Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

Chapter 27

They sat at one end of the dining room table which Paige had forested in candles and cleared of the stacks of bills and junk mail. The grilled cheese sandwiches had been cut into triangles, and Paige ate quietly, eyes locked on her plate.

Grant and Sophie sat side-by-side, still cuffed together, perusing the contents of the folder. While Sophie skimmed the background reports, Grant studied the seller’s property disclosure, a form required by state law to be completed by a seller of real property in a real estate transaction. The seller was obligated to disclose the presence of any structural, water, sewer/septic, common interest issues, and the like to the buyer.

Additionally, in most states, including Washington, material facts—anything that could influence a buyer’s decision to purchase a home—had to be disclosed. This included a death on the property, particularly if violent or gruesome.

Grant flipped through the five-page document to one of the final questions:

Are there any other defects affecting the property known to the seller?

The “NO” box was checked.

Sophie said, “What’s wrong? You just sighed.”

“This disclosure form doesn’t tell me anything.”

“When did the property last change hands?”

Grant traced his finger to the bottom of the final page. The signature was indistinct, but he could read the date.

“Six years ago last March. Anything of note on your end?”

“There are actually seven background checks here. The first is on the current owner.”

“What’s their story?”

“Forty-nine year-old woman named Miranda Dupree. She’s out of state. Lives in Sacramento. Nothing juicy. Just your plain-vanilla rich bitch. She owns a bunch of properties through an LLC. The tenant prior to Paige—Terry Flowers—has had two DUIs.” She kept flipping. “Nothing else pops, but then again, Stu doesn’t have access to the major league databases.” Sophie dropped the reports on the table. “I don’t even know what we’re really looking for here, Grant.”

“You and me both. That’s how these things go, remember?”

“No, I’ve never had the pleasure of investigating a real haunted house before.”

“Resume builder.”

“Can’t wait to update mine with all this new and relevant experience I’m gaining. Promotion for sure.”

Grant grinned as he pulled out her phone and punched in a number.

“Who you calling?” Sophie asked.

“Station. You know who’s on tonight?”

“Frances, I think.”

“Good. She loves me.”

Frances answered two rings later with a voice of smoke-laced apathy. “Investigations.”

“Hi, Frances, it’s your favorite detective. How are you?”

“Well, I’m here, so draw your own conclusion.”

“Sophie and I are working on something and we’re away from our laptops. Would you mind running an address through NCIC and ViCAP?”

“Sure. One second. Okay, hit me.”

Grant stared across the table at his sister, looking for some reaction to what he was about to do, some sign of reassurance or disagreement. But she just chewed a bite of sandwich with complete absence, like she wasn’t even seated at the same table.

“Grant? You there?”

Was it worth the risk? Putting the address out there?

“Grant? Did I lose you?”

He said, “Twenty-two Crockett Street.”

He heard Frances typing.

“No love from ViCAP,” she said. More typing. “No love from NCIC.”

“Anything in our database? Maybe something that didn’t get entered into NCIC?”

Frances’s laugh sounded like rocks tumbling. “Like that could ever happen. Nothing in our database either.”

“I’m going to e-mail you a photo of a spreadsheet with nine names. I want you to run them all and call me back on Sophie’s cell with anything that pops.”

“And you need this by ...”

“ASAFP.”

“Oh good. I was going to spend the night playing Minesweeper, but this will be so much more fun.”

“One more favor?”

“This what I get for being so accommodating?”

“Can we keep this request just between us?”

A long pause, and then: “You know every search gets logged automatically. Nothing I can do—”

“I understand that.”

“Oh. You don’t want me mentioning this in passing to the big man. That what you getting at?”

“Or anybody else.”

“I won’t bring it up—”

“Thank—”

“—unless someone brings it up to me. Then you on your own.”

“All I ask. You’re the best, Frances.”

Grant snapped a photo of the spreadsheet and e-mailed it to Frances from Sophie’s account.

He suddenly realized he was starving.

Bit a giant wedge out of one of the triangles.

“This is perfection,” he said. “You okay, Paige?”

She looked up.

“I’m fine.”

Sophie’s phone vibrated—a text from Dobbs.

4th man just arrived ... how’s grant?

Grant said, “Paige. Paige, look at me.”

Paige raised her head.

“Your phone,” Grant said. “Where is it?”

His sister’s eyes looked distant and unfocused, even as she reached into the pocket of her kimono and held it up.

He said, “Sophie showed up, and I completely spaced it. We need to watch the video. The one you took of Steve.”

Paige’s eyes slammed back into the present.

“What video?” Sophie asked.

Paige said, “Whenever I take a man into my room, I always black out, and he’s always gone when I wake up. With this last guy, Steve, I set up my phone and recorded us.”

“Can I see it?” Grant said.

Paige shook her head. “I want to watch it first. Alone.”