twist. The door wasn’t locked. She swung it open.
The stairway to the attic was as black as a mine shaft.
Sandy switched her flashlight on. Its beam drilled through the darkness, slanting upward all the way to the shut door at the top of the stairs.
She changed the flashlight to her left hand.
With her right hand, she unholstered her 9 mm Sig Sauer semiautomatic. A hollow-point in the chamber and the hammer down, the double-action pistol was ready to fire. A pull of the trigger would do it.
The bright beam trembling on the attic door, Sandy began to climb the stairs. The stairwell was hot and stuffy. She panted for breath. She blinked sweat out of her eyes. She could feel her T-shirt clinging to her back. Sweat dribbled down her inner thighs. The moist seat of her jeans pressed against her buttocks as she climbed.
Don’t let him be up here, she thought.
At the top, she clamped the flashlight between her thighs.
Then she used her empty hand to turn the knob and shove the door.
It swung open, hinges squealing, and the beam of her light tunneled into the attic.
Reaching down, she pulled the flashlight free. She held it low and off to the side as she stepped over the threshold. Just inside the doorway, she began to move the flashlight slowly. The pale beam, aswirl with specks like miniature snowflakes, drifted at hip level from one side of the attic toward the other.
It lit the steeply slanted roof, thick support beams, the broken-faced mannequin of Officer Dan Jenson...
Though Sandy felt her tension start melting away, she continued to move her light across the attic. It revealed old steamer trunks and suitcases, cardboard boxes, dummies of the two Zieglers, framed paintings stacked against a wall, a few rolled rugs, an ancient wheelchair, a tattered sofa, a rocking chair, a pedestal table and other odds and ends of old furniture.
Then her flashlight illuminated a hunched, furry creature with wild eyes and teeth bared in a mad snarl.
Vincent, the stuffed monkey. A Nineteenth Century umbrella stand, it used to reside in the foyer.
Sandy smiled, recalling how it often freaked out the kids.
Though Sandy had been in the attic several times, on her own and with the Midnight Tour, she hadn’t seen Vincent in years. Not since her old days as a guide.
She smiled at the hideous monkey. “How you doing, Vincent old pal?” She stepped closer to him and squatted down—grimacing as her buttocks and crotch pushed against the sweaty denim of her jeans. “You’re looking a bit the worse for wear,” she said.
His short brown fur looked a lot more ratty and filthy than she remembered. If she dared to pat him on top of the head, a cloud of dust would probably rise.
He seemed to be glaring into her eyes.
In the old days, to test her courage, Sandy used to dare herself to insert her forefinger into his open mouth. She’d always been sure that Vincent, though dead and stuffed, wouldn’t miss the opportunity to bite her finger off. She’d also known that he
Still, she’d never been able to do it.
Sandy hadn’t feared the fangs of living beasts, but the teeth of poor old Vincent always terrified her.
“You don’t scare me now,” she whispered.
She set her pistol on the floor.
“You wouldn’t bite your old friend, would you?”
Vincent glared at her.
“You better not,” she warned him.
Then she eased her forefinger into his mouth.
And gasped out a yelp of fright as she was clutched from behind by her crotch and neck and jerked high. The flashlight flew from her hand. Her head pounded against a roof heam. As the light blinked out, she felt herself slam against the attic floor.
Chapter Forty-five
RUDE AWAKENING
Dana woke up feeling chilly. She was curled on her side, covered only by the top sheet. She supposed she must’ve thrown off the blanket.
The bedroom was gray with early morning light.
She glanced at the clock.
6:20
Straightening her left leg, she tried to feel the blankest.
There seemed to be nothing down there except the lightweight sheet.
Her blanket must’ve fallen off the end of the bed.
Only one way to retrieve it—by getting up.
Dana groaned.
She didn’t want to move. Even though the sheet that covered her to the shoulders felt unpleasantly cool, the mattress underneath her body was cozy and warm.
She imagined Warren being in the bed, too. Asleep on the other side of it.
If only, she thought.
His side of the bed would be nice and warm. She would roll toward him and squirm closer until she could feel his heat. Then she would rest her face on his shoulder, curl an arm across chest, swing a leg over his thighs. She would stay on him like that, and fall asleep.
What’s he wearing? she wondered.
Soft, flannel pajamas.
In the morning, she would wake up fust. And watch him sleep for a while. Then she would sneak her hand into the open fly of his pajamma bottoms...
Moaning, Dana rolled toward the other side of the bed
It was empty.
Of course.
Warren’s probably fast asleep in his own bed right now.
If I don’t go on the tour, she thought, we can be together tonight.
Would she really mind if I missed it? Dana wondered. She’ll still have Eve with her. It’s not like she has to have an
Not a bad idea, she thought.
She imagined herself stepping up to the window of the snack stand, Warren smiling out at her. He would say, “You look wonderful this morning, Dana.”
And she would say, “Guess what! I can see you tonight, after all. I decided to bag the Midnight Tour.”
“Great!”
Excited by her plan, she no longer felt drowsy or chilly.
