A Fatal Stain (17 page)

At the door, the real estate agent shook both our hands, earnestly, while E—covertly—untied Ccelly from the banister. “I’m sure the owners will be very amenable to discussing price,” she said. “The place has been on the market for more than six months, after all. And I happen to know they want it off their hands.”

That last comment made me think, again, that we were here because the house was threatened with arson, somehow. And I felt suddenly this shouldn’t be allowed. It was my house. Surely they couldn’t torch it.

But then I heard the price that was being asked for it, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. The Goldport Police Department pays its officers relatively well. Still, I
happened to know what Cas made, and there was no possible way we could afford this house.

All the same, I still didn’t want it torched. It was too nice a house to destroy just because some lunatic wanted to cut his losses or something. In fact, it was the sort of house where a family could be happy.

I found myself telling Cas this when we got in the car. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so, too. Our family, specifically.”

“But why do you think it’s at risk of being torched?”

He gave me an odd slanted look and a little smile. “I might have been wrong about that,” he said.

“You lied to me.”

“Well.” He started the car and steered away from the curb. Did I mention the street had trees on either side? Right now, bare in winter, they weren’t that impressive, but I could imagine how beautiful they’d look, in spring and summer, forming a green canopy to filter Colorado’s merciless sun. “There is a risk to some houses, though probably not this one. The pattern seems to be suburban homes, in a neighborhood where there are a lot of empty ones, so that the ones on either side are empty, too. I’m wondering if perhaps something illegal is going on in the houses, and arson is being used to cover it up.”

“So this house isn’t highly probable to be burned?”

“No,” he said. “I only heard about it because I was talking to the real estate agent about the others, and I mentioned I was getting married in three months, and she said were we looking for a house, and I said not exactly…So she told me about this house. Then I saw it and…” He shrugged. “I think it would be perfect for us. Sorry to lie to you, but I couldn’t figure out how to get you to look at it, otherwise. You know what you can be like.”

I knew exactly what I could be like, but I should have been offended that he did, too, and I should have been upset that he had lied to me. Weirdly, these feelings failed to materialize. Instead, I said, “Uh…Cas, there’s no way we can afford almost a half million dollars.”

“Sure there is,” he said. “I intend to steal from the Benevolent Order of Police. There is no way those widows and orphans need that kind of cash.” He gave me a smile, before returning his gaze to the road ahead. “Dyce, sweetie, what do you think I do with my share of the money Nick and I make on the cars?”

“You make money on the cars?”

He laughed. “Yeah.”

“But I thought it was just, you know, your hobby. And I know Nick gets to drive them for a while, before he sells them.”

“Some of them,” Cas said. He shrugged. “And he gives me a higher share of those, since he gets to use them. It is a hobby. We enjoy restoring classics and returning them to pristine condition. It’s…satisfying. But they are worth money. And since the fun for us is in working on the next one, we must sell them. It will surprise you, even in this economy, that we both make healthy profits.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure that made it better. Not only did he have a salary that allowed him to buy all the luxuries of life—like, say, milk and meat—but he also made money on the side. “I don’t want to marry for money!”

He grinned. “Of course not,” he said. “You’re marrying me for my fabulous body. The money is just a nice side benefit. So do we buy the house?”

I wished I had the courage to say no. I also wished he wasn’t correct about my motives.

I was so confused by the developments that I didn’t
think clearly till a while after Cas had dropped me off with a kiss and a reassurance that although he might have to work late, he’d be coming back to spend the night. Which just underscored how crazy it was for him to have a separate place, I guess. But he was going to put an offer on the house and…

While E told Pythagoras all about the nice room they would have, I moved through my place in a haze, pretending to straighten up. A whole house. The idea was so odd. Oh, I’d lived in a house before—I mean, my house, not the one I’d grown up in. But my house, shared with All-ex, had been a small starter home in the suburbs. I’d always felt vaguely out of place in it, like it was too new, too…too neatly arranged to fit me.

This house, on the other hand, might have been made
for me. Oh, it was clean, and the floors were refinished and looked lovely, but the house, itself, had nooks and crannies. It had places to hide and places to grow. It was a house with character. A people house.

I had to resist the impulse to hit a few of my normal places to get used furniture at bargain prices and start buying pieces to refinish for the new place. I had to resist it for several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that I had just the money for the rent in my bank account, and unless one of my pieces on consignment at the various furniture stores in Denver sold, and soon, I’d be scrambling for grocery money next week.

So, before I started buying things for the house I wouldn’t move into until three months from now at the earliest, I must buy or find some pieces I could make money from. Or finish that table in the back and sell it.

I shivered. The idea of working on the table, with the visible bloodstains, gave me the creeps. And what if someone had really been killed on it? Or against it? What would I do then? I couldn’t sell the table and potentially destroy evidence.

But what if the table hadn’t been part of a murder? But then why would someone disguise expensive, smooth oak as cheap pine? And why would someone have gone to my dad to ask questions?

Was the pop-eyed blond Jason Ashton? And why had Peter and Collin talked to Sebastian about me? And what would Cas think if he found out how far into this murder investigation I was, if it was a murder, without telling him anything about it?

I stood in my kitchen, looking at the counter I’d just finished wiping down, and sighed. I hated to do this,
truly, but before I came clean to Cas, before I even considered letting him know what I’d been up to, I had to figure out if Jason was the guy who had gone to my dad—possibly with intent to scare him.

Which meant, I would have to take risks. Again.

Actually, what really bothered me was that I had to take E with me. But there was nothing for that. Ben was at work—a distressing habit of his—and my parents were…sadly, my parents. So I would have to take E with me.

Fortunately, he didn’t resist much, just taking one of his books about lab rats with him and pouting because I wouldn’t let him take Pythagoras.

I wasn’t sure at all what I was going to do, particularly after Sebastian had warned me away from the place. I had some vague idea that I was going to sit across the street and watch the people who came and went into the house. But before I got there, I had decided the thing to do was to ring the doorbell and ask to see Jason Ashton.

It turned out to be completely unnecessary. When I got there, kids were playing in the front yard, in the cool but sunny afternoon. And at the door, leaning against the frame, was a man, clearly watching over them.

He was not Sebastian. He did not have that kind of sex-appeal wattage. But neither was he the pop-eyed blond that my father had talked about. His hair was brown, slightly receding. His eyes were also brown and, though he must have been in his late twenties or very early thirties, had a little pattern of wrinkles at the corners, which indicated he laughed a lot.

He wasn’t laughing just then, I noted, as I approached with E by the hand, after having parked in front of the house. His eyes had a pensive, almost haunted look.

When I reached for the latch on the garden gate, he came toward me. “Hi there,” he said. “May I help you?” though the tone was
Please go away and leave me alone.

I squeezed E’s hand a little tighter and hoped I wasn’t making a terrible mistake. “I’d like to talk to Jason Ashton,” I said.

“I’m Jason Ashton,” he said, looking a little taken aback.

I extended my hand. “Hi, I’m Candyce Dare. May I talk to you? Just a little?”

“Uh,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really am not in the market for a religious conversion, and I don’t buy encyclopedias.”

Interesting. So my name was total news for him. This would seem to imply that Sebastian and whatever his name was, the blond, were both acting on their own, or perhaps in concert with each other.

“That’s fortunate,” I said. “Because I don’t want to talk to you about either religion or encyclopedias. Look…I understand this must be a stressful time for you, but…I’ve come across something that might give us some idea what happened to your wife, and I’d like to talk to you about it.”

“Maria?” His face lit up with something like wild hope. “You’ve heard from Maria?”

“Oh, unfortunately, nothing like that,” I said. “But…If I may…Can I ask what you know about when she disappeared and what happened?” I was having serious trouble thinking that a man who became so enthusiastic about the idea of finding her had done away with Maria Ashton. On the other hand, it was possible he was a really good actor. Or crazy.

“I don’t want to talk to reporters, either,” he said.

“I’m not a reporter. Nothing connected to it. I promise. My fianc is the chief investigator on the case,” I said. I got my wallet out and finished for a business card. “This is what I do for a living.”

He looked at the card for Daring Finds, then back down at me. “I don’t understand. Furniture refinishing?”

“The problem,” I explained, “is that I don’t want to tell you what I think I found, because it might worry you unnecessarily. You see, I think I have some…leads, but they might have nothing to do with the case. I really don’t know much beside the fact that your wife disappeared more than a month ago. I could, I suppose, have asked my fianc more about it, or even have gone around you and badgered everyone…I did talk to your neighbors once.” I indicated Peter and Collin’s house with a nod. “But I thought it would be better to come and talk to you and get the truth from your mouth.”

He hesitated, playing with my card, then shrugged. “Okay, fine. I’m moving anyway.” He paused. “Do your friends call you Dyce?”

“Yes, why?”

He smiled, just a little, a smile that didn’t alter the fact that he looked immensely sad underneath it all. “Ah. Because when I was talking to Officer Wolfe, he answered the phone to someone named Dyce.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I must have called about something.”

He nodded. “Well…it’s just, I don’t know how much Maria would want known, but I could tell the police thought she’d disappeared voluntarily, and that’s entirely possible, but I was wondering…I mean…” He shrugged. “I don’t know what she wants me to tell people. I know I told the police about it…but…” He seemed
to notice E for the first time. And that his kids were clustering around us, looking at E.

The kids were a little girl about E’s age and two boys a little older, and they looked like good kids. The little girl looked a lot like her dad; the two boys looked darker and more exotic.

“If your little boy wants to play with Isabella and the boys, we can talk by the door while we watch them.”

Since E was already pulling his hand away from mine, I presumed he wanted to. In no time at all, the four of them were running all over the tiny lawn, looking like they’d known each other from birth.

Jason smiled a little at their playing. “It’s good to see them having fun,” he said. “This has been very hard for them, too. Now…what did you want to know?”

“What happened when your wife disappeared,” I said. “And why it took you so long to report her missing.”

He looked at me and narrowed his eyes, not threateningly but more like he was thinking. “Because I was hoping she’d come back,” he said.

“So…you argued and she walked out?”

He shook his head. “We never argued,” he said, then gave me a little tight, self-conscious smile. “I mean we never argued before she disappeared. We argued a bit, like normal couples do, usually about truly stupid things—you know…who left the lid off the sugar bowl and who forgot to feed the cat and water the plants.”

“Yeah. But you didn’t argue before she disappeared?”

He shook his head.

“Well, pardon me, then, but wouldn’t that be all the more reason to have actually gone to the police the minute she left?”

He sighed. “Well, no. See…See…” He visibly struggled for words. “Although we didn’t argue and there was no logical reason for her to leave me and the children, there were…There was a reason for her to want to disappear for a while to…to deal with things and…and find her balance again, and I thought that’s what she had done.”