Ann moved away from her car, grateful to be interfacing with a real human and not ghosts. “Hi. I’m Ann Bailey.”
“Hey, I’m Maura Ralston. We’ve traded phone calls about me cleaning your house.”
Ann scrutinized the slim woman, trying to imagine her cleaning out closets and sorting through all her belongings and dividing them into charity and trash piles. She was turning this personal part of her life over to a stranger whom she had discovered on a flyer outside her office, and it smacked of cowardice. “I called the references you gave me.”
Maura slid her hands into her pockets. “Awesome. All good, I assume, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“They were glowing. Methodical, neat, organized.”
Maura grinned. “I’m all that.”
“And you’re not a reporter.”
“No, I’m not.” Maura laughed, her brow arching. “Where did that come from?”
“Never mind.” Reporters had blown up Ann’s phone last year, and she still received the occasional inquiry, which kept her vigilant. Last week it had been a guy named Paul Thompson, who was producing a podcast. She had ignored his three messages. “The house hasn’t been really cleaned in over a year. All the closets need to be emptied out, major dusting, the appliances . . .”
“I get it. I’ve done all that before. All you need to do is tell me what you want saved, and I’ll take it from there. A few days from now, the house will be pristine and ready to go on the market.”
“You’ve been doing this work for five years back east. Why the move to Montana?” Ann asked.
“A fresh start. Divorce.” Maura hesitated, as if gauging her words. “You too, right?”
“Excuse me?”
Maura looked toward the house. “I’ve done enough jobs like this to get a sense of my client. You’re divorced or about to be. It was messy, and though you got the house, you really do not want it. But the property is worth too much to pass up, so you deal with the emotions and do the work.”
Her clear-cut honesty was refreshing after a year’s worth of family tiptoeing around Ann’s feelings. “You sound like a psychologist.”
“I want to be one,” she said quickly. “And for the record, I know how rough the getting-on-with-your-life part can be. Mine cheated on me, which adds salt to the wound.”
Ann liked the woman’s candor. “I’ve already been through the house and taken what I want. Use whatever key pieces of furniture for staging. The rest, like I said, toss or donate. I don’t care.”
“Got it.”
“The rate you quoted in your text is fine, so I’ll give you the grand tour if you’re interested in the job.”
“Terrific.”
Ann returned to the front door and opened the lock. As they stepped inside, Maura’s gaze was drawn to the black graphite, crime scene tape, and gloves. “What happened here?”
“I’m surprised you don’t know.”
“I don’t do the news or social media. Bad for the soul.”
“Smart.”
“Did anyone die here?”
“No.”
“But . . .”
“An internet search will tell you what you want to know. And if you decide this job is not for you, no harm, no foul.”
“No, I’ll do it. I need the money, and the past is the past.”
If only it were that simple. “If that’s the case, any questions?”
Maura gripped the strap of her leather, fringed satchel. “I understand my marching orders pretty well.”
“Good. Also, I mentioned I’m not fond of reporters. I don’t want any in here. Only you in the house.”
“No problem. Do you have a Realtor?”
“Yes. Her name is Stacy Winston, and if she wants to see the house, she’s to let me know so I can call and give you a heads-up.”
“Perfect.”
Relieved, Ann fished a spare key from her pocket and handed it over. “I promised Stacy the house would be ready for market no later than the second week of September.”
“No problem. I’ve seen enough so we can skip the tour. Looks standard.”
“It should be.” Ann produced a $200 down payment. It was a risk. Maura might take the money and run. She might turn the house into a party palace and ruin whatever value remained. She might sell tours to reporters. She might . . .
The list would roll endlessly in a negative loop, and it would go round and round for hours if she did not stop it. Ann reminded herself she had dutifully checked out Maura’s references, which had all been great, and if Ann did not get someone, the work would fall to her.
“You have my number if you need to call,” she said.
Maura followed her to her car and glanced at the box in the front seat. “That’s all you want?”
“That’s it.”
“Okay. If you change your mind, call.”
“I won’t.”
“I know I skipped the tour, but mind if I walk around the house?” Maura asked.
“Have at it. There’s also a basement off the kitchen. There shouldn’t be too much left there.”
“Cool.”
“I’ve got to get going.”
Maura thrust out her hand. “Thanks for the job, Dr. Bailey. It really helps.”
“Call me Ann, and thank you for taking this on.” She opened her driver’s-side door. “I work at the university, so I’m less than five minutes away. Seriously, any questions, call.”
“I’m thinking about attending the university in the spring.”
“If you want the tour, let me know.”
“I’ll definitely take you up on that,” Maura said.
Ann slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and switched on the AC. The cool air brushed her skin as Maura vanished inside and passed in front of the display window.
What would that house reveal to Maura about Ann? All the small choices she had made, from the types of pans she had cooked with to the perfume she wore to the color choices on the walls, combined and told a story about her.
Her phone rang. Grateful for the distraction, she fished it out of her pocket, not glancing at the display. “Hello.”
“Dr. Bailey, this is Sergeant Bryce McCabe.”
“Sergeant McCabe. This is unexpected. What can I do for you?”
“I have a case I’d like to discuss with you,” he said.
When she had spoken to the Montana Highway Patrol officers, McCabe had taken a seat in the back of the classroom and paid close attention to her lecture. His questions had been in-depth and displayed a sharp mind.
“Sure. Maybe sometime later this week?”
“I was hoping today.”
“Today?”
“I’m at the crime scene now, and it’ll be important for you to see it for yourself.”
She checked her watch. Nate would not be home from computer camp for another five hours. The drive to the state police headquarters in Helena would take a couple of hours. “If I leave now, I can be at your office by lunchtime.”
“The crime scene’s not in Helena. It’s about an hour and fifteen minutes east of you in Deer Lodge County. I can text you the address.” His voice dropped, and the tone turned serious. “It’s important.”