Page 13 of Alibi for Murder (Colby Agency: The Next Generation #2)

Foster Residence

Ridgeland Avenue

Allie finished off her toast. It wasn’t such a great breakfast, but when she had suggested it based on the offerings available, Steve claimed cheese toast was one of his favorites.

The toast and coffee had done the trick for her.

She wasn’t a huge breakfast fan anyway. Her typical days consisted of brunch and dinner.

As for the menu, like this morning, it was generally driven by whatever was in the house.

Or something she had delivered if she was feeling the urge.

She really needed to get better organized.

Her grandmother had always taken care of running the kitchen.

Until she was no longer physically able to do so, she had insisted that it was her domain.

Allie could be in charge of all the rest, but she was to leave the kitchen to her grandmother.

It was great until her grandmother could no longer handle the job.

Then Allie had just felt guilty for being inept at kitchen duties.

Her culinary skills still left much to be desired.

During her grandmother’s illness, Allie had tried to carry on with the usual menu items. Her grandmother had many cookbooks with dog-eared pages. But once she was gone, sandwiches and microwave meals became the norm.

Maybe Steve was right. Allie should focus a little more on herself.

Working at home made the concept more difficult, in her opinion. It was far easier to pull on a pair of sweats and tuck her hair into a ponytail and not care. Who would see her? No one. And the whole cooking for one was not as simple or as stress-free as it sounded.

Steve glanced at his cell, answered an incoming call and wandered out of the kitchen. Allie cleared away the paper plates—another bad habit of hers—and wiped off the table.

Who wanted to wash dishes for one? There was a dishwasher, but it would take days to load it with enough items to feel it wasn’t wasteful to turn it on.

Just another excuse.

She had to admit it had been nice to fall asleep last night knowing someone else was in the house. Even nicer to wake up and share coffee and toast with a really smart, handsome man who…

Okay, slow down, Al.

She shook off the random thoughts and rinsed their coffee mugs, then placed them on the drainer.

Steve came back to the door, his call obviously completed. “That was my mother. She insists we come to dinner. You okay with that?”

For one moment, fear paralyzed her. What would she wear?

What would Mrs. Durham think of her now?

Would she believe Allie capable of murder?

The story hadn’t been in the news yet as far as she knew, which surprised her, but still people talked in small towns.

His mother lived here. She would no doubt hear all the rumors and gossip.

Allie faked a smile and nodded with pretend enthusiasm. “Sure.”

“We’ll take the photo of the mystery couple,” he suggested, completely undaunted by the idea. “Mom or Dad might know who they are.”

“Good idea.” He’d sent a copy to one of his colleagues. Hopefully between that person and the Durhams they would learn the identity of the mystery couple. The fact that the photos with that couple were hidden seemed to imply some sort of secret.

But who knew if it was related to anything. It could be a waste of time.

Allie breathed a little easier about having dinner with Steve’s family. All she had to do was focus on the issue at hand. Everything else would work out.

“You ready?” he asked when she lingered at the sink.

She pushed aside the worries and shifted her attention to where it belonged. “Absolutely.”

They were taking another field trip—this one to Thomas Madison’s most recent home. Maybe they would notice something the federal agents had not. Like some clue that pointed to the truth.

Probably wishful thinking.

Madison Residence

Hamilton Road

Woodstock, 9:30 a.m.

The Madison home was neglected like the Madison/Talbert property. Not quite as overgrown but utterly rundown with lots of deferred maintenance.

The place was well off the beaten path. The home stood a good distance back from the road, at least a mile, amid eighty acres of wooded land, according to the county property records.

Obviously it was an expansive property. The nearest house on either side of the road was quite a distance away, but there was one directly across the road from the long driveway.

Also like the other property, the house was an older one.

Not a refurbished barn this time but one of those boxy modern styles with too many angles and lots of windows so popular in the 70s and 80s.

Since it sat where the property sloped downward on one side, there appeared to be a walk-out basement level.

It was unusually warm today. Allie was grateful for the shade of the generous number of trees around the house.

She and Steve climbed the steps to the front stoop, which was too narrow to officially be called a porch, and rang the bell.

The light above the door was on as if waiting for the owner to return.

She put her hands on either side of her eyes and peered through the glass sidelight next to the double set of doors.

A foyer led directly into a large, open-concept room with a soaring ceiling. Wood beams, wood floors. Exactly what one would expect in a home of this style and era. It was furnished the same way, with some modern-looking pieces.

No one came to the door since the owner was lying on a stainless-steel slab at the morgue. He had no family to take over the property, much less to claim him or to see to his final arrangements.

Infinitely sad.

Allie suddenly realized she was in that same boat. No next of kin. No close friends. All her work associates were nothing more than voices on radio waves bouncing off cell towers.

She drew back mentally, banished the sad thought. Not exactly reaffirming.

Steve walked down the steps and started around the corner of the house, and Allie followed.

In addition to the garage that was part of the house structure, there was a detached garage.

Beyond that was what might be a barn. Not big and tall like the older ones, but something more modern and space conscious with a lower roof line.

The two of them peered through each first-floor window just as they had at the other house.

The more they looked, the more obvious it was that the house had been thoroughly searched.

Drawers either weren’t quite closed all the way or sat askew.

Items atop those same pieces of furniture sat in no particular arrangement.

Pillows and cushions on the sofa and chairs were not fully tucked into place.

All appeared out of place. As she had thought, on the one end where the ground sloped, there was a lower level that opened to the outside with windows and French doors.

The shades or blinds were drawn tight over those windows as well as the doors.

There was nothing about the property that felt familiar to Allie. Nothing at all.

“I don’t recall any of the photos having been taken here,” Steve mentioned.

“I was just thinking the same thing. Most were in public places, at our house or at the house on Justen. This is such a large property I’m surprised they didn’t do hikes or picnics or something here.

” She supposed they could have and for whatever reason hadn’t taken photos that day.

It was a very attractive property, discounting the needed maintenance, particularly if one was a nature lover.

“Let’s check out the detached garage and barn.”

Allie followed him, still wondering why no photos had been taken here. It really was the perfect setting. They had moved here an entire year before her parents died, so it wasn’t because it had been unavailable to them at the time.

The detached garage was unlocked. Although they had no official business here and certainly no legal right, Allie needed to look.

Before she could say as much, Steve opened the door and they went inside.

The electricity was still on, so the flip of a switch provided the necessary light to survey the interior.

Inside were the tools found in most home workshops.

Those for making repairs around the house as well as a few for vehicle maintenance.

Nothing that personalized the space. No photos or calendars or brand memorabilia hanging on the walls.

The low roof-line barn was their next destination.

Inside were stalls for horses but no indication horses had ever been there.

The floors were clean. No leftover animal droppings or deteriorating straw or hay.

No gear for riding horses in the tack room.

The barn looked as if it had never been used for any purpose.

From there, they returned to the house.

“I guess we’ve seen all there is to see,” Steve commented, “unless we opt to do a little breaking and entering. Bearing in mind the Bureau and the police have both likely searched the place already, I don’t see any reason to cross that line. Yet, anyway.”

Allie glanced around. “I’m with you on that one.

I suppose we could have a look under some of these flowerpots.

They don’t appear to have been disturbed recently, and there’s a lot of them.

” She smiled with a memory. “My grandmother used to hide a house key under one. Sometimes when we played games, she would hide clues under the flowerpots.”

This was probably a task that really would prove a waste of time, but why not give it a shot?

Steve considered her at length, his expression serious. “I really do like the way you think, ma’am. Your grandmother too.”

She laughed. “You can let me know if you still believe that when we’re done and all the spiders who probably call those pots home have shown their displeasure.”