Forty minutes later, Connor pulled up in front of a large colonial-style home situated on a wide, grassy lot in a very upscale neighborhood. A for sale sign spelled out the name of a real-estate company in red letters, above which a likeness of the realtor, Nancy Keenan, beamed. A phone number ran across the bottom of the sign.

“Well, at least we caught them before they moved,” Daria said as they got out of the car and started across the lawn.

“I’m not so sure of that,” Connor replied. “The house looks vacant. You can see through the front windows clear to the back of the house.”

They walked up to the front door and peered through the side lights.

“You’re right, I spoke too soon,” Daria said. “The house is totally cleaned out.”

“Let’s walk around back.” Connor gestured for her to follow him.

The Blumes’ backyard was a peaceful oasis consisting of a stone patio with a wall on three sides and a koi pond at one end, and quiet, lush gardens in shades of cool greens.

“It’s lovely,” Daria said. “I’d sure be hard-pressed to leave a house like this.”

Before Connor could comment, a car pulled into the driveway at the house next door.

“Let’s see if the neighbor knows anything,” Connor said as he took off across the lawn.

Daria caught up to him just as he was introducing himself to the neighbor, a petite blond woman wearing a short denim skirt and a coral T-shirt. Her face was mostly hidden by very large dark glasses, and she wore sandals of braided leather.

The woman placed a shopping bag bearing the name of a tony-sounding store on the ground next to her car. “I’m happy to see someone looking at the house. We’d love to have new neighbors. With the houses spread out the way they are here, and us being one in from the corner, it’s gotten a bit lonely. We’d love to see the house inhabited again.”

“Did you know the previous owners well?” Connor asked.

“I’d say we knew them fairly well,” the neighbor seemed to choose her words carefully. “They were about twenty years older than we are, so we didn’t socialize a whole lot, except for holidays. Someone in the neighborhood always had a big open house, so we’d see them then. And sometimes I’d see her out on the patio and she’d invite me over for a cup of coffee or something, and we’d chat. So we were friendly, but not the best of friends, if you follow. Still, we really do miss them. They were lovely people.”

“How long ago did they move?” he asked.

“They didn’t exactly move,” she said with some apparent discomfort.

“What do you mean?” Connor frowned.

“Look, the realtor said we shouldn’t talk about it to anyone, that we should just direct potential buyers to her. That’s probably what I should do.”

“We’re not potential buyers,” Connor told her. “We’re trying to track down the Blumes. Do you know how we can contact them?”

“Really, you need to talk to the realtor. Her name and number are on the sign.” She picked up her shopping bag and went through a service door into her house.

“Well, that was odd,” Daria said. “What do you suppose that was all about?”

“Maybe there was some scandal, maybe the Blumes went bankrupt and the bank took the house.” Connor found his phone in his pocket and walked toward the sign. When he got close enough to read it, he punched in the numbers for the real-estate office, and hoped that Nancy Keenan was around.

He was in luck. She was not only there, but willing to show the house right away if Connor could wait five minutes for her.

The realtor drove up the driveway in a brand-new sedan and parked at the end of the drive. She was very fashionably dressed in a short black linen dress and sandals with kitten heels. Her dark hair was expertly cut-a fact that did not go unnoticed by Daria-and she carried a large black bag of pebbled leather. All in all, her appearance was very upscale, as befitted the neighborhood.

“Thanks for waiting, Mr. Shields.” She extended a well-manicured hand. She turned her attention to Daria. “And Mrs. Shields. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

“We appreciate you dropping everything and coming over to show us the house,” Connor said smoothly, placing a hand on the back of Daria’s neck and giving it a very gentle squeeze. “We were just passing through and saw the sign.”

“It’s a wonderful neighborhood, isn’t it? Did you look around the outside while you waited, as I suggested?”

“We did, yes. Very nice.” Connor nodded.

Fishing her keys from her shoulder bag, Nancy waved them on to the front door, which she unlocked and held open so that Daria and Connor could enter.

“Don’t you love the chandelier here in the foyer?” She stepped past them and went straight to the kitchen. “Let me turn on the air and cool the house down. I usually try to do this before buyers arrive. Would you prefer to wait outside until it cools off a bit?”

“No, we’re fine,” Daria said and winked at Connor. If Nancy thinks this is hot, she’s obviously never been in the Sahara in summer. He got it, and winked back.

“Then let me show you around the first floor. As you can see, the foyer floor is marble-that’s Italian marble, by the way, hand-selected by the previous owners.”

“Really?” Daria said, feigning interest.

“Oh, yes. They oversaw every bit of the renovation, just three years ago,” Nancy assured them. “Everything was replaced, and I mean everything.”

“I noticed the living room has a lot of niches built into the walls,” Connor said.

“The people who lived here were collectors. They had a very valuable collection of ancient pottery and things of that nature.”

Connor went up the steps ahead of Nancy and Daria, looking through every room until he found the master bedroom.

“This is a wonderful space,” Nancy said, coming into the room a few minutes behind him. “Large bedroom, sitting room with a fireplace, two dressing rooms, baths, and walk-in closets.”

“It looks like the carpet in here is brand-new,” Connor noted. “Here in the bedroom, and in the hallway.”

“Yes, it was replaced before the house went on the market.”

“Funny,” he said, “you’d expect the downstairs carpet to have more wear, and require replacing before the bedroom carpet. Especially since everything in the house was replaced within the past three years. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yes.” She shifted her gaze to the pull shade in the front window and pretended to fuss with it. “It was an odd color.”

“Was it red?” he asked.

She turned to him and, all the charm now gone, asked flatly, “Who are you?”

He held out his badge. “We’re looking for the Blumes.”

“If you’re really with the FBI, you shouldn’t have any trouble finding out what happened to them. I’m sure you can get the reports-”

“Let’s say we want to hear your version.”

“The Blumes were murdered in this house a few months ago. It’s made it a real hard sell.”

“What can you tell me about it?” Connor asked.

“Very little. Just what was in the papers, actually. The son listed the house, and he didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t pump him for information. All I know is what everyone else knows. The Blumes were at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia on a Saturday night, they came home and apparently caught someone in the act of burglarizing their home. They were both killed.”

“The killers ever caught?”

“Not as far as I know. It really cast a pall over the neighborhood, though,” Nancy told them. “Everyone was very nervous for months afterward, though the police said the Blumes were most likely targeted because they had a lot of valuable things in their house and never made any effort to hide that fact.”

“Things from their collection?” Daria asked.

“Yes. They often loaned things to the museum in Philadelphia, that’s how important some of their items were. There was a big article about them in Philadelphia Magazine about a year ago.”