I dashed through the laundry room to the back door, but it wouldn’t budge. It was dead-bolted with no key, no latch. Damn Enrico for taking normal security precautions. Desperate, I slipped into the full pantry and closed the door, just as someone entered the house.
I was shaking. I folded my arms tightly across my chest to control it. If this was Enrico coming home, I would have some explaining to do. Now would be a good time to think of a plausible reason why I was hiding in his pantry. I was being followed? I suspected foul play? I was hungry?
Heavy footsteps traipsed back and forth between the living and dining areas. I could hear papers being shuffled, drawers being opened and slammed shut. Someone was looking for something. The same thing I was looking for? Whatever that was.
Glass shattered in the living room area and I jolted, then tried to breathe again.
I didn’t think Enrico would be stomping around breaking things, rifling carelessly through his own stuff. So who was out there? I hoped they would hurry. It was dark as hell in the pantry and my imagination was going crazy. I could smell peanut butter and I’d swear there were mice in here. I shivered, uneasy about sharing space with rodents.
Footsteps moved into the kitchen and I started to panic. They were too close. I was going to be discovered. And the mice. I could hear them breathing. A scream built in my throat.
A wisp of breath on the skin beneath my ear was my only warning before someone slapped a hand over my mouth and grabbed me from behind.
Chapter 13
I was trapped in the viselike grip of my assailant. He’d wrapped one strong arm around my torso to prevent me from hitting him, but if I was about to die in a pantry closet, I refused to go meekly. I didn’t dare make any noise, but I squirmed and tried to bite the palm of his hand. I only managed to gnaw some skin, which almost made me gag. I twisted to get free, but there was no room to maneuver in the confines of the pantry closet.
“Shhhhh,” he whispered, as though he were trying to calm a colicky baby. I could smell his spicy scent and wondered how I hadn’t realized he was hiding here from the moment I stepped inside this space. It wasn’t mice I’d sensed, just one big rat.
“Damn it, Derek,” I hissed, but with his hand clamping my mouth, it sounded like “Mrkmr, rruk.”
“Shut up,” he whispered roughly.
I was truly going to kill him. For now, though, I nodded slowly to let him know I was on board with the plan to keep quiet.
He eased the pressure of his hand on my mouth but kept his other arm tight around me. As the footsteps grew closer to the pantry, I stopped breathing altogether. I was jammed up against Derek’s hard chest and stomach, not to mention his thighs. Oh my. Now that I knew it was him, part of me, okay, all of me wanted to rub up even closer and purr like a satisfied kitty cat. This probably wasn’t the best time to be thinking along those lines, especially in light of my recent decision to kill him.
I sucked in a breath as Derek reached between me and the door to grasp the handle, seconds before the intruder tried to open the pantry door. I could feel Derek’s muscles vibrate with tension as he held the door handle so tightly, the intruder had to think it was either stuck or locked.
Either way, the guy on the other side of the door finally uttered an oath and gave up.
As his footsteps moved away from the pantry, I let out a slow breath. The intruder crossed the kitchen and retreated down the hall, his footsteps growing fainter as he moved toward the back of the house.
Just as I thought I might collapse in relief, a door slammed somewhere down the long hall. I tensed again as footsteps pounded down the hardwood floor of the hall and raced out the front door.
There was nothing but silence for a moment; then a car engine started up and tires squealed as the intruder took off.
After ten more seconds, Derek shoved the door open and we escaped the pantry.
After first sucking in the air of freedom, I turned and smacked his arm. “What the hell were you doing in there?”
He dusted off his jacket. “Waiting for you.”
“Very funny. Did you follow me here? I mean, not follow me, exactly, since you were here first. But, you know, did you? Follow me?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
I stomped my foot, then felt like an idiot. But I was irate. “How did you know I was coming here?”
He grabbed my arm and headed for the front door. “We can talk later. Right now we’re trespassing.”
I whipped my arm away. “I have an appointment with Enrico.”
“Call to reschedule.” He pointed to the door. “Let’s go.”
I skirted him and headed the opposite way, down the hall. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m looking for something. I’ll be quick.”
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
I glowered at him. “You should talk.”
I heard him sigh as he followed me, coming up close behind me as I surveyed the first room. Twin beds, nightstand, dresser. No frills. It appeared to be a guest bedroom. There were no books, no boxes, nothing that indicated a bookselling business was being operated in there. And nothing that indicated it might be the missing “GW1941.”
“Did you see Enrico leaving?” I asked.
“No.”
“He must’ve forgotten I was coming.”
“Yet he left the door unlocked.”
“Maybe he just ran out for a minute.”
“Which means he’ll be home any second to find us trespassing.”
“I was invited. What’s your excuse?”
“I told you, I was waiting for you.”
“I didn’t tell anyone where I was going,” I insisted.
“You’re not exactly subtle,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The room across the hall was empty except for an ironing board and a television set. I couldn’t see Enrico standing here ironing his shirts while watching Oprah. Maybe he had a housekeeper.
“I overheard your conversation with him at the memorial service. You said you’d meet him at two.”
I put my hand on my hip. “You were supposed to be talking to Mary Ellen Prescott.”
He thought for a moment. “Ah yes. Lovely woman. Completely insane.”
I chuckled. “I was hoping she’d convert you.”
“She worships someone’s blood. I envisioned goats on an altar.”
I smiled. “You’re close. Chickens.”
“Good Lord.”
“It’s okay, nothing’s wasted. They eat the chickens after they’re sacrificed.”
He put up his hand to stop me. “More than I wish to know about dear Mary Ellen.”
The next door on the left was closed. I opened it and found Enrico’s library.
There were shelves of leather-bound books from floor to ceiling on all four walls with cutouts around the two windows and the closet. Two brown leather chairs sat in the middle of the room with a mahogany table in between. More finely bound books were stacked on the table. The chairs looked lived in, comfortable and cozy. The rug beneath was an elaborate Persian style with swirls and curlicues in multiple shades of blue and black and beige.
I focused again on that stack of books on the table.
“Ah.” I stepped into the room and picked up the beautifully bound book lying on top. It was Plutarch’s Parallel Lives, bound in burgundy calfskin, heavily gilded, nearly five centuries old, in perfect condition. Nearly priceless.
“What is he doing with this?” I turned to show it to Derek, and that was when I saw Enrico lying in the corner, curled up on that fabulous rug. A dark halo of blood puddled around his head.
“Oh no. Oh God.” My vision wavered; then Enrico’s head telescoped out, in, then out again.