Dressed all in black and armed with the large orange flashlight, Tricia felt like a cat burglar and was grateful for the canopy of trees blocking most of the light from the street lamps. She and Angelica turned up Grace's driveway and seamlessly blended into the darkness.
Mike hadn't bothered to leave on any outside lights, and none of them appeared to have motion sensors, leaving the yard spooky and uninviting. However, trying to lift the garage door proved it was either locked or was fitted with a door-opening system and effectively locked. They circled the garage and found a door, but it, too, was locked.
"Break the glass," Angelica urged. "You do have permission to be here."
"I'm sure the sheriff would disagree with you on that. Besides, Mike would see it the next time he came by."
"Isn't there a window on the side? Break it."
Easier said than done. The window was old, three-over-three panes; she'd have to break the whole bottom level in order to have enough room to struggle through, and then there were the mullions. She'd have to somehow dismantle them, too, and they'd brought no tools. The flashlight proved to be as effective as a hammer, and Tricia was grateful the next-door neighbors' windows were closed, with a good fifteen or more feet away from the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood.
"How am I going to get in without getting cut on all that glass?" she hissed.
"You'll have to go feet first. I'll help you."
Tricia was thankful there was no one nearby with a video recorder to chronicle the deed as she and Angelica hauled a heavy trash can to the window.
"What's in here, lead?" Angelica complained.
Tricia removed the lid and shone the light inside. Paper, stuff that should have been shredded. Old bills, receipts, and…"Photographs?" An old album of black-and-white photos and lots of torn color shots of people Tricia didn't know. As she flipped through the pictures she recognized many of Grace.
"Why would Mike throw away all these pictures?" Angelica asked.
"Maybe he doesn't have a love of family. From what I understand, it's just him and his mother left."
"All the more reason to hold on to your memories of the past."
The thought didn't comfort Tricia, who rescued as many pictures as she could see, piling them by the side of the garage. "I'll save these for Grace. Maybe take a few of them to her tomorrow. Hopefully we'll find a bag inside to make it easier to carry them back to the car."
With half its contents removed, the trash can was considerably lighter and easier to maneuver. But worming through the window was a lot harder than Tricia would've thought. Climbing onto the can, she poked her feet through the window and Angelica huffed and puffed to raise her derriere up high enough to push her torso through and into the garage. Next Angelica held on to her hands as Tricia bent back like a limbo dancer and lowered herself into the garage, her sneakered feet crunching broken glass as she landed. Once inside, Angelica handed her the flashlight. "Be careful."
The bobbing light failed to give adequate illumination, and Tricia's hips bumped and banged against a number of tables haphazardly heaped with kitchen items, old clothes, and glassware, no doubt items that hadn't sold at Mike's tag sale. Tricia sidled her way to the back of the garage. Old dusty rakes, snow shovels, and other garden tools hung on the wall and she waved the beam back and forth, searching for the little flowered print Grace had assured her would be there.
"What's taking so long?" Angelica demanded in a harsh whisper.
Tricia ignored her, and restarted her search, this time painting the light up and down, noticing an old spiderwebbed set of golf clubs, aged, stained bushel baskets, and finally-a little, faded print of pansies. She pulled the framed picture from its nail and just as Grace had said, found an extra set of house keys.
"Eureka!" She replaced the picture, unlocked the door, and turned off the flashlight before stepping back outside and closing the door once more. "Angelica? Where are you?" she whispered into the inky blackness. A tap on the shoulder nearly sent Tricia into cardiac arrest. "Don't do that!"
"Well, you did call me. I take it you have the key?" Angelica asked.
"Keys," she said, and held them up. "Come on, let's get inside before someone sees us."
They walked to the back of the house and Angelica held the flashlight while Tricia tried the first key, which didn't fit. What if Mike had changed the locks? She tried the next one. Still no luck. "There's only one left." She slid the brass key into the hole and this time it turned.
"Thank goodness," Angelica breathed.
Tricia turned the handle, pushed the door open, and stepped inside, with Angelica close enough to step on her heels. "Give me the flashlight and close the door," she whispered. Angelica complied and Tricia searched for a light switch, flipping it as soon as she heard the door latch.
Bright white light nearly blinded them and it took a moment for Tricia to realize they'd entered the big house through the butler's pantry. Dark-stained oak shelves and cabinets lined the ten-foot walls clear up to the ceiling, with a little ladder on a track making the highest regions accessible. The shelves, however, were completely empty. No crystal, no dishes. No cans of peaches or coffee. Just an accumulation of dust. And in that small, enclosed space, Tricia was suddenly aware of Angelica's perfume.
"What is that you're wearing?"
Angelica pulled at her jacket. "This little thing?"
"No, your perfume. Do you bathe in the stuff?"
"I won't even dignify that question with an answer. Now, do you think the neighbors will think something funny is going on if we turn on the lights?" Angelica asked.
"Maybe we'd better close the blinds, just to be on the safe side." And Tricia did.
"Where does that doorway lead?"
"The kitchen."
"Why are we whispering?" Angelica asked.
Tricia cleared her throat. "Didn't we go through this at Doris's house?"
"It's you who keeps whispering," Angelica pointed out.
Tricia gritted her teeth. "Come on."
They entered the kitchen, and Tricia flicked on a flashlight.
"Whoa! Time warp," Angelica declared, taking in the color of the dated appliances and decor.
The kitchen looked exactly as it had when Tricia had been there only the day before with Mike-with a couple of small additions. A mortar and pestle sat on the counter, along with a canister of gourmet cocoa.
"This looks suspicious," Angelica said.
"Yeah. What do you think the odds are that if we looked through the drawers-or maybe the garbage-we'd find some empty medicine vials?"
"I'm game to look," Angelica said and pulled open a drawer with the sleeve of her jacket drawn over her fingers. "Look, Trish, plastic gloves. I assume you didn't bring any this time. Maybe we'd better use these. We wouldn't want to leave any incriminating evidence behind."
Having read a score of CSI–based books, Tricia knew they probably already had. Still, she placated her sister and donned the pair of gloves Angelica handed her. Angelica pulled open another drawer.
"The nurse on Grace's floor mentioned she had made a sudden improvement. I'll bet Mike sent her there with a supply of her favorite cocoa and they ran out in the last couple of weeks. Looks like Mike's concocting a new batch."
"Sounds plausible," Angelica said and shut her fourth drawer. "No sign of any little amber bottles."
"We'll check the rest of the kitchen and the garbage on the way out. We'd better get moving in case Mike shows up."
"It's almost nine thirty. If he was going to steal more of his mother's possessions, wouldn't he do it earlier in the day?"