Killer Crullers by Jessica Beck Page A

room?”
    “It’s just down the hall, the second door on the right. You can’t miss it. It’s the only door in the house that’s ever shut. I just can’t tolerate a closed door.”
    I wasn’t sure how much we’d be able to talk if Jean was so close by, but I had to respect her wishes. I was about to say as much when she added, “I know it might feel a bit claustrophobic, but would you mind keeping it closed as you work? I don’t want to know what you’re doing.”
    “We’ll be glad to oblige,” I said.
    Before we started down the hall, Jean said, “I can’t thank you enough for doing this, both of you.”
    “We’re just glad we can help,” I said.
    We were still outside the door when Grace hesitated. “Is there anything in particular we’re looking for?”
    “Anything that might explain why Desmond was murdered last night,” I said.

CHAPTER 7
    “Are you sure a man lived here?” Grace asked as we walked into Desmond’s room.
    “What do you mean?” I asked as I took in the neatly made bed, the carefully organized closet, and the immaculate floor.
    “There’s no mess,” she said. “In all the time you were married, was Max ever this neat?”
    I remembered my ex-husband’s housekeeping skills, or lack of them, and realized that she had a point. “I’ve heard there are neat men out there,” I said. “I’m willing to bet that Jake is neat.”
    “I think I’d have a better chance running across a unicorn, myself,” Grace replied.
    “At least it will make it easier to search,” I said. “One thing we can be sure of; Jean didn’t come in and straighten up after him. She could barely bring herself to tell us which door was his. They were close, weren’t they?”
    “They seem to have been,” I said. “Do you want the closet, the dresser, or the desk?”
    “I’ll take the desk,” Grace said. “That’s going to be the hot spot, don’t you think?”
    I tended to agree with her, but I never really knew where I’d find a clue, so I started searching the other areas with equal enthusiasm.
    “Check this out,” Grace said two minutes after we got started. “I found his checkbook ledger. This is going to tell us quite a bit about him.”
    I started to look at it, but then realized that we had only a limited amount of time to search. “Tell you what. Why don’t you set it aside, and we’ll compare notes when we’re finished. Who knows how long Jean is going to let us clean. She might change her mind any second.”
    Grace took a pillow off the bed and tossed it into one of the boxes we’d brought from the pantry. “There, we’re packing. Happy now?”
    I just laughed at my friend, but she had the right idea. As I started to work on the dresser drawers, I began to empty them as I searched, putting the clothing in boxes for donation—only after checking all of the pockets first. There was a very real possibility that the police’s initial search had missed something important.
    In the last drawer I opened, I found a photograph in a frame at the bottom below some folded shirts. I pulled it out and studied it, quickly recognizing the man as Desmond, though he had been younger when it had been taken. A nice-looking young lady with striking blond hair was beside him, and as I studied the edge of the photograph, I could see that someone, or something, had been removed. Carefully taking the photo out of its frame, I unfolded the snapshot and saw that there was a man on the other side of the woman, though the portion with his head had been torn away. The ragged edges of the photograph told me that it hadn’t been a careful excision by knife or scissors, but rather a hurried and, from the looks of it, passionate removal. Who had caused that kind of anger? Then I remembered what Jean had told me earlier. There was a good chance that the missing man was Allen Davis, and that would make the woman in question Katie Wilkes. I started to put the photo back in its frame, but on an impulse, I