Fatal Connections

Chapter 80

The back of the house was dark enough for me to consider putting on my borrowed goggles. But enough light filtered in for me to see that I had entered the kitchen. Off to my right, perpendicular to the far wall, a doorway led to another room. Before me, a hallway extended straight ahead. About halfway down, there was a door to the right and, at the far end, an opening on the left to a room ablaze in light. I caught a glimpse of an end table and a section of worn futon.

A small foyer separated that room from one on the right, where the muted moonlight gleamed off a wedge of Ethan Allen dining room table. I wondered about the contrasting furniture. Either the owner was in the midst of redecorating or had the same attitude toward decor I had. I was getting nervous as I thought about someone possibly lying in wait for me here. Given the layout, it would be easy for a professional to sneak up behind me. I couldn't drop my guard.

My phone, set on vibrate, chose that moment to shimmy. That had to be Terry. The text read: Saw a car. But not turning your way. I nodded and texted back K. That was either great or terrible news. So far, I hadn't heard a thing that suggested the presence of another human. Not even a noise from the air handling system. But if Phyllis was here, I had to know.

I finally crept down the hall, checked behind the door, found a closet, gave it look, and moved on. After investigating the room with the futon, I turned toward the dining room. There was just enough light to reveal that no one was there. As I passed the table, I quickly glanced under it, then turned to take in my surroundings and check for signs that anyone besides me was sneaking about.

My phone buzzed again. Car coming. Quickly followed by: Turning. Then: Get out. I texted acknowledgment back but decided to stay. Whatever or whoever was coming, I decided to deal with it.

I moved back into the kitchen and found a closet-like pantry with plenty of shelves but no room to hide. Apart from the kitchen, the only room connected with the dining area was a small one, apparently used only for storage. The roughly 15 ◊ 15 square feet of space held a tasteful arrangement of cardboard boxes. Enough to create a roughly 7 ◊ 5 foot stack along the back wall. Only God knew what sorts of things were hiding in those boxes. The memory of my recent panic attack surfaced. However, despite the room's small size, I didn't panic. Nor did I spend any energy on figuring out why I hadn't done so.

A key rattled in the lock on the front door, and I could hear the door opening. I pressed my back to the wall in the small storage area. I was barely breathing and listening for footsteps. Oddly, I didn't hear any, but I did hear a creaking sound. Then, snap. The light switch. The small room brightened a bit. What is she up to?

Clearly, I was expected to be here. For all I knew, Phyllis was spying on me via hidden cameras, laughing at my amateurish game of cat and mouse. If she wanted to play, fine. I kept my back to the wall, listening intently for any kind of sound. My spidey sense was on high alert. Every now and then, a muted scuffling noise drifted my way from the kitchen.

My hand moved toward my gun, and my palm rested on the grip. I moved to a position outside the small storage room, eased my way over to the kitchen entrance, and I peered around the corner.

No one was there. Then, Ms. Brooks Brothers entered from the hallway, the not-quite Realtor of the Year I had run across while looking for Troy Fairchild. She wasn't smiling when I stepped into view.

"Hi," I said, trying to keep things light. "Been a while."

She crossed the room toward me and extended a standard business envelope. "I've been asked to give this to you," she said in a manner that hinted that the request was one not to be denied. The envelope had my name printed on it. It was also sealed.

"Go ahead," she said. "Read it."

I tore open the envelope and removed the letter, which was also printed. It read: Don't worry about me. You stay on your side, I'll stay on mine.

I let out a sigh. As truces went, this one pretty much sucked. I also wondered which side Phyllis was on and if it mattered. Just as I finished reading, Ms. Brooks Brothers tore the note from my hands.

"If you're done," she said. "Please leave."

"Gladly, after you tell me who the hell you are."

A wry grin crossed her face. "I'm just a messenger."

"So, who's Mabel Forbes?"

She shook her head. "You don't want to know."

CHA