Page 25 of The Accidental Detectives

“You’re supposed to be looking for clues, Marty,” I reminded her.

“I’m a decorator at heart. I can’t help it. Decorating is in my blood. It’s likeNate and Jeremiahpossesses me and I lose all control of my faculties, okay? Forget that. Take a really good look at the picture, Nina.”

Now I squinted, the sparkles surrounding the pic irritating my sensitive eyes. It was a pic of a guy…an incredibly good-looking guy, dressed in an ascot and a suit, a lot like the suits Greg’s ancestors wore.

But whoa Nellie! Holy spitballs—he looked like… “What the hell is going on? He looks a lot like Owen.”

Wanda rocked back on her heels as she sucked on her teeth. “Darn tootin’ he does.”

The moment she agreed with me was the second the picture flew from Marty’s hands, up into the high tray ceilings, before it exploded into a million pieces.

That’s when the room began to quake.

I looked around for the source of the chaos, but Marty fell into me, knocking me to the ground. Her head slammed against the floor, knocking her out cold.

Swirls of light rushed through the air, shooting streaming flames.

Hauling Marty into my arms, I looked for Wanda as the furniture began to lift into the air, turning into heavy projectiles aimed directly at us.

Wanda blocked the couch, catching it like some kind of NFL quarterback, hurling it toward the other end of the room. The furniture that wasn’t airborne skidded across the hardwood floors at a scarily high rate of speed.

“Wanda! Duck!” I hollered as a mirror unhinged itself from the wall, heading straight for her.

She dove for the kitchen, sliding across the floor to scramble behind the island before the mirror crashed to the ground, splintering and scattering everywhere.

Dragging an unconscious Marty with me, I fought my way to the kitchen, trying to dodge pillows that somehow managed to hit me square in the face anyway.

“The cellar door!” Wanda yelled as the floor literally rocked beneath our feet. “Get to the cellar door!”

I forced my way to my feet, trying to keep my balance enough to get to the cellar. Throwing Marty over my shoulder like a ragdoll, head down, I steamrolled my way through plants flying at me while the rumble of the furniture nipped at my heels.

Wanda grabbed my hand as she hauled open the door, which ripped off its hinges, tearing ass out of the room. She pulled me down the wooden stairs to the cellar while the entire houserumbled and groaned, racing across the room and up the stairs to the door that would lead us outside.

I heard her yell a warrior cry one last time as she shot through the door leading to the backyard. We fell out of it, hitting the ground hard with grunts.

Dogs began to bark, porch lights flickered on, doors opened.

Shit, shit, shit. “Go!” I hissed. “Run!”

We took off back the way we came, Marty on my shoulder, her limp body bashing against my back.

I was never so glad to see Marty’s big SUV as I was tonight, sitting there in the dark, a behemoth of a machine.

Wanda beeped the car, throwing open the back door before climbing into the driver’s seat. I launched Marty into the back with more force than I’d intended. So much so, she was gonna feel it tomorrow.

We took off like a shot just as police sirens sounded around us, tearing ass toward the highway.

Tucking Marty to my side, I pulled some tissues from what I laughingly called her Mary Poppins purse because it always had everything in it but the kitchen sink and began to dab at the gash on her head as she stirred.

As we drove back to the Long Island, I fought my anger. Did Brenda know about this guy that looked a fucking great deal like Owen Barker, and if so, who was he and why was his pictures stashed under her mantel?

All things that made me gohmmm.

Chapter

Eight

If being a detective means death by throw pillows, I want out…

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