Trace of Evil, page 7
“Come on, honey,” he said. “This fight has gone on too long. Let’s forget the past.”
My fingernails cut into my palms as I squeezed my hands. I found it difficult to keep my voice steady when my insides were screaming. “We did not have a fight. I left you. There is no more us. Now leave or I’ll call the police.”
His mouth tightened. The light vanished from his eyes. As he advanced toward me, Heather stood up. “Dani asked you to leave.” She pointed to the gate. “The exit is that way.”
He shot a savage glare in her direction then focused his anger on me. “A housewarming gift.” He whipped a package at my head, but I ducked in time. On his way out, he slammed the gate hard enough to break it.
My hands shook as I retrieved Tom’s present and threw it in the trash can. I apologized to Heather. “How could I be so naïve? I expected him to confront me at work. In my efforts to keep him from following me home, I never considered the possibility he’d use another car.” I frowned. “He’s not the man I fell for. In the beginning, he was sweet and engaging, but the charm was bait. Once he hooked me, I lost my independence. He wrapped me in invisible chains that tightened each time I asserted myself.” The idea that snake had invaded my perfect nest made me ill. I swallowed angry tears. “I was so sure I’d found a refuge here. I underestimated his determination.”
“So that’s Tom. I don’t like him, and JoJo agrees.” He’d calmed down after Tom left and squirmed as she gave him a big hug. When she put him down, he ran to the gate for one last growl. “Maybe he’s the one who trashed my apartment,” she said with an anxious frown.
“No, that’s not his style. Besides, why would he invade your space?”
“I have no idea, but I don’t trust him, and I don’t believe in coincidences.”
~ * ~
After supper, we double-checked the locks on both our apartments. I decided to accompany Heather and JoJo on their walk. Demoralized by the invasion, she didn’t want to go out alone. And, after the break-in and the reappearance of Tom, I was a bit needy myself, but JoJo with his little black tail held high emerged unscathed from today’s events.
Before we got very far, though, the Cove Street Watcher hailed us. When Heather stopped, I said, “You don’t have to speak to her now.”
She rolled her eyes. “Best to get it over with.”
For once, Mrs. W didn’t crave the sensational details. Her concern centered around Heather’s safety. “I wanted to apologize. I should have spotted a stranger at your place today. Was there much damage? If there’s anything you need, or I can help in any way, just holler.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wallace. They trashed the place pretty good. I’m okay, though.” She managed a wan smile. “I appreciate your kind offer.”
“Now you girls be extra careful. Make sure to keep your doors locked.”
We continued on our journey. I was stunned. “I can’t believe what she just said to you. Since when is Mrs. W nice?”
Heather’s answer was sincere rather than flippant. “Sure, she’s wicked nosy and can be a little grouchy, but she does care about her neighborhood and the people who live here. She’s more bark than bite.”
When I offered to help her clean her apartment, she put her hands over her face. “Oh, God. I hate to face it. Then she straightened and gave me a wan smile. Thanks. I could use some support.”
The place was a mess. Papers and other bits of Heather’s possessions covered the floor. Her usually busy desk was bare. He must have swiped his hand across it.
A cry from Heather brought me over to her. “He smashed my camera.”
Her face seemed to crumple. I wrapped my arms around her and said, “I’m so sorry.”
After a few seconds, she pulled away. “I don’t see anything missing. This Nikon is expensive. Why destroy it rather than take it?”
After we finished straightening up, I repeated my offer for Heather and JoJo to stay in my apartment for the night, but she said she’d be all right. “JoJo will keep watch.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I was concerned about her, but there was nothing more I could do.
The evening news provided the identity of the woman’s skeleton, and I called Heather right away.
“They know who the murder victim is.”
“Oh?” The indifferent attitude was so unlike Heather.
“Yeah, her name’s Allison Montenegro. She lived in Salem, but she worked for a temp agency in Boston.”
“Wait a minute. What’s her name?”
Happy to hear a spark of interest, I repeated the woman’s identification.
After a moment, Heather sounded almost like herself. “I’m pretty sure that’s the chick who skipped out on Eddie, stiffing him for the rent. I remember because he bitched and moaned about it for days.”
Her excitement dissolved, and her voice became a whisper, “Oh.” Then silence.
While I waited for her to continue, small noises around me intensified. As I concentrated on the hollow echo in my ear, the silence around me took on a life of its own.
I imagined eerie whispers in the sighing of the refrigerator. “Heather?”
A tiny voice I’d never have recognized as her, filled the void. “I guess she didn’t skip out after all.”
~ * ~
Before I settled into bed, I made sure everything was locked. What if a burglar targeted my apartment? Heather’s place was less than twenty feet away from mine. The terrible awareness of my vulnerability made it difficult for me to fall asleep. When I did, though, the day’s events followed me.
In my dream, sharp cries pulled me from my bed. I crept out to investigate and slid on something. I tried to move, but my bare feet were mired in a sticky goo. Before I looked down, I feared what I’d see Blood. The floor was filled with the red fluid. I choked back a cry and forced myself to discover the origin. The unfamiliar room confused me. Where was I?
Recognition hit like an explosion. I was looking at Heather’s apartment. What a mess. Papers, clothes, even food littered the floor. Frightened, I called her name. The lone answer. A sharp bark. I peered through the gloom. JoJo lay on the floor pawing at something. I sucked in my breath. A body? Oh, no. Please don’t let it be my friend.
I closed my eyes, afraid to find out, but I had to. I edged closer to the bloodied figure. The image changed. Blonde hair receded. The blood disappeared. JoJo remained. Chewing on a stick. Oh God. Not a stick, but a bone. And his treat was attached to a skeleton.
Chapter Nine
Clumsy, jumbled thoughts plodded through my head at the unremitting beep, beep, beep of the alarm. I shut it off and tried to shake away the remnants of sleep. I dragged my sluggish body to a seated position, then attempted to focus on what to do next—get my coffee or brush my teeth.
I’d best start by getting out of bed. The rain beating against the windows added to my sense of self-pity. I hated to drive in wet weather. Roads flooded. Drivers challenged the water levels and lost, and my travel time to work doubled.
I groped my way to the bathroom. Scenes from my horrible dream replayed in my mind. Damn! Why was I having these nightmares? My sleep-deprived evenings hindered my efficiency at work.
I burned the toast and spilled half my coffee before I pulled myself together. Getting ready for work was a chore. By the time I reached my car, the wind rendered my umbrella useless. My hair hung in soggy clumps. I had to stop and change my route twice because of flooded roads. The delay made me twenty minutes late, duly noted by our resident snitch.
Mary took one peek at me and brought me a towel. Tired and a bit damp, I sat at my computer to work on the end-of-the-month reports when Betty came in. “Hi, Betty. What can I do for you?”
A tiny woman with a sweet disposition, Betty was a model tenant. The top of her head came to my nose; compared to her, I was a giant. Today her usual bright smile was eclipsed by a frown and tear-filled eyes.
Her small hands twisted around each other, and she looked away. “Oh, Dani. I’m awfully sorry.”
I was at a loss. What had she done to cause her to apologize? “What’s wrong?”
She hung her head and mumbled.
“Betty, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”
In a gush, she blurted out, “I have a little fire in my apartment.”
Oh, damn, not today. I called the fire department, then Fischer.
“Did you call the fire department?” he asked.
Yes. They’re on their way.”
“I’ll be right there.”
The situation wasn’t bad, more smoke than anything. Betty, in one of her cleaning binges, had switched on the wall oven she used for storage. The firemen placed huge fans around to disperse the smoke and did a final safety check of the apartment.
Fischer’s frown and dark snapping eyes made me cringe. He acted as if the fire was my fault.. With a disgusted sneer, he scrutinized me, “Whatever is going on in your life, you’d better get it straightened out. This could have been a disaster. You look like you’ve been on a bender..” Pull yourself together. I’ve got my eye on you.”
All I could do was nod. I was a mess today, but the fire wasn’t my fault... After he left, I went to the ladies’ room and stared at the mirror.
No wonder he’d accused me of boozing. My reflection frightened me. The bright green of my eyes had dulled to a muddy hue, and the skin around them dissolved into deep gray depressions that drooped to my cheekbones. Damp, windblown curls surrounded my head like a crazy clown wig. The face peering back at me resembled a zombie dredged straight from the grave. I needed help.
~ * ~
The storm continued to pound the coast when I left to go home. I drove around the block twice. There wasn’t a decent place to park. By the time I reached my door, I was soaked. I left a trail of puddles in the hall and noticed someone had been there before me. Wet spots were visible on the corridor floor. Doug often used the back door.
The inclement weather made the apartment dark. I flipped on the lights, sat at my kitchen table, and leaned my head on my arms, trying to banish Fischer from my mind. A hot bath would wash away the aftereffects of his nasty insinuations. I forced my weary body into the bathroom.
The bath salts’ tangy fragrance helped relax me. I took my time lowering myself into the hot bubbles. With a moan of gratitude, I submerged my tired bones.
“Ah, perfect.” I lay back in the warm, scented water, and my troubles faded away.
I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in the dissolving effervescence. Ten minutes later, the phone’s incessant ringing crashed through my peaceful meditation. Damn. I considered ignoring it, but curiosity won out.
I grabbed a towel and stepped out of the tub. I didn’t get to the phone in time. The kitchen floor became a tiny river. The phone screen said, Possible Spam. I gave myself a mental kick. Why did I have to be so nosy? I’d left the warmth of my soothing bath to answer a call from some stupid telemarketer.
Fatigue threatened to overwhelm me. I dried myself and trudged into the bedroom. My tunnel vision focused on the welcome sight of soft, white pillows.
That was how I missed it. The bulge in the carpet that hid a loose floorboard. My toe connected. My body lurched, then a sense of weightlessness enveloped me as I flew through the air. I should never have gotten out of bed today.
My right hand and knee took the brunt of the fall. I suspected I’d broken my toe. Could this day get any worse? I lay there in pain, sprawled on the floor, lamenting my sad state when the phone rang again. I winced in pain as I dragged myself over to check the caller. Kirsten.
At the sound of my sister’s voice, I felt better, but she could interpret my tone too well. “Dani, what’s wrong?”
I assured her nothing serious had happened and proceeded to outline my day, beginning with the fire and ending with my unfortunate flight across the bedroom. By the time I’d finished my litany of woes, I managed a chuckle. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
I sat in the middle of the bed and assessed my situation. Cuts stung my hand. A lump the size of a walnut protruded from my knee, and my toe throbbed in pain. Not to mention, I was in danger of losing my job, crazy from lack of sleep, and a Nor’easter was beating against my windows. Oh, yes. Let’s add the strange events occurring in my apartment.
What else could I do but laugh?
While I’d taken my inventory, Kirsten gave her medical opinion. “Take a couple of aspirin and go to bed.”
I hesitated for a second before deciding to tell her about Tom. “So much has been happening, I forgot to tell you. Tom appeared here yesterday.”
“Tom!” Her shout almost broke my eardrum. “What did he want? Did he hurt you? Why didn’t you call me?” Her questions often came in bunches.
“Calm down. I’m okay. I told him to leave.”
“You shouldn’t have spoken to him. The time has come for a restraining order. He’s liable to be back.”
“I don’t think so. I was firm that we are over.”
My sister wasn’t buying it, and, by that time, neither was I. With her protective instincts peaking, I hated to mention the break-in at Heather’s. Kirsten would go ballistic. I spit it out and held my breath.
For a moment she was speechless, but she made a fast recovery. “Oh, my God. You’ve got to get out of there.”
I was almost ready to agree.
Chapter Ten
No matter how weird the apartment situation had become, I wanted to stay. I’d grown addicted to my new digs. I liked being able to walk to the Salem hot spots, but more importantly, I’d found a friend in Heather. Nope. I wouldn’t let anyone, or anything, scare me from my home.
After a few minutes, Kirsten abandoned the argument and issued her dire pronouncement. “We’ll talk later.”
I ended the call, certain she’d be on the hunt for a new apartment for me by the end of the evening.
Before exhaustion took over, I limped across the floor to discover what caused my fall. When I moved the rug, a board stuck up an inch or so from the floor. Mewling in pain, I knelt to peer into the opening. Light winked off a shiny object. Curious, I seized the end of the board and strained to lift it enough to see underneath. It looked like the edge of a book.
After my miserable day, I decided fate rewarded me for my perseverance with a prize. I had to find out what was in there. For a moment, the echo of my mother’s voice gave me pause—Curiosity killed the cat. Ridiculous. No danger here. Nothing but a book. Paper and ink. However, I did worry a bit about creepy crawlies. I crammed my hand in and yanked the book out.
“Ouch!” Oh, hell, I’d scraped my knuckles.
Sucking on yet another cut, I gazed at my prize. A small book bound in leather, held together by a brass lock. A sudden awareness dawned while I examined the dusty tome. I’d never noticed a loose floorboard in this room. No matter how crazy my life got, I was sure I would have spotted it.
Why would any sane person hide a book under the floor in the first place? Was it valuable? Maybe that was why it was hidden, and whoever secreted it made the board easier to release. Then, over the years and with all the movers, it loosened more.
An interesting mystery. The old leather appeared to be ancient unless the grungy aspect was the result of its time in a dusty hole.
I tried to maneuver the floorboard back into place but made a mess. I’d have to get a hammer. I swallowed a couple of aspirin, dragged myself onto the bed, and tucked the pillows underneath my back. The book’s origins intrigued me. It looked like a journal, old enough to belong to Elias Gale. How exciting. I’d love to read the words of an old smuggler.
All set to dig in, I swore. The book was locked. Damn. I dug through my purse for a paper clip. With the tip of my tongue between my lips, I concentrated on picking the lock. The action seemed easy enough when they did it on TV. I made a complete botch of my attempt.
When I twisted and thrust my substitute lockpick in the small hole, my finger slipped, and I cut myself on the stupid piece of metal. Swear words peppered the air as I brought my finger to my lips. I wasn’t quick enough to stop a few drops of blood from staining the sides of the pages. Oh, great. If the book had any value, I’d managed to ruin it.
~ * ~
Wednesday morning a chorus of chirping birds announced the end of the storm and a new day’s birth. Under the glare of bright sunlight, my toe glowed a deep reddish purple and hurt like hell.
At work, my pronounced limp elicited sympathy and goodies. One old dear even gave me her mottled, brown cane to use.
I hobbled off to a locksmith at lunchtime. “Hi. I have an old book I’d like unlocked. Can you help me?”
“Sure, we work on all kinds of locks. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He opened his toolbox and poked around. He didn’t take long. Once he got the book opened, he scrutinized the lock. “The workmanship is excellent. I’d say this metalwork dates back more than two hundred years. If you want, I can try to make a key to fit it.”
“Thanks. I’ll get back to you.”
When he asked where I’d found the journal, a guilty flush heated my cheeks. The book wasn’t mine. I should have given it to Eddie right away, but what harm if I read it first?
I crossed my fingers and gave him my best version of the truth. “Oh, I stumbled on it in my travels.” I did fall over a board on a trip to the bedroom.
The man wished me well. I thanked him, paid for the services, and told him I’d get back to him. I wanted to read the book tonight. I didn’t need a key. There might be one under the floorboard.
In the office, I peeked through a few pages. The flowery penmanship, along with the vocabulary and spellings from two hundred years ago, would make the book difficult to read. I did, however, note the name and date on the first page—Elias Gale, 1695.
That night, when I arrived home, I did a double take at the sight of Heather perched on our front stairs. She wasn’t a front-porch kind of chick. That was Mrs. W’s style. “Hey, what’s up?”
