Chapter Three
I sat in my car and contemplated the horrid scene within the house. Where the upstairs had been neat as a pin, the basement had been torn apart. As for the Harcourts, they had been treated similarly. The result was two dead bodies and an ungodly mess.
It was a scene to bring back nightmares from a previous life.
Outside, the wind gusted and yellow crime scene tape stretched, flapping, around the entire property. I shut my eyes but couldn't unsee the vision of the Harcourts bruised and bloody bodies, throats cut. Nor could I shut out the memory of Marian Harcourt’s voice on the phone.
It looked like a burglary, like the perp had torn through the basement seeking something. But burglars usually don’t kill people or use them as punching bags.
As for their bodies, having the
