Ten announced.
“That explains why it was thrown back,” Ronan said standing up. “She didn’t want to stain the lace with hamburger grease or ketchup.” He pointed to the remains of the meal with a gloved hand.
Not wanting to but doing it anyway, Ten moved down the table to where Jennifer Blake lay dead on the floor. Thankfully, her brilliant green eyes were closed, Ten would have lost it if her eyes had been open and staring blankly at him. The woman looked just like she had yesterday at West Side Magick, with the exception of the hole in the center of her forehead. “Is this the only sign of trauma on the body?”
Ronan nodded. “There are no defensive wounds, no signs that the killer fought with Jennifer. I’m guessing her killer walked through the front door and shot her.”
Cisco was nodding along in agreement. “Is she here, Ten?”
“No. I haven’t sensed her spirit at all. The only thing I’ve gotten so far was a glimpse of Jennifer’s grandmother handmaking this tablecloth.” Ten knew what that meant. He needed to get closer to the body and touch her, to see if that would give him any more information.
Ronan shot him an are-you-okay look. Ten nodded in return. Now wasn’t the time or place to cry on his husband’s shoulder. He approached the body and knelt down beside her, away from the congealed pool of blood spread out from her head. With a shaking hand, he touched Jennifer’s shoulder and waited for the jolt. None came.
Ten’s eyes flew open in shock.
“What is it? What did you see?” Ronan’s blue eyes had gone wide with obvious anticipation.
“Nothing,” Ten said, surprised by the shock in his tone.
“This isn’t a time to play games, Ten,” Cisco half-growled.
“He isn’t.” Ronan knelt down across from Ten and reached a hand out to his husband. “Tell me about it.”
“When I touched her, I expected to be overwhelmed with memories or what happened to end her life, but there’s nothing. It’s like I’m touching stone.” Ten rolled back from the body and got shakily to his feet. He headed back toward the kitchen rather than stepping over the body to get to the front door.
“Wait, that’s it?” Cisco asked.
Ten took a shuddering breath. “Yes, Cisco. That’s it.” Without bothering to explain, Tennyson moved away from the body and the shocked police chief. There was more work to be done, but not in this house. Not with the body of an exuberant woman lying dead in a pool of her own blood.
19
Ronan
In all the time Ronan had worked with Tennyson on murder cases, cold or warm, he’d never seen Ten walk away from a crime scene like he’d done. Ronan wasn’t angry at his husband, merely confused. After assuring Cisco he’d get back to him, Ronan left the house to find Ten.
Ten was sitting in the backseat of Fitzgibbon’s SUV staring out the window at Salem Harbor. Ronan had been so deep in the case that he hadn’t noticed Jennifer’s driveway offered this spectacular view.
“You okay?” Ronan asked as he slid into the backseat next to Ten.
Ten turned to look at Ronan. “I’m not sure.” Confusion warred with sorrow in Ten’s eyes.