Lucky Stiff by Annelise Ryan

may have been cute at one time, it now appears worn and in desperate need of repair. There are several spots on the roof where shingles are missing, the double-paned windows are clouded from broken seals, and the paint on the clapboards is faded and peeling.
    When Serena meets us at the door and invites us in, I can’t help but think that she looks a bit like the house. Her auburn-colored hair has nearly an inch of dark roots showing, and the material in her shirt and blouse is worn and thin. However, her makeup is perfectly applied, her nails appear to have been recently manicured, and her hair is neatly styled, despite its color issues.
    The inside of the house is cozy and welcoming. The hardwood floors gleam, and most of the rooms have been freshly painted in tasteful, neutral colors. Though none of the furnishings are part of any matched sets, they appear to be in good shape and well cared for. The entire place is spic-and-span clean. I suppose this shouldn’t be surprising, given that Serena cleans houses for a living. The contrast between the inside and the outside makes me suspect Serena is renting the place.
    Three kids are huddled around the TV in the living room, off to our left: two boys and a girl. The boys are identical twins, who appear to be about six years old and have the same dark hair, Hispanic complexion, and big brown eyes their mother has. The girl looks to be a year or so younger. She has blond hair, blue eyes, and a pale complexion, which all make me suspect she is either adopted, or someone else’s kid.
    In one corner of the living room is a Christmas tree, a live one, decorated with strung popcorn, strings of beads, and some baked clay and papier-mâché ornaments, which were clearly made by kids.
    Serena leads us past the living room and into the kitchen, where the air smells good enough to eat. I detect the scents of butter and cinnamon seconds before my eagle eye spots a pan of what looks like snickerdoodle cookies cooling atop the stove. I can also smell fresh-brewed coffee. It’s all I can do not to drool as Serena directs us to sit at the table. My stomach rumbles hungrily, and at an embarrassing volume, as I settle into my chair. Then Serena Vasquez moves to the top of my “I don’t care if she did kill someone” list when she offers us samples of her wares.
    “It is an awful thing that happened to Mr. Allen,” she says as she sets a plate of warm cookies in the center of the table. “I saw it on the news last night.” She shakes her head sadly. “He is a very nice man, and burning like that is an awful way to die, especially on Christmas.”
    I wince at this idiotic observation, as if burning to death could somehow be made worse simply because it happened on Christmas. I also make a mental note of Serena’s use of the present tense when discussing Jack, and the fact that she seems to think Jack died as a result of the fire, though I realize the latter could simply be a clever bit of misdirection.
    “Do you know what caused the fire?” Serena asks. “Was it his tree?”
    Hurley shakes his head. “We aren’t sure yet. When was the last time you saw Mr. Allen?”
    “It was Christmas Eve day.” She pauses a moment to think. “That was Monday, around noon. I clean for him every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
    “How long have you known Mr. Allen?” I ask.
    “I’ve been working for him for five years now. He is my steadiest customer.”
    “How did he pay you?” Hurley asks.
    Serena’s facial muscles flinch almost imperceptibly. She turns away, busying herself with fetching coffee mugs from a cabinet. By the time she turns back to us, she appears calm and composed, but that flinch has me watching her more closely.
    “He writes me a check once a week,” Serena tells us. “All of my clients do. And I am very careful to pay taxes on every cent of it.”
    I get a strong sense that Serena is lying, but I don’t think Hurley cares that she might be sneaking a little money