Chapter 19: Welcome Home Dean
Dean returned to his house to change his clothes. He lived in a nice neighborhood on the east side of Cleveland; Gates Mills was a quiet city. It has less than twenty-three hundred residents. When he was researching where to live, it was described as one of the best places to live in Ohio. A lot of retirees lived there. They were living off their fat 401k. It was a modest {for the area} Colonial built in 1996. It was set back beyond the noise of the road, though it was never busy. It was tucked behind a thick string of tall oak trees. It's what would be called "old money." A house closer to the front of the property line so everyone could see its curb appeal was commonly considered "new money."
It was a white-vinyl-sided and brick single-family home with a 2 1/2 car garage and a long, paved driveway with a basketball hoop off to the side.
The interior of the house had been recently renovated. The focal point of the living room was a large brick wood-burning fireplace. The large bay window filled the room with setting sunlight. Hardwood floors were throughout the main living space.
The kitchen had newer Vulcan appliances that looked like they had never been used. A granite countertop wrapped its way around the room, and a stainless steel-topped island was in the center. The floor was made with ceramic tiles. Windows surrounded a breakfast nook. In the morning, the rising sun's light streamed into the kitchen. The formal dining room was set up as a home gym.
The first floor had three half baths; he only used one. It was easier to keep one clean than three.
There were stairways to the upstairs in both the kitchen and the living room. The hallway stretched the length of the house upstairs: four spare bedrooms branched out from the carpeted hallway, with two rooms on each side. Only one was set up for use. A full bath was in the hallway, and Jack and Jill's full bathrooms conjoined the bedrooms. The bathrooms had Moen fixtures, granite countertops, bowl sinks, a tiled floor, and a glass door shower.
The master bedroom was above the garage. The bathroom was set up the same way as the other three, except the master was much larger and had a large clawfoot porcelain tub.
There was a small room off the bathroom with a washer and dryer. It was a beautiful 6,000-square-foot house.
He pulled into the driveway; a strange car was parked in the pull-off around the back of the garage under the hoop. He parked his truck in the garage. As he turned the engine off, he noticed that the access door to the house was slightly open. Someone is still inside and hadn't triggered the alarm. The police didn't call him, nor were they on the scene. Slowly, he pushed the door open with the barrel of his Barretta and entered the mudroom. He heard a noise coming from the kitchen. He crept around the corner; someone was standing behind the open refrigerator door. He saw a pair of little white tennis shoes.
"Show me your hands. I don't mind cleaning blood off my floor," he said with authority.
"A pair of hands peeked out from behind the refrigerator door. I'm O negative. My blood is precious," a female voice said.
He immediately knew the voice.
"Jesus H… Natalie. I could have shot you."
A small-statured girl stepped out from behind the door with her hands up.
"No, you wouldn't. You hate cleaning, and blood is a bitch to clean up," Natalie said.
"Put your hands down," he said, holstering his gun. "What are you doing in my house?"
"Nice to see you too, Special Agent Big Brother."
She ran towards him and jumped up, throwing her arm around his neck. He caught her in midair. It was a remarkable sight. She stood at 4′11. She was like a tiny little bug compared to his 6′6 stature. You would never believe they shared the same DNA. Her long strawberry blond hair was pulled up into a messy bun; her eyes were green, just like her big brother's. There was an obvious genetic link.
He put her back on the ground. "Natalie, how did you get in here?" he asked.
"Well, Dean, it wasn't extremely hard. I opened your garage door, walked through the garage, opened the next door, and walked in," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Would you like to go over how babies are made?"
He sat down on a stool at the island. He was now face to face with his sister.
"You are such a smart ass," he said.
She went back to the fridge and was rummaging through it. "Better than a dumb ass. Dumb ass," Natalie answered, blowing a raspberry.
"I set myself up for that one," he said with a smile. "In all seriousness, how did you gain access to the house?"
She emerged from the fridge with a beer. She struggled to open it. "Would it be too much to buy a brand that has a twist-off?" she said, continuing to struggle.
"Give me that." She handed him the beer. "For me, all beer is a twist off," he said.
He put the top of the bottle in the crook of his elbow, squeezing his bicep and forearm together; he twisted the cap off and handed it back to her.
"I see you still have only one useful skill in your arsenal." She took the beer.
"Enough stalling. How did you get into my house?"
"To gain access, I opened the garage with the keypad. It was undoubtedly the last two numbers of the year you were born and your jersey number from college. The key was in an empty bottle of muscle milk sitting by the door, and your inside alarm code is the last four of your social. I'm your sister. I know you," she said with affection.
"Wow, I now need to change things up a bit. Am I that predictable?" Dean asked. He motioned for her to give him the beer back.
She pulled the beer close to her chest. "Get your own," she said. "Predictable is the wrong word. You're boring."
He got up and got himself a beer. "Not that I don't love seeing you, Bug, but what are you doing here?" he asked. He took a sip of his beer.
"I'm moving in Bean," she said.
He spit his beer out all over the floor. "Moving in?" he asked, wiping his chin.
There was shock and surprise in his tone.
"Yes. I can say it in another language if you don't understand the English version," she said. Her voice was very animated.
He shook the beer off his hand.
"Good thing you like to clean. Come help me get my bags out of the car."
He followed her out the door. "Bug, we need to talk about this," he called after her.
"By the looks of this place, you have the room. What exactly is there to talk about? Plus, what does a bachelor need with all this room anyway? You have like six thousand square feet."
"No, I have five, but still. You can afford your own place. I know for a fact you can. Please Bug. Don't upset my apple cart.
She popped open the trunk of the mystery car. "Suck it up, buttercup. Be a good big brother, or I will Mom and tell her you didn't want to help me and made me stay in a hotel till I could find my own place because you didn't have room in your five thousand square foot house."
"No, for the love of God, do not bring Mom into this. Hey, when did you get a new car?" he asked. "What happened to the Mercedes?"
"I wanted a Tesla. So, I got a Tesla. Did you know there is a dealership in Lyndhurst? I just picked it up today."
"Nice, and I had no idea," Dean said. "Look, Bug, this isn't a good time. We're working on this huge case, and I'm not going to be home much. I would feel bad leaving you alone all the time in a new city, not knowing anyone," he said, sounding cautionary.
She threw a large duffle bag at him. "You have nothing to worry about. You are looking at the new athletic director at Mayfield High School. So, I won't be alone, and I can easily make new friends. Who wouldn't want to be my friend?" she said.
"Oh, dear God, this is really happening. Maybe I'm dreaming. After this morning, that would be great news," he mumbled quietly.
She threw another large duffle at him. "What happened this morning?" she asked.
She was struggling to pull a suitcase out of the trunk. "Jesus, what are you, an owl? Bug, I can tell you about my trip to the morgue but not about this morning," he said.
He hoped this would dissuade her from going any further with the questioning.
She gave the suitcase one last tug, and it came out and knocked her off balance. She started walking towards the garage, struggling with the heavy suitcase, holding onto it with both hands and taking short shuffle steps.
"Give that to me," he said, holding out his hand. He held the two large, heavy duffels under his arm and grabbed the suitcase with his free hand. "Come on. You're in luck. I have a functioning guestroom," Dean said, sounding compliant.
She may have been his little sister, half his size, but she was a pistol. If you know how to handle her, you are safe, but if you mishandle her, she will kill you.
She closed the truck and followed him into the house. She began to pester him, much to his dismay. "So, what about this morning? Does it involve work? Does it involve a girl?" she asked.
He stayed quiet for too many seconds, too long.
"IT DOES INVOLVE A GIRL!" she said with excitement in her voice. "Tell me everything. Is she pretty? Is she older than you? What does she do? Have you slept with her yet?" she asked with great curiosity.
She nagged him all the way up the stairs. They entered the bedroom. He dropped the duffels on the bed and put the suitcase on the floor.
"Yes. No. None of your business and again none of your business," he said.
He was very diplomatic when answering her.
"Damn it. I forgot the order of the questions." She zipped open the bag. "Can I ask you again?" she pleaded.
"No," he responded curtly.
"What does she look like? Is she another ditzy blonde who wears too much makeup and shows too much cleavage?"
"No. She is not any of those things."
"So she is a flat-chested brunette? Why won't you tell me? Is she a little homely? Like a bunch of zits and chin hairs? Is she overweight? You know you shouldn't judge. I know she—-
He cut her off. "Jesus Bug, what kind of women do you think I attract?" he said, his voice raising an octave at the end.
"I don't know. I think you're ugly as hell, but hey, what do I know? Please tell me!" she said.
"I'll tell you at some point." He walked out of the bedroom and started down the hall. I need to figure it out myself first.
"You're not going to tell me, are you?" she called after him.
"Your own place. We start looking... tomorrow."
Even though he sounded apathetic, he was smiling.
She popped her head out the door. "Hey! Can we get bunk beds?" she replied comically.
He continued to walk down the hall. He rolled his eyes and smirked.
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