Page 50 of Nowhere Good

“Roslyn! This is a surprise.”

“Hey, Norm,” Chief Wells said, trying to keep a chipper edge to her voice, but Seth could hear the regret beneath. “This is Detective Winslow, the new face in town.”

Seth held out a hand. Norm firmly shook it. His palm was unnervingly soft, not to mention cold—probably from blasting his house with that air conditioner so he could keep wearing wool in summer. “Good to meet ya,” Norm said.

“Likewise,” Seth replied, taking his hand back. He did not like that feeling at all.

“Mind if we come in for a sec?” Chief Wells asked.

Although Norm appeared caught off guard, he said, “Oh, uh, sure, come on in.”

They stepped inside the foyer. Beneath that layer of disinfectant was a woody smell, antiques. Like Mr. Giggles, the inside of the house was a time warp; floral couches that went out of style decades ago, shag carpet discolored around the walls. But it was also remarkably clean.

Norm settled in front of a closed door in the hall and faced them with a too-eager smile. “So, what can I do to help you folks?”

“It’s probably nothing, Norm,” Wells said, “but we’ve received an anonymous tip about some break-ins on this street. As you know, someone has killed two girls in town now, and we’re concerned the incidents are related. The killer, scoping out houses for his next victim, stealing supplies for his crimes. You mind if we check around for anything out of place?”

“You think a murderer broke into my home? I think I would notice, Ros.”

“We just want to check around.”

“Okay, sure—you know what, I did think I heard a weird noise upstairs the other night while I was sleeping down here on the couch.” He finally moved from in front of that closed door, slipping past them to the staircase. “Follow me up here.”

“Actually, these reports have mostly been about basements,” Seth said. “We better check downstairs first so we can get out of your hair faster.”

Their excuse was flimsy at best, but Norm was blindsided enough for it to pass. Seth slipped in front of the door, but didn’t open it, waiting for Norm’s approval. A momentary darkness flickered over his features before he smiled again, rubbing his palms on his jeans.

“You know what, I’m not so sure that we need to do that. Honestly, Ros, I’m not worried about this break-in thing.”

“It’s okay, Norm,” Wells cut in, moving to the other side of Norm, so he had one of them on each side of him. “We won’t take up too much of your time. It’s just a quick look in the basement, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“All right. But there’s not much down there.”

They were walking a grey line here, but Norm had technically consented, so Seth went first, aware of Norm’s tense energy behind him as he descended the staircase.

If upstairs was cold, this was even colder—reminiscent of a meat locker, something Seth didn’t care to think about right now. Norm tugged at a string, and a single bulb lit up the basement. Wells joined them, her body blocking the exit.

At first, it looked like a standard unfinished basement; boxes of old junk, plastic totes overflowing with holiday supplies. Deeper in, bolted to the ceiling board, was a bracket for a punching bag—with no punching bag attached. Ellen Harrison had remembered waking up tied to a ceiling.

That wasn’t the only strange thing. Next to the bracket was an area that churned Seth’s stomach. An old tube TV on a cabinet filled with VHSs. There was a floral loveseat in front of it, straight out of another era.

Seth stole a glance at Norm, whose posture had gone tense. But he kept that gummy smile on.

“See? Nothing down here.”

Ignoring him, Seth went over to the TV. He could practically feel Norm’s energy building behind him.

“That old thing,” he said. “I don’t think it even works anymore.”

“Disney fan, huh? This is an impressive collection. Most people have hopped on the streaming train these days.”

This time, when Seth looked at Norm, his face had gone paler. “Yes, well, it’s for when my nieces and nephews come over. I want them to see the classics, give them an appreciation for how far things have come. It wasn’t always iPads and Netflix, Detective.”

“I know. I grew up with this stuff. My mom never had the money to keep up with technology. We were late on DVD too.” Seth scanned the row of VHSs until he spotted a title he knew too well. He picked up the VHS and held it fondly. “The Lion King. Classic. I always found myself coming back to this one. Something about the whole found family thing.”

He slid the VHS out of the cardboard, but instead of being met with the nostalgic cover he genuinely did remember from his childhood, there was a piece of masking tape on the face. S.L. was scribbled in permanent marker.

“That’s odd, mine didn’t look like this. What’s S.L. stand for?” He met Norm’s nervous gaze. “Simba, Lion?”