The Decorating Detective

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin where the murders were reported to have taken place. The cabin sat on a spacious twenty acres with a lovely one mile driveway through an overhanging canopy of trees. Plenty of room to hide bodies and far enough from the main road to deter trespassers. It was listed on the historic registry for being the former home of some obscure diplomat in the 1940s. Only a half hour drive from town, it was an off the grid location and considered prime real estate.

The first thing I noticed as we exited our vehicles were the beautiful dual french doors adorned with meticulously designed stained glass in which a bloody head had smashed through a lower panel and now rested with bits of the colorful glass embedded in his face.

As I entered with my team of investigators I was taken by the ornate paint job along the walls upon which all manner of blood had been splattered. The living room resembled a Jackson Pollock painting come to life. Even the cornice along the ceiling had dried drops of blood upon it. Nothing that couldn't be scrubbed clean.

The carpet in the living room could have used replacing even before the carnage that stained it. The shag feel gave it too much of a 70s vibe which needed an update. Stripping it and replacing it with modern wooden panels would open up the room and reflect the sun through the oversized windows.

The smell of burning flesh hung in the air of the library from a victim whose body had been placed on the mantle of the exquisite hearth fireplace, capable of heating 3,000 square feet. Another body lay sprawled out upon the colorful Persian rug, obviously woven by a master craftsman and I was certain imported at great expense.

All of the victims were garbed in thin white gowns which left little to the imagination and accentuated none of their defining lines. A simple belt or strap would have done wonders for their appearance, living or dead.

"What do you think, boss?" my forensics officer asked. "A cult? Serial killings?"

"Fashion victims," I replied.

The wall separating the dining area from the kitchen was riddled with bullet holes and I couldn't help thinking if it were taken down it would really open up the entire cooking space. Perhaps an island could be placed where the cult leader currently sat against the wall, shotgun in hand, head missing. This would allow for maximum flow of party guests and serving opportunities without creating a high traffic area. Ideal for mingling.

The upstairs frame room had been misused for the storage of stolen goods instead of being turned into a lovely little guest room with the triangular window overlooking the mountainside. A twin bed would provide the ideal view for sleeping or reading a book.

I entered the basement which was full of firearms and religious propaganda. The space screamed to be converted into a wine cellar and I wondered what other screams had taken place down here. I checked for mold or water damage but there was none to be found.

It was in the closet of the guest bedroom that we found the lone survivor, caked in blood and hiding behind a row of hanging clothes. Had the closet been bigger it's possible more people would have been able to hide out in here but as it currently stood it was far too cramped to hold more than one or two people. As we pulled her out I asked her the question that had been on my mind since I stepped inside this house.

"Do you know whose name is on the lease?"

She wasn't much help but I know how to get the proper paperwork done. As I prepared to leave I was approached by a reporter wanting a comment.

"Detective, what can you tell us?"

"I can tell you this, if they'll go $10,000 under the asking price I'll take it."