Page 11 of Promise of Destruction
It’s not exactly a surprise. People are killed all the time and given what I know of Tony from fifteen years ago, he’s likely slumming it with lowlife assholes just like him. I’m sure his nephew was just like him, up to all the same tricks. Extortion, drug dealing. Who knows what else they may have gotten up to.
“What else can you give me?”
“Hmm.” Collins thinks a minute. “The coroner’s report is locked. That’s… unusual.”
“So, unlock it.” I shrug. “And tell me something. If he’s dead, who’s living in his house? And why?”
“There’s an application in here for a marriage certificate.” He suggests. “But no marriage certificate. The application was filed August last year… he died less than a month later.”
“And I’m guessing his co-applicant on the marriage license was—”
“Soren Palmer,” he says at the same time as me.
That, at least, makes sense. Soren Palmer was engaged to Vincent D’Anerio, which means Tony is kind of like her uncle. Maybe he’s all she has anymore.
“Well, that solves one mystery.”
But it still doesn’t answer what she has against me. It’s been years since I last even thought of Valyria, let alone saw her. And I have never heard of her son or his little girlfriend.
“Give me some time to dig into this autopsy situation and figure out why it’s locked. I’ll get back to you when I have something more concrete.”
I hang up, not bothering with pleasantries, and look up to see that she has moved away from the kitchen. I lean forward, bracing my hands on the steering wheel as I try to locate her in the darkness. But I see no movement inside of the house.
Frustration courses through my veins and I roll my neck to ease the tension.
I’ve spent a lot of time in my car today waiting on Soren Palmer.
If she was engaged to Vincent, who owns the house, then it’s safe to assume she lives alone.
Which means getting out of the car to get closer is a calculated risk…
One I’m willing to take.
For a woman who lives alone, her defenses are shit. Never mind the fact her fiancé wasmurdered.
All of the curtains on her windows are sheer and open, offering me unhampered views of the inside of her house. It’s just as quaint as the outside suggests, though almost certainly an upgrade from what it was when they bought it.
As I draw up to the front door, I notice that she must have a green thumb. Either that, or she has a gardener, which is possible, but unlikely. Her driveway is lined with flowers and solar lights that illuminate a clear path to the front door, which is an almost violent shade of purple. Just to the left is the window over her kitchen sink, big enough to overlook the entire white picket fenced yard.
From my vantage on the outside, I can see that the kitchen looks to be for show… not even the glass she drank from sits on the large center island, the countertops gleaming beneath the dim light above it. I scan the room, looking for any sign of her. But there’s no movement, so I walk the edge of the house, staying just outside the range of the motion-sensing flood lights.
The next window is dark, but when I skirt a path to press myself against it, it reveals an office. Nothing about it stands out, so I move to the next window and find a bedside lamp casting a gentle glow in what I can only assume is the primary bedroom. A king-size bed is neatly made with too many decorative pillows on it and a dresser is tucked against the wall beneath a sizeable TV. A tall mirror stands in one corner, and the nightstand is empty save for one single book on the side furthest from the door.
Maybe the kitchen wasn’t for show. Maybe the whole house is for show. Or maybe Soren Palmer, a woman who clearly has an eating disorder and control issues, simply likes a tidy house because it’s one more thing that gives her power, however feckless that may be.
There are two doors visible from where I stand. The first is shut, and based on the position, I’d say it leads out into the rest of the house. The second door is half open and light spills out from around it, but most of the room is blocked by it. Soren is nowhere to be seen, so I shift around to the back of the house.
There’s a balcony off the second floor, and underneath it, a patio with bricks laid in a staccato pattern. The backyard is large,covered in darkness that spills somewhat endlessly. I don’t see another house behind her, but it’s best to be on the safe side. I tuck myself against the outer wall of the house, avoiding the light again, and move to the window to get a look at the room from another angle.
It’s a large window with wood blinds— the kind meant to let sunlight into the place. The slats are still open from the day, so that when I look through them everything comes into view.
That’s when I see her, leaning over a bathroom counter as she looks at her reflection in the mirror. At first it looks like she’s giving herself a pep talk, but then she hangs her head. Her dark hair is being held back by a clip, but the piece that has escaped falls into her face. When she looks up, I see her chest heave as she sighs.
And then she drops her robe and stares at herself again, dissatisfaction evident by the ever-so-slight pout of her lips. The mirror runs along the wall opposite the window, so as she appraises her body, I have a delicious, unhampered view of her, full frontal.
As small as Soren is, her tits are both full and perky, and against her pale skin, her dusky pink nipples stand out like they’re just begging for someone to grab them between their teeth.
My cock is already hard, but then she spins to get a look of her profile.
