I should have taken a vacation. Hell, I needed one. Too bad I had to barrel in and get involved.
"Quit that racket!" I followed Roxie, my howling yellow Labrador, into the gray and maroon two-story Victorian, the nicest house on the block—probably for many square blocks, in fact. Being in the heart of the ghetto of Kansas City, it didn't take much to make my rental property the nicest in the area.
Where was Tyrone? My property manager was nowhere to be seen. I'd waited for him 20 minutes past our 1:30 appointment. Key in hand, I swept through the door to begin the inspection myself.
I glanced through the dim foyer, trying to locate the light switch. Despite the beautiful, spring-like March afternoon outside, the sunshine failed to permeate the dusty windows. Still, things seemed relatively in order. I wondered what I'd find throughout the rest of my inspection.
I glanced towards the stairs. Maybe I'd find Tyrone there. I hadn't seen his Camry on the street outside, but it couldn't hurt to check. Plus, I needed to retrieve my unleashed dog.
"Roxie, come here!" I stepped beyond the foyer, and a metallic stench filled my nostrils. "What is that?"
Roxie's barking led me to the rear of the house.
In the middle of the otherwise orderly dining room, a man lay in a pool of blood.
A scream ripped from my throat and the room twirled. Deep breath, Amanda.