The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh - Страница 71
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support a double sacrifice.
Several cans of baked beans sat on the island.
Per Chan’s info, the house was supposed to be empty. I crossed to the stainless steel
fridge, opened it. Bottle upon bottle of champagne nestled there.
Champagne and baked beans? Talk about perversion.
I almost didn’t hear the rubber-soled approach of footsteps in time.
Just as the kitchen door swung open, I ducked into the pantry. Betty Sansone strode
into the kitchen carrying a tray. She lowered the tray to the granite counter, set a bowl and
glass in the sink. She walked out again.
I stole out of the pantry and took a look in the sink. Baked beans residue. I sniffed the
glass. Not champagne. Water with something medicated.
Cautiously, I swung open the kitchen door and gazed down an empty hallway. I
listened. My watch ticked away in the silence.
I had about thirty-nine minutes left.
I crept down the hall, freezing when a floorboard creaked underfoot. It sounded as
loud as a shot to me, but nothing happened.
The hall opened onto an elegant dining room. A chandelier sparkled overhead, but the
velvet draperies were drawn so that the light could not be seen from outside. A banquet-
length table was covered in black linen and set with crystal, china, and silver. Tall black
candles stood in ornate sterling candelabras. Don’t ask me why black candles seemed so
creepy, but a shiver slithered down my spine at the sight.
I counted thirty chairs and thirty place settings.
And canned baked beans for supper? I thought not. So there must be a caterer coming.
Could I somehow use that to my advantage? Like how? Dress up as a waiter and search the
house while balancing a tray of hors d’oeuvres?
Voices at two o’clock, approaching fast.
Damn, damn, damn.
I scrambled under the table and pulled the chairs back in position.
The thud of my heart in my ears was so loud I could hardly hear over it.
“How is that my fault?” a young male voice inquired. I thought I recognized the voice.
“I didn’t say it was your fault. Why does it have to be anyone’s fault? I’m just saying I’d
like to get my nails done.” That voice, I definitely recognized. Betty Sansone: She-Devil in
training.
Betty and Wilma – er, Wilmer, I thought. And all I needed now was for Fred and
Barney and Dino the Dinosaur to show up.
Wilmer said, “Somebody has to stay here. We can’t leave the caterers wandering
around the house.”
“Why would they?”
I watched twin pairs of Levi’s-clad legs stroll past. That’s all I could see of them. They
passed down the hallway toward the kitchen, continuing to argue.
Crawling out on the other side of the table, I darted through the opposite door.
Herringbone wood floors and an elegant white fireplace. No furniture. A giant inverted
pentagram had been painted in blood-red at the center of the room.
That ought to give the caterers something to talk about.
I deduced from the conversation I’d overheard that those two were the only ones in
the house – or at least the only ones officially in the house. All the same, I kept an ear tuned
as I crossed the room and entered the next hall.
A large staircase rose before me. I ran lightly up.
When I got to the top level, I hesitated, trying to figure which direction to go. I started
to the left, then remembered that now that I was upstairs, there was strong possibility my
footsteps could be heard from below. I tiptoed into the first room, wincing at each creak of
the floor.
In the failing light I could barely discern that the room was carpeted in cream-beige
tones and empty of furnishings. A large window overlooked the pool. I peered down at
Betty, who was still arguing with Wilmer. He stood out of my line of vision.
Thatta girl. Don’t give up without a fight .
I proceeded through a lavishly appointed bath – as the real estate guides say – into the
next room, also empty. It was getting too dark to see. Another reason to hurry.
There were six bedrooms and four baths in all, each of them empty. By the time I’d
finished my search, Betty and her companion had disappeared from the garden.
I crept to the head of the staircase and looked down. Nothing to see. I listened. Hello
darkness, my old friend…
Damn. Where were they?
How much time did I have? I peered at my watch in the gloom. I’d used up thirty
minutes already.
I needed to search the downstairs floor, but I was out of time. The longer I spent
prowling these rooms, the higher the odds that I would be discovered. Besides, I couldn’t
believe that they would stash a prisoner on the ground floor with caterers and cleaners on
the premises. Even the upstairs had been a stretch.
I’d been wrong. Again.
I crept down the main staircase, tiptoed along the hall that led back to the kitchen. I
made my way across the slick tile floor like I was treading a mine field. Every second, I
expected to hear someone raise the alarm.
At the door leading onto the garden I hesitated, listening. I didn’t want to stroll outside
and run into Betty or Wilmer. My gaze fell on an unobtrusive door to the left of the pantry. I
had assumed it was a broom closet. Now I wondered.
I left my post at the door and sneaked back, easing open the door, expecting a wall of
brooms and pails and mops to come crashing out like in the cartoons.
But the closet was empty. In fact, it felt too big for a closet. I felt around for a light
switch. The dull overhead light came on, and I was staring down a flight of steps to what was
most likely the basement.
Just like that, I knew I’d been right.
I tiptoed down the stairs and found myself on the outside of a door with an old-
fashioned handle. Very cautiously, I turned the knob. It was locked. Big surprise.
I rattled the knob. Someone spoke on the other side. I couldn’t make out what he said,
but he wasn’t yelling for reinforcements, which was probably a good sign.
With an uneasy glance over my shoulder, I pulled out my pocket knife and undid the
screws holding the old-fashioned escutcheon in place. I didn’t have time to be subtle. The
door knob fell out.
I opened the door.
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