The Case of the Attic Door Read online

  Also by Christopher Greyson

  And Then She Was Gone

  Girl Jacked

  Jack Knifed

  Jacks are Wild

  Jack and the Giant Killer

  Data Jack

  Jack of Hearts

  Jack Frost

  The Girl Who Lived

  Pure of Heart

  Copyright

  The Adventures of Finn and Annie

  The Case of the Attic Door

  Copyright © 2019 Greyson Media

  The right of Christopher Greyson to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and didn’t purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.ChristopherGreyson.com.

  ISBN: 1-68399-377-2

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68399-377-3

  Finn and Annie 1. v 1.0 03-22-19

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my brother Ted. He has watched over me my whole life and I am very grateful for his continued inspiration.

  The Case of the Attic Door

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  The Adventures of Finn & Annie — MiniMystery Series

  If You Liked The Adventures of Finn and Annie, You’ll Love Jack!

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  Finnian Church opened the door to the well-kept house and was greeted by silence and the faint stench of death. He glanced up and down the deserted street, frowned, lifted up the police tape as he maneuvered under it, and entered. The new videographer looked to be a no-show. So much for references from his mother. He should have known better. Finn’s mom was perpetually trying to find him a girlfriend, and even though she swore that this wasn’t the case, he didn’t believe her.

  He took out his smartphone and recorded a slow pan of the living room, making certain the date and time code were in the corner of the screen. Besides the odor of a corpse a few days past its expiration date, it was a nice house. The ME and his crew had taken the body, and the police had finally given Finn access to the crime scene.

  From the report of a home invasion, he’d expected a chaotic scene, but the living room was neat and immaculate. There wasn’t a spot of dust anywhere. Everything was meticulously placed and arranged. An enormous TV hung on the wall, and a large couch faced it, with a brown leather recliner to one side. A teak coffee table sat on a tan area rug in front of the couch. Oak flooring spread into the kitchen in the back. The only thing out of place was a medium-size cardboard box in front of a bookshelf, labeled with a large black X.

  He moved to the hallway, turned around, and took another panning shot. Checking his watch again, he grimaced. He’d had high hopes for today, but with the videographer not here, his expectations of wearing just one hat on the job were quickly fading. He’d wanted to be free to think solely about the case, without the distraction of multitasking.

  Weren’t for bad luck, wouldn’t have no luck at all. Finn’s perpetually grumpy uncle’s words came to mind, making him smile. But Finn didn’t believe in luck. He believed in planning, and today his plan had gone wrong—simple as that.

  Pushing aside his frustration, he kept the video rolling and he moved farther into the house.

  A hallway extended to the right of the kitchen. To the left were two closed doors and a staircase leading up to where Ralph Evans had been found. Finn’s shoes clicked off the steps. The dark hardwood was beautiful, but it only reminded him of the high number of slip-and-fall cases he’d covered that involved beautiful polished-wood stairs very similar to these.

  A ski slope without the snow.

  He shook the railing, but the stout wood spindles hardly vibrated.

  Secure handrailing, check.

  Two wall sconces provided ample illumination for the corridor.

  Well-lit, check.

  The upstairs hallway was lined with photographs on both sides. Some were of Ralph Evans and his wife in exotic places around the globe; others were professional prints. There were a lot of them. The floor in the hallway was bare oak, too.

  No rug, check.

  The tape outline of the body, only four feet away from the top of the staircase, looked like one of those green army men Finn used to play with as a kid. Left leg pulled up and left arm stretching out. The outline was consistent with the detective’s assumption that Evans had been crawling for the stairs when he died. As Finn walked around the outline, the click of his heels and the squeak of the floorboards echoed in the enclosed space.

  He turned back to the pictures on the wall. They formed a timeline of Ralph’s life. At one end was a picture of Ralph as a little boy on the first day of school, smiling from ear to ear and missing a couple of teeth. Then came a collage of pictures showing Ralph growing into a tall young man. A photograph of his college graduation was farther down the line, and next to that was his wedding day. Ralph was beaming and so was his bride. Mrs. Evans was a plain-looking woman, but her huge grin made Finn realize that the cliché was true: all brides were beautiful. The last picture was a framed photo of the couple. On the bottom of the frame were the words, together forever.

  The faces of the friends and fellow soldiers that Finn had lost in the war slowly cycled through his mind. His therapist had taught him several techniques for stopping the morbid thoughts, but he merely closed his eyes and watched as the faces of his fallen friends paraded by. The pain of remembering their sacrifice was a small price to pay for what they had given. He prayed that someday he’d forget the horrors of war, but forget his friends…? Never.

  The front door banged open, and a woman called out, “Hello?”

  Finn loosened his tie and took a deep breath before shouting, “Upstairs!”

  He was working on stress-reduction techniques. His therapist had encouraged him to perform little micro-rhythms: loosen tie, take a deep breath, long exhale, let the stress float away. It never worked, but he was still trying.

  He retightened the knot in his tie and waited for the sound of approaching footsteps. Instead he was startled by the clatter of someone setting something down.

  “Hello? Finn?” the woman called out again. “It’s Annie Summers, the videographer.”

  Finn bristled at her informal manner, an infraction that he might have overlooked if she weren’t also late.

  “I’m upstairs, Ms. Summers,” he shouted down, even louder. “Please come up.” Though he said “please,” his tone left no doubt that it wasn’t a request.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to check the incoming text message, but his attention was focused on the stairs. He could hear the videographer pacing back and forth. Why didn’t she come upstairs?

  “Ms. Summers, please…” His irritated voice trailed off as he read the text:

  SRY LATE. WHERE R U?

  It was from Annie Summers.

  His patience gone, he shouted, “Upstairs!”

  The front door
opened and closed. What in the world is she doing?

  His phone buzzed again. I’M DOWNSTAIRS.

  Stuffing his phone in his pocket, he thundered down the steps. A bright-green duffel bag with painted yellow daisies sat beside the front door next to a tripod. He marched to the door, yanked it open, and stared straight into the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

  Chapter 2

  The woman didn’t flinch. A broad smile spread across her heart-shaped face. “Finn?” Ducking underneath the police tape, she thrust a hand out, and he moved instinctively to shake it. “I’m your new videographer. Sorry I’m a bit late.” Keeping hold of his hand, she stepped by him into the house, turning him as she went. She smiled as she awkwardly released her grip. “I brought my video camera and a still camera. Your call. Do you want a top-to-bottom?”

  Finn straightened his tie and glanced at her jeans, ankle-high boots, and thick, gray, casual sweater. The faded jeans weren’t ripped, but had a streak of what looked to be a mix of peanut butter and jelly near her hip and a pink sparkly smear on her thigh.

  “Oh, darn it.” Her eyes had followed his, and she started wiping at the stains with a cloth she produced from a front pocket.

  Finn decided to shelve discussing her unprofessional appearance for a later time, if that would even be necessary. He was already planning to place an ad for another videographer.

  “Sorry about that.” She scrubbed at the stains. “I thought with a crime scene I might have to get dirty, so I hope you don’t mind me wearing jeans. They started out clean, but I’m just a walking napkin for my kids.” She pointed at the peanut butter. “Tommy’s six. And this is glitter paint from my little artist, Tammy. She’s five.”

  “So, you have kids?” He tugged the knot of his tie.

  “Two. It’s just us three musketeers at home.” She cleared her throat and shifted under his gaze. “They won’t interfere with my being on call. I have a friend who watches them.”

  “That’s not an issue. Kids don’t matter.” Finn coughed. “I mean, as far as the work is concerned. I just…” He stepped past her and headed for the stairs. “Let’s start upstairs and work our way back. My mother didn’t know if you had done insurance investigation before. Have you?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Annie was still wiping at the stains and making no attempt to follow. He cleared his throat and reminded himself that he was no longer in the service. He no longer issued orders—he made requests.

  “Ms. Summers, before we proceed, I need to know a little about your level of experience.”

  Stuffing the cloth back in her pocket, she turned to face him and smiled. She sure was pretty, and the grin seemed genuine, but it didn’t win him over. That was twice he’d had to ask the same question, and now she not only refused to answer but had a big smile on her face.

  “Ms. Summers—”

  “Just Annie. Where do you want to start? I can use the tripod, freehand, or I have a body rig in my bag. I can do whatever you need.” She crouched down and unzipped her bag.

  “Have you worked an insurance investigation before?”

  “If you want still pics, I can do that, too.” She held up a digital camera with a lens as wide as the smile on her face.

  Finn was about to explode. Why was she being coy about her insurance experience? He could show her the ropes, and he’d made it clear to his mother that he’d train any new hire. He was sure his exacting mother would have relayed that information. His temples were throbbing.

  “I also want to thank you,” Annie continued. “And I can assure you that you won’t need to make any adjustments for me. Sometimes texting works best, but I have a gazillion speech-to-text apps. I won’t slow you down, and I really, really appreciate this job.” For the first time, he noticed that she spoke slowly and very carefully.

  Finn felt a flush heat his entire face and neck, and he had to loosen his tie again. I’m an idiot. “You’re hearing-impaired?”

  “I’m deaf.” She gave him another sunny smile. “Aurally, I get nothing—no sound. But like I said, it won’t be a problem.”

  Finn pressed his lips together like they might reveal the sudden panic racing through his mind. Had he said anything offensive? He’d raised his voice, but he was upstairs. Satisfied he couldn’t have offended her, he found a pang of doubt still kept his mouth closed. Could a deaf person function in this role?

  Annie twisted a silver ring on her hand. “I can read lips like no one else. I assure you, I can do this job.” Again, that impossibly sunny smile and those sparkly blue eyes.

  The thought of her courage, her spirit, that smile that made her look like a five-year-old seeing her first butterfly, made Finn burn with shame. What a hypocrite he was. He of all people should be the last to put up a wall against someone with a physical challenge.

  He held his head still and spoke directly to her. “Let’s start upstairs. Still pictures are fine.”

  She nodded happily and picked out her gear from her daisy duffel.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, her nose wrinkled at the odor, but Finn had to give her credit: her hands were as steady as a rock as she snapped a picture of the tape outline. Then she followed him down the hall five feet to the dried pool of blood, and the dark stain shone in the camera’s flash.

  He waited until she lowered the camera and was looking at him before speaking. “We’re just going to document the scene and take some measurements. It’s an active police investigation, and their guys have already been through here. Mrs. Evans will be back in town tomorrow.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Visiting relatives in Ireland. That’s the reason no one discovered Ralph for nine days. A neighbor found him.”

  Annie brushed back an errant strand of blond hair that had flown loose from her messy bun. “It’s very clean for a home invasion. Not that I have any experience of that.” She lay down on the floor and snapped a picture of the hall. “What did they steal?” She stood up and dusted off her pants.

  “Nothing that the police and neighbor could tell. They’ll know more once Mrs. Evans looks the home over.”

  Finn blinked and turned away as the flash from Annie’s camera blinded him.

  “Sorry!” She looked embarrassed.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “You don’t need to take pictures of the ceiling.”

  “I wasn’t.” Annie pointed at a rope dangling from a panel in the ceiling. “Attic stairs. I thought you could use it for a distance reference.”

  Finn nodded. “That’s right. So you’ve done insurance work before?”

  Annie shook her head. “No, but I got my hands on everything the library had when your mother told me about the job.”

  She stood a little taller and flashed a smile as bright as the flash that had blinded him. Her proud grin made Finn’s earlier worries that he may have offended her vanish in an instant.

  “Why don’t you get some video and I’ll take measurements?” he said.

  “Sure thing.” Annie nodded, turned, and hurried downstairs.

  “Careful on the stairs!” Finn called out to her as she heedlessly thundered down them. He rolled his eyes. It would take some effort to remember that he couldn’t communicate with her unless she was facing him.

  He took his laser measurer from his jacket pocket and started entering figures on his tablet. Annie came back up wearing what looked like a vest with a mechanical arm and camera attached. Even though she jogged up the stairs, the camera didn’t bounce.

  “Steady cam,” she proudly announced. “I can get one continuous shot from upstairs and then move through the downstairs if you’d like.”

  “That would be great, once we’re done. I still have to get some measurements. Why don’t you start in the back bedroom and work your way toward me?”

  Annie started recording, and Finn went back to his figures.

  Several minutes later, squeaky floorboards announced Annie’s arrival. She stopped in the hall and stared down at the b
loodstain. “Hmmm.”

  He looked up at her. “Is something wrong?”

  Annie shook her head. “Just thinking.”

  Finn studied her, suddenly fixated on trying to guess what thought was making her lips press together and her nose crinkle. With her hand on her hip, she looked like she was appraising a piece of modern art and confused by the artist’s intentions. He glanced away when she looked at him and he realized he’d been staring.

  “I’m done up here,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  “Sorry,” Annie said, stepping forward and placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “I can’t understand if you don’t look at me.”

  “Right, I forgot.” He pivoted back around, and his left foot slipped off the top stair. He fell—and the all-too-familiar sensation of dropping made his stomach lurch.

  But he instinctively tightened his grip on the railing, holding the tablet safe in his other hand, and managed to keep the slide down to four stairs. Other than his butt, the biggest thing hurt was his pride.

  Annie rushed over to him. Her look of concern was quickly replaced by a puzzled stare. He knew she had seen. His left pant leg was hiked up, revealing the prosthetic extending from just below his knee. Her eyes darted back to his face, and he saw in her features the expression he dreaded above all others.

  Pity.

  “I’m fine.” He planted his right foot against the banister and pulled himself upright.

  “The wood’s slippery,” Annie said, her voice even lower than usual.

  Finn got up, readjusted his pant leg, and stomped down the stairs. He didn’t intend to stomp, but the fall had thrown off his rhythm. It was one of the hardest parts of losing his leg. Part of his mind still thought it was there, and that made simple tasks like walking down the stairs a risk.