My Killer Vacation

“What?” asks Lisa, spine straightening. “What is it?”

The world’s most uncomfortable conversation ensues while Wright tells Lisa about the confrontation with the renter’s father over the peepholes and camera. When he’s finished giving the details, Lisa stares off into space. “Why wouldn’t he tell me he’d gotten beat up?”

“Probably embarrassed, considering the circumstances.” With a sigh, Wright hands us his card and stands up. “Let me know if you think of anything else. If you’re looking for a place to hang your hat for the night, there’s a DoubleTree in Hyannis. Pool is decent.”

“Thanks,” Jude says, taking the card. As soon as Wright has left through the front door, my brother stands. “I’ll go call the DoubleTree.”

“No need to do that,” Lisa interjects quickly, seeming to catch herself off guard. When we only stare at her blankly, she digs in her purse and takes out a large assortment of keys crammed together on a ring. “My brother owns three other rentals on this block. I schedule maintenance for him. Inspect the premises before new renters arrive. Etcetera. I was late getting here to double check this place or I would have found him.” She lets out a long exhale. “He is…was…pretty hands-off with the whole business. A normal guy. Used to deliver mail for a living, before he got into real estate. God love him, my brother was lazy. He delegated. That’s why…” She shakes her head a little. “It just doesn’t make sense. Oscar wouldn’t spy on people.”

“No. It doesn’t make sense,” I blurt, before I can stop myself.

“Taylor,” Jude says out of the corner of his mouth. “Pump the brakes.”

“It’s her brother,” I whisper back. “I would want to know everything.”

“I love you, but please don’t get involved in a murder investigation.”

“I’m not getting involved. I’m just passing along some specifics.”

“Textbook involvement.”

Lisa drops down in front of us on the coffee table, occupying the spot where Wright once sat. Elbows on her knees, she leans forward, and up close, I can see the physical similarities she shares with Oscar. Both in their fifties. Slightly hooked noses. High foreheads. Graying hair. But Lisa is more on the petite side, while her brother was…

“Too big. Oscar was way too big to fit into that crawl space.”

Lisa’s antenna goes up. “The crawl space where you found the peepholes?”

“That’s right.” I ignore Jude’s groan. “No way he could have gotten up there.”

“He could have used a ladder, T.” My brother joins the conversation with nothing short of reluctance, adding, “Hypothetically, of course,” for Lisa’s benefit. “It would have been pretty easy to drill those holes from either side. And he didn’t need to get inside the crawl space. All he had to do was slide in the camera.”

“Yes. If he never intended to look through the holes.” For a single, fleeting moment, I feel like SVU’s Olivia Benson. All I need is the overcoat, fathomless brown eyes and Stabler by my side looking broody and fine. “Why did he drill two of them?” I split a look between my brother and Lisa. “Those holes were drilled for the express purpose of a person looking through them. If Oscar—hypothetically—only wanted to film his guests, he would have needed a single hole. Not two.”

Jude frowns down at his hands for a moment. “You’re right. At the very least, it’s odd.”

“You’re saying whoever drilled those holes is small enough to fit in the crawl space,” Lisa says slowly, beginning to nod. “A woman, perhaps?”

Don’t think about the fact that she still hasn’t cried. Not a drop.

“Maybe.”

Jude is beginning to get a weird vibe. I can tell because he’s doing that thing where he can’t stop arranging and rearranging the shaggiest section of hair on top of his head. “We should call the DoubleTree, Taylor. I’m sure Ms. Stanley has a lot of calls to make—”

“The police are already so positive it’s the father of the last tenant.” Lisa tosses a glance out the window where officers are standing in a huddle at the end of the driveway. “And let’s be honest, there is no way they’re going to go above and beyond for someone they believe is a pervert, right?” Cogs are turning behind her eyes. “Maybe I should look into a private investigator. My boyfriend is currently deployed, but he grew up with a guy in Boston. Some former detective turned bounty hunter. Someone who could give these locals a run for their money and maybe clear my brother’s name in the process.”

See? We all grieve in our own ways.

I cry. Lisa avenges her loved ones.

Moral of the story, everyone is braver than me.

“I don’t think a private investigator would hurt,” I say, finally taking pity on Jude and rising from the couch, letting the blanket slide off my shoulders. “Once again, Lisa, I’m so sorry for your loss.” I hold out my hand for a shake. “I wish we’d met under better circumstances.”

She pulls me into a hug. “You’ve given me hope, Taylor. Thank you. I don’t want him to be remembered as some sleazebag. I’m going to find out what really happened.” Something cold and metallic is pressed into my hand and I look down to find a set of keys. “It’s only down the block. Number sixty-two. I insist.”

I try to hand back the keys. “Oh, we really couldn’t—”

“Are you sure?” She waggles her eyebrows. “It has a clawfooted bathtub.”

Am I wearing a sign or something?

“Oh,” I breathe. “Really?”

Jude hangs his head a moment, then heads reluctantly for the suitcases. “Number sixty-two, you say?”

On the way out of the house, I stop short at the console table just inside the door.