“Not exactly,” Kincaid said more to herself than to Liv. She looked down at the asking price to remind herself why she couldn’t gallop down this road. Half a million dollars. For something that needed a ton of work. She needed the rational side of her brain, which really was only on a part-time schedule to begin with, to step up and do its job. “Just thinking out loud.”

Kincaid wandered past Liv toward a doorway at the back corner of the living area, gasping when she entered the next room. Liv hurried in behind her, camera swinging around her neck. “What? Werewolf? Evil clown?” She groaned when she stepped inside. “Oh. The pink. Wow. That’s…pink.”

But that wasn’t what Kincaid was speechless about. The kitchen space was a dream. Larger than she’d expected for a house this age and so charming she could barely stand it. The whole thing would have to be gutted, of course—the pink cabinets and Formica countertops looked like Pepto-Bismol and bad wallpaper had gotten drunk together and made an ugly baby—but the bones of the room were beautiful. She could picture double ovens and a big island where she could prep for cooking.

“This room was clearly redone in the eighties,” Liv said, her opinion of the decor clear in her tone. “By someone with bad taste even by eighties standards.”

Kincaid walked over and looked out the window above the kitchen sink to find an overgrown herb garden out back. Rosemary, thyme, and some kind of mint that looked like it’d taken over half the garden by force. “I—”

A door creaked loudly from somewhere, and both she and Liv startled, instinctively moving toward each other. Liv gripped Kincaid’s arm with one hand and raised her camera with the other, poised to use it as a weapon. Kincaid’s mind raced ahead to all the pictures Liv had painted—ghosts, serial killers, demons. And of course, the ever-present, always-right-near-the-surface image of boys with guns.

However, the voice that drifted down the hallway wasn’t male and wasn’t demonic in the supernatural way, just in the completely and utterly annoying way. “Gorgeous period detailing. Truly historic. I mean, this gem isn’t going to stay on the market long. I barely was able to sneak in a preview today. But I have my secret ways. It’s just so quaint, don’t you think?”

Kincaid’s stomach turned, wondering what she’d done to piss off the universe today. “Oh, Lord, give me strength and a shot of tequila.”

“What’s wrong?” Liv whispered. “Who’s that?”

Kincaid hoped she was wrong, but she’d know that nasal, syrupy voice anywhere. “Valerie Van Arden, top seller over at Wilder Realty. I have no idea how she’s here. It’s Ferris’s listing, and it’s not even online yet.”

“I take it we don’t like Valerie Van Arden?”

Kincaid eyed the kitchen doorway, Valerie’s too-high voice echoing off the walls of the house like an off-key song. “We do not. She thinks the sun comes up just to hear her crow. Also, she hates me because I once dated a guy she had her eye on, claims I stole him. As if that’s a thing. Like a person can be stolen.”