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switch with her because she’s so much taller than I am, but she always insisted the sofa was fine.
    I crossed my hands behind my head on the pillow and reflected on the day. It had been stressful, no doubt about it, and I knew we might be stranded here for who-knew-how-long. But the Lord, working in his usual mysterious ways, was looking after us. A dream job for Abilene. A house to live in.
    Thank you, Lord.
    And an intriguing, unsolved murder lurking in the wings . . .

5

    Kelli’s Bronco was already parked in the driveway when we arrived, me huffing from the climb, because the house was well up on a steep hillside on the east side of town. This had no doubt been a lone-wolf, power position overlooking all of Hello at one time, and the view of town below and mountains beyond was still spectacular, but homes of more recent vintage rose on the hillside above the house now.
    The house looked like a late Victorian, maybe built in the 1890s or early 1900s, I guessed, although it had probably been modified since originally built. We’d seen other Victorians on our climb up here, but this one, though not as well-kept as some, showed evidence of past glory. A steep roofline topped the three stories, with odd angles and juttings here and there to accommodate dormer windows and other projections. A round tower rose from each front corner of the house, which struck me as unusual. Perhaps built that way because other houses constructed locally in that time period had only one tower, and whichever McLeod ancestor had built the house felt the need to proclaim his superiority with two?
    The tower on the right was open on the third floor, making it a circular balcony with a fancy railing below a peaked roof rising to a weather vane of a trotting horse. The tower on the left had a semicircle of tall, narrow windows with arched tops and a graceful roof that matched the opposite tower. When we peered through the tall hedge surrounding the front yard, I saw that a brick walkway outlined each tower.
    Subtracting from the elegance of the tower on the left was a chunk of unpainted plywood covering one of the windows. A pillared porch loaded with gingerbread trim ran across the front of the house between the towers. Most of the house was painted a dreary mold-green, but an impressive brick chimney rose beyond the right tower. An addition appeared to have been built on the back side of the house at some time, a flat-roofed oblong unfortunately tacked on with no regard for architecture or style.
    I felt, as freeloading tenants, perhaps we should go around to some servants’ entrance, but Kelli had been watching for us and swung the front door open.
    “A rather grand old gal, isn’t she?” She motioned us up the front steps. “Too bad it has this pall of doom hanging over it. Like a curse or infectious disease, and anyone who gets too close might catch it.”
    “People will get over whatever prejudice they have against the house because of the circumstances. It’s a beautiful old place.”
    “It needs some work, but it is beautiful, isn’t it? And if you live here and don’t get murdered, maybe the death-taint will be defused.”
    If we didn’t get murdered? Not a reassuring thought. But free is free, I philosophized. Can’t be fussy about details.
    Apparently realizing how what she’d just said sounded, Kelli smiled ruefully. “That didn’t come out quite right, did it? But I’m sure you’ll be perfectly safe here.”
    “You didn’t live here with your uncle?” I asked as Kelli shut the door behind us. The heat pump had brought the interior temperature to a comfortable warmth.
    “No. I stayed here for a short time, but it wasn’t working out. Now I have a little log cottage over on the other side of town.”
    The front door, with a heavy oval window of etched glass, opened onto a large, hardwood-floored foyer centered with a broad stairway leading upward. An archway opened to a living room, or perhaps it was called a parlor