Bubblegum Blonde by Anna Snow Read Free Book Online Page A

yard just in case I'd missed someone in the house windows. Once on the amazing stone patio I slowed to a jog and then pressed my back against the wall of the house. I was in a secluded area but still worried that someone would see me, so I moved cautiously, back still pressed against the wall, toward the sliding glass doors.
    I stepped over a small stone planter and leaned forward to chance a peek inside. From my vantage point I saw that the patio doors led into a well-equipped kitchen. Beyond the kitchen I could see the dining area, and even some of the living area and foyer were visible thanks to the house's open floor plan.
    I didn't see any movement inside, so I slid my maxed-out credit card (thanks to my need for a house with food and running water) from my back pocket, just in case I needed to do a little lock-jimmy, but when I gripped the door handle and pulled, the door slid open easily on a set of well-greased tracks.
    I released the breath I'd been holding. No alarms blared, which honestly surprised the business out of me. A murder had occurred in the residence only two weeks ago. I kind of thought the house would have a little better security, but apparently I was wrong.
    Either Hatchett wasn't worried about a repeat performance because he was the killer, he hired the killer, or he just had no idea how lax his household staff was with security when he was away, because I could clearly see an alarm panel beside the main entry door.
    I took a tentative step inside and slid the door shut behind me, thankful my shoes didn't squeak on the waxed-tile floor. I stood frozen in place and listened for any sign that I wasn't the only one in the house. When nothing but silence greeted me, I made my way across the state-of-the-art kitchen and into what appeared to be a formal dining room. From there, I tiptoed into a massive living area. The house was so quiet it gave me the heebie-jeebies, but I squashed the feeling, hiked up my big-girl panties, and located the staircase that led up to the second floor.
    I figured it would be easier to search the upstairs portion of the house starting with the crime scene and work my way back downstairs. I learned in my training days that most people kept their safes in either the bedroom, home office, or study. I figured that if Hatchett owned a gun, he'd be smart enough to keep it in a safe.
    Finding that safe, if it even existed, was my number one priority.
    I quickly ascended the stairs and made my way down a long, wide hallway.
    Most of the doors along the hallway stood open, so it was easy to see that the rooms were mostly guest bedrooms and bathrooms. When I came to the end of the corridor, the last door was shut tight.
    I took another quick glance behind me, then leaned my ear against the door and listened.
    Nothing.
    I grasped the doorknob and twisted. Locked.
    I grabbed my trusty old maxed-out credit card in between the door and the doorframe and began to wiggle it back and forth. What felt like a century later, I heard the telltale click of the lock disengaging.
    With a sigh of relief, I cautiously stuck my head inside and peeked around.
    Yeah, I knew this entire idea was a crazy move. I knew better than to be sneaking into the house of someone as powerful as Robert Hatchett where his wife had been murdered weeks earlier—and in broad daylight, no less—but what other choice did I have?
    All right, so I had a few other options, but I wanted to get the case over and done with as quickly as possible, and the only way that was going to happen was if I put on my big-girl boots and took some outrageous chances.
    It was my job as a PI to do the insane things no one else wanted to do in order to get the proof needed to clear my client.
    I shoved the small trickle of fear of being caught back into its little box in the back of my mind, slipped inside the room, and locked the door behind me.
    I glanced around the room and discovered that I was in the master bedroom. The room where Lydia