“This man’s an electrician and he’s retired, which means he has an independent income and can travel. Plus, he has reason to hate you.”
“Yeah, add it all up and George Dodd is looking more and more like our prime suspect.”
Seven
They easily located the address Alan had given them. The walkway leading from the street to the front door of the 1940s bungalow was lined with neglected flower beds.
“It doesn’t seem like anyone’s home,” Chloe said, surveying the ragged grass and yellowing newspapers lying on the doorstep.
“Not for some time,” Jake agreed. He knocked on the door, then knocked again, harder. There was only silence. “Let’s try around the back.”
They followed the sidewalk that curved around the house to the rear. Despite the overgrown flower beds, it was apparent that the house itself had been well-cared-for by its owner.
Jake pounded on the back door. No response. He turned in a slow circle, scanning the backyard. A high wooden fence blocked the neighbors’ view, while the house concealed them from any passerby on the street or sidewalk.
He bent and slipped a knife from inside his boot.
Chloe almost gasped. The blade was long and wickedly lethal. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Unlock the door.” He nodded toward the walkway at the side of the house. “Keep watch, will you? Some neighbor might start wondering why a strange car is parked out front.”
Chloe left the doorstep and peered around the corner of the house. The lawn, sidewalk and the street beyond were quiet in the warm sunshine.
“Ah, got it.”
She looked over her shoulder. Jake pushed open the door, pausing to slip the knife back into the hidden sheath in his boot top. He beckoned and she left her post to rejoin him.
They stepped into the silent kitchen, closing the door. The room was spotlessly clean, the tiled floor gleaming, the counters and white cabinets immaculate.
“I’ve never been in a man’s house this clean,” Chloe whispered.
“Yeah, it’s practically sterile.”
Jake walked out of the kitchen, with Chloe behind him. The small dining area was as pristine and neat as the kitchen. They passed through it, skirting the square maple table with four chairs aligned precisely opposite each other, and entered the living room. The furnishings were neither expensive nor new, and the sofa, with its matching upholstered chair, had wear marks on the arms, but all was tidy and clean.
“I don’t see evidence of anything other than that George Dodd is amazingly neat.” She moved down the hall and looked into the bathroom, the door open wide. “And even though that’s unusual for a man living alone, it doesn’t prove he’s our crazy stalker.”
“No.” Jake’s voice came from farther down the hall. “It doesn’t. But I’ve got a feeling about Dodd.” He opened and closed doors, glancing briefly into rooms, before joining Chloe again. “Let’s get out of here. It’s clear no one’s been here for some time, and if Dodd is our man, then he’s somewhere in Seattle.”
They retraced their steps through the living room, dining room and into the kitchen.
“Wait.” Chloe stopped him just before he opened the door leading to the backyard. A phone was mounted on the wall next to the refrigerator. The top corner of the fridge door held a narrow pad of paper with a magnetized back. A pencil stub was attached to the pad by a neatly knotted length of fishing line.
“What is it?”
“Shouldn’t we check the message pad? I’ve read hundreds of mystery novels, and the amateur detectives always check the blank pad for pencil impressions.”
“Couldn’t hurt. Go for it.” Jake half grinned, waiting patiently while Chloe went to stare at the pad.
She squinted at it, frowning. “I think he might actually have written something on the pad, then torn off the paper. There seem to be words….” She took the dangling pencil stub and carefully rubbed the lead over the paper.
Jake bent closer to read the shaded letters. “Sunshine Real? No, Sunshine Realty. And the rest is a phone number—with Seattle’s area code.”
Chloe dropped the pencil and ripped off the sheet. “The phone number for a Realtor in Seattle? Maybe he used them to find an apartment or a house to rent?”
“I’m betting you’re right.” He took the paper, folded it and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Smart lady.”
They left the house, locking the door behind them. Jake called Gray as soon as they were in the car and on their way out of town.
“Gray? It’s Jake.” He turned onto the highway and headed north. “Granstrom didn’t pan out, but he gave us some valuable information. Kenny Dodd’s father still lives in Mason City. Granstrom says Dodd blames me for Kenny’s death and he left town about eight weeks ago, right after receiving the military incident report.”
Chloe listened to Jake’s half of the conversation.
“Hold on a sec.” He lowered the phone to hold it and the steering wheel in one hand while he fished the slip of paper out of his pocket with the other. “He left the phone number of a Seattle realty office on the pad in his kitchen. Want to check it out?” He read off the number, then glanced at Chloe and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “No. He tore off the note, but Chloe saw the impression his pencil made on the pad beneath.”
His smile disappeared. “Yeah, do that.” He looked at his dashboard clock. “We should be back in town by eight or so—too late to do anything tonight. Right, see you tomorrow.” Gray apparently had another question. Jake responded. “No, she’s staying with me until we figure this out. Right.”