FOR SALE FULLY FURNISHED

INCLUDING A BODY

A

 K & D Mystery

Tyler Mallone

Chapter 1

Friday:

I had parked in front of the house on Snowflake Lane. A slight breeze swayed the trees. Pine needles danced on top of my truck; the only sound in this quiet neighborhood as we sat assessing the situation. I glanced sideways at Kelly and saw her face darken in disappointment.

Before she slid out of the truck, she turned to me, wrinkled her small pug nose and tilted her head. “Norma told us the house was in excellent condition.”

“She also said she’d not seen the house in over five years,” I reminded her.

When you go on a listing appointment, you always hope you’ll find a showcase home, easy to sell, one you’ll be proud to advertise.

The house, a typical mountain cabin, A-frame, wood exterior, shake roof, sat forlornly at the end of a badly cracked driveway.

We are Kelly and David Madison, brokers and owners of K&D Realty. Ed and Norma Carpenter had hired us to put their mountain cabin on the market. They had owned the house for ten years and had been renting it out. Now they were ready to sell.

Our task today: inspect it, appraise it and suggest a market value. We climbed out of the truck and began our assessment.

Kelly produced a notepad and began writing. “I’m going to recommend they have the house stained and the driveway re-surfaced before putting it on the market.”

“Right, and this broken handrail needs to be replaced.” I grabbed the railing, shook it back and forth, hoping it didn’t fall apart in my hands. The yard, common in this mountain community, was crowded with pine trees. Pine needles, disturbed by the soft wind, fell like snowflakes and covered the ground.

While Kelly listed areas that needed attention, I took the keys from her and opened the front door. The interior showed promise. Norma had told us that their latest tenant had just moved out and they had hired a professional to thoroughly clean the house. Norma and Ed live three hundred miles away.

I headed upstairs to check the bedrooms, leaving Kelly to assess the lower level. The house was fully furnished, and the furniture would be included in the sale.

I had just entered one bedroom when Kelly yelled, “Daviiid …!” It had that familiar hysterical shriek at the end. I’d heard it often before. It usually meant that she had encountered a spider—a large spider. I loved this scene—my wife, normally brave and very independent, needed me! I, stronger and braver, when it came to spiders, would dash to her rescue, saving her from her most dreaded enemy.

Dutifully, I took the stairs two at a time, rushing to protect her, ready to remove the danger and perform my heroic duty as her fearless husband. My reward would be her ingratiating smile.

I found her in a small bedroom converted to a library. As I reached her side, I stretched my five-foot-eleven frame to tower over her. She stood immobile, staring straight ahead. My eyes followed her gaze. Then I, too, froze in place. A desk sat in the center of the room, facing the door. A man stared at me from behind the desk. My frozen brain tried to figure out what was wrong here. Why didn’t the man move or speak? Then I realized he was dead; but dead people are supposed to act dead—slump down, sprawl on the desk, fall out of the chair—or something like that. Instead, here he sat, at the desk, as if in the act of writing a letter. For a moment, I had the feeling we were all trapped in a movie that had been stopped on one frame. I was afraid to even blink, lest it would release the stop button and re-start the action.

Finally, allowing my lungs to fill, I glanced at Kelly. Her face was almost as pale as “the writer’s”. My eyes darted back to the body, to see if it had changed its position.

Kelly eased closer to me. She whispered as if afraid that, in awakening him, he might ask why we were there, “Who do you suppose he is?”

I, too, started to whisper, then, clearing my throat, I tried but failed to use my strong John Wayne, take-charge voice, and said, “How should I know. Let’s just get out of here.” I was appalled at the squeak in my voice.

“I think we should call Sheriff Stan,” she said.

I grabbed her as she took a step toward the desk and the phone and the body. “Okay—but use your cell phone.”

We retreated into the living room, looking around as if expecting to find more people frozen in place. Kelly dialed the sheriff’s office on the direct line instead of dialing 911 and reported that we had just discovered a dead body. After promising to remain until the sheriff arrived, she was assured that he would be there within fifteen minutes.

While we waited, we looked around for any personal items that “the writer” might have left there. The house looked immaculate, vacuum patterns still on the carpet. Together, we went upstairs and checked each bedroom, being careful to not touch anything. There was nothing to indicate that anyone was living here.

Feeling a little squeamish about dead bodies, I suggested that we wait for the sheriff outside on the front porch. Kelly wanted to guard the body. “It would be really embarrassing if the sheriff arrived and he was missing.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “You don’t think he’s just going to walk away?”

“No, but someone might come back and steal him.”

I took a firm grip on her arm and led her onto the porch.