Gina glared at the doorbell of the three-story glass-and-stainless steel mansion. She didn’t know this house very well; it was one of the newest on the lake, designed by an architect who was trying out some new ideas. Rumor had it there was a pool behind those blank walls. Paranoid-level security, too.
But no matter how many high-tech features it had, a doorbell was still a doorbell. And Jerome Mason wasn’t answering. She pressed it one more time, then pounded on the door once again, just in case the man had selective hearing challenges with the doorbell part of the spectrum.
Then she paused as the sound of awkward thumping from inside caught her attention. It didn’t sound like footfalls, not exactly. It sounded like a weird sort of horror-movie dragging motion, like a dead body being ha
