Fatal Connections

Chapter 52

Just how many houses did Mabel Forbes own? If she lived in a senior facility, who managed them? Ms. Brooks Brothers? Her boss? I ran a quick check in realtor.com and Zillow. No listing anywhere for either the Columbia house or this one.

I searched on the address for the Columbia house and pulled up a listing on a website. There was the house. A sign in front reading: Sale by Owner. Probably Photoshopped. Ah, Ms. Brooks Brothers. So you're an agent?

I took a screenshot and set that new development aside to be scrutinized later. Then I focused on how best to approach the Forbes house to get a good close look at it without being seen. I reached behind the driver's seat and pawed through the makeshift cargo organizer I had rigged there. It wasn't hard to find my binoculars. I looped the binocular strap around my neck, grabbed my phone and other gear, and got out of the car.

I left the car near the intersection and ducked between two houses to make for the common wooded area behind them. Then I blazed a trail through the tangled underbrush, keeping to the shadowy woods and hoping to stay clear of cameras and motion-triggered security lights. Eventually, I worked my way around to the rear of the Forbes house.

The last time I checked, it was nearly 6:00 am. About an hour until sunrise. Squatting in the dark, I shivered in the late March air. What could I learn from watching this house? It was my back asking that question. Then my brain replied that it wanted to know what might happen here on a typical early Saturday morning—and it told my back to shut up.

Even though I was a distance from the house, I scoped it out for sensors and security lights. My eyes had adjusted to the dark somewhat, but I couldn't see anything in terms of obvious cameras or lights. The interior was a black hole. Not even the smallest sign of light, as if the windows were covered with black-out curtains. I crept toward the Forbes house, keeping an eye out for anything that might become a problem. With my confidence up, I moved toward the nearest window.

Keeping to the side, I paused. I no longer felt cold; in fact, a trickle of sweat ran down my neck. The noise from a distant engine grew louder. A truck or van was coming. I steadied my breath and turned to sneak a look inside the house. And nearly jumped out of my skin when a fierce-looking woman stared back.

"Jesus," I said, then quickly smothered a laugh. The blinds were open, and the interior was impenetrably dark. So dark that when I peeked into the window, all I saw was my own reflection. I knew the blinds were there because I could see the light-colored backing made visible on each side by the faint glow of a street lamp. "Not even a night light?" I muttered. The interior was so dark, it suggested that the house was unoccupied.

The vehicle I had heard earlier had stopped and the engine was shut off. I moved closer to the street. Not far away, a delivery van was parked in front of another house a few doors up from the Harcourts'. Because the engine was turned off, I assumed the driver lived there. The van bore a logo I didn't recognize. Surely he wasn't making a delivery at this hour.

I considered the risks and potential consequences of committing another B&E. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. My feet were already in motion.

This house had a back door that responded politely to my bump key, so I slipped inside and shut the door. I tapped my phone to get the minimal light and moved like a cat as I surveyed the blackness around me. I managed to navigate through the kitchen, through a connecting room, and into what might have been the living room, without stumbling even once. An amazing feat, I thought, until, on closer inspection, I saw that all the rooms were devoid of furniture. When I made my way to one of the windows, I found it covered with a dark film, probably temporary.

"I wonder what the homeowner's association would say?" I inquired of no one. I checked the remaining windows on the ground floor. They all had the same dark film. By this time, I had turned my flashlight on and could see that this part of the house wasn't occupied. Or showed no signs of anyone living in it.

I did the most thorough search possible in less than an hour. If there had been any clues as to when and how the place was last used, they had all been taken away. Not even a dust ball on the floor.

The upstairs windows were also covered in the dark film. What the fuck? More than a little bit weird. I stopped at each window and tried to pull the film up enough to get a peek at the view. Impossible to remove. Not without tools I didn't have. So, I unlocked a window and opened it a crack. No alarm, not one that sounded, at any rate. And that's how I found at least two windows with a stellar view of the Harcourts' front walk and front door. It was possible that whoever witnessed my arrival at the Harcourt house last Saturday might have been on the verge of moving out. But somehow, that didn't seem likely.