Lie of the Needle(34)

            I ran after the two men. To say Angus was a hothead was an understatement, and he’d already been in trouble with the law for brawling. It wouldn’t take much of a cinder to ignite the simmering resentment between these two into a firestorm.

            As I hurried up to the second floor, Beau was already at the top of the pull-down steps.

            “This foam smells as though it’s been recently applied,” he said as he heaved himself into the attic.

            “Angus, wait,” I pleaded, but Angus was following Cassell, and with a sigh, I grabbed the side of the steps and gingerly climbed up until I could peek inside.

            In the dingy light I could see puffed rows of cream-colored foam piled high between the wooden rafters. Even though I wasn’t a construction expert, it looked like a holy mess to me.

            “Son of a . . . It’s way too thick. How deep did this idiot spray this stuff?” Cassell took his length of metal rebar and poked at the end of the thickest pile.

            A jagged piece of foam broke off, exposing the tip of a brilliant emerald snakeskin boot.





Chapter Six




                         The missing photographer.

            I gasped and clung to the wooden rail as my knees went soft, but Cassell was already heading for the steps. I had to scurry back down and out of the way before he trampled over my fingers with his big construction boots.

            “Everyone out of here now!” he yelled. “It’s a frigging fire hazard!” Without looking back he was gone. I grabbed Angus’s hand as we ran for the front door.

            Once we were all a safe distance away, Angus called the police and fire departments.

            Who on earth could have wanted to kill Alex Roos?

            I joined Patsy and Claire near the retention pond, my heart racing. It wasn’t long before we heard the whine of sirens. Two police cars flew into the lot, and a fire engine rumbled up in front of the house.

            “What’s going on, Daisy?” Patsy asked.

            “The builder thinks the house is dangerous and may catch on fire,” I answered as carefully as I could.

            Claire gasped. “I knew it! Didn’t I tell you this wasn’t a good place, Mommy?”

            “So why are the police here?”

            As Cyril would have said, Patsy wasn’t as green as she was cabbage-looking. I shook my head slightly and glanced meaningfully at Claire. “Fill you in later, okay? Just keep Claire as far away from this scene as you can.”

            It didn’t take long for Serrano to roar up in his Dodge Challenger and bark out orders to secure the area and keep the gaggle of interested homeowners at bay.

            One old man behind us was pushing his way to the front. “What’s going on here?”

            “Unsafe situation,” I said, but didn’t elaborate.

            “I’m not surprised. Cassell did a crap job on my house, too. Everything’s falling apart on a house that’s barely two years old. Criminal, it is. Good to see the police finally took some notice.”

            Serrano caught my eye and motioned me through the yellow tape. I passed the builder, who was explaining the dangers of oversprayed foam to an officer.

            “You’re going to have a helluva job here, Serrano,” Angus was saying as I caught up to them. He nodded toward the roof. “You’re gonna need a reciprocating saw or sabre saw, something like that, to cut that guy out.”

            “Oh, God, Angus, please.” I shuddered and wrapped my arms around my chest. The charismatic photographer had been in my shop only a couple of days ago. If I let myself imagine the hideous reality of his last moments on this earth, I thought I might crumble into a million pieces.