Gemotions

He whistled as he power-washed the deck, the stream of water blasting away years of grime. The wood, previously dull and lifeless, was already starting to gleam. John loved a good project, especially one that involved fresh air and sunshine. He imagined the barbecues he would be hosting on the newly cleaned deck, filled with friends and laughter.

A man in a fedora knocked on the door, his face grim. “Mr. Thompson? I’m Detective Harding. We need to talk about the house.” John, mid-whistle, turned off the power washer. A little frown creased his forehead. He didn’t like grim.

Detective Harding, once inside, stated flatly, "A murder occurred in this house, sir. Several years ago." John’s frown eased a little, replaced by curiosity. He pictured the dramatic potential of it. Maybe the walls held secrets.

"Well," he said, rubbing his hands together with something close to glee, "Tell me all about it!"