couple.
Skye wandered over to her dresser and stared in the mirror. She looked at the black jeans, black sweatshirt, and black shoes she had put on. Unconsciously she had selected clothes appropriate for breaking into the funeral home.
Grabbing a dark baseball cap, she tucked her hair underneath. She hoped breaking and entering wasn’t getting to be a habit with her. Previously she’d searched a condo on the Gold Coast and a bungalow on the South Side of Chicago, but she’d sort of had permission for those two intrusions. So this was the first time she was truly going to do something illegal. Did that make her feel better or worse?
In the kitchen, Skye rummaged through her junk drawer. She retrieved a heavy-duty flashlight, a pair of surgical gloves from one of the first-aid kits the school nurse passed out every year, and a thin piece of celluloid she had confiscated from a student attempting to open a locker that wasn’t his.
As she closed her front door, Skye was struck with how distinctive the Bel Air really was. Not the ideal vehicle with which to commit a crime.
While she drove toward town, she thought about where she could stash the Chevy while she burgled the funeral home. “The Purloined Letter” popped into her head. She’d hide the car in plain sight.
She pulled into the back of the used-car lot on Stebler and tucked the Chevy in among the other vehicles. From there it was only four blocks to Reid’s Funeral Home. The streets were empty, and most of the houses looked as if their occupants were asleep. Skye shivered; the temperature had dropped back into the forties, and she could smell rain in the air. It was a cold spring.
She was a block from her destination when the barking started. It wasn’t the yapping of a cute little fur ball; it was the full-throated woofs of a large breed such as a Doberman or German shepherd. This was a good part of town, but old habits died hard, and many residents felt safe only with shot-guns beside their beds and big dogs in their yards.
Skye quickened her pace and tried to pinpoint where the growling was coming from, and whether it was getting any closer. The house she was passing was surrounded with chain-link fence. Suddenly, the source of the barking roared around a corner and threw itself at the metal barrier. Skye started to run, which further inflamed the Rottweiler.
Looking back over her shoulder, she could see the porch light come on. A man dressed only in long johns appeared on the front step holding a rifle. “Hey, what’s going on out there?” The man squinted past the pool of light and into the darkness.
The dog barked for a few more minutes, then gave up. Skye kept running until she reached Simon’s house. His windows were dark. Skye waited for her breathing to return to normal, then moved on.
Across the street, the front of the funeral home was brightly illuminated. She crept toward the back, where Simon’s office was located. It was shrouded in darkness, and she shivered again, this time not from the frigid air. She looked around. No one in sight. She pulled on the latex gloves.
When she thumbed on the flashlight she noticed the time on her watch. Ten minutes to twelve. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Breaking into a mortuary at midnight seemed pretty stupid.
Skye shook her head. This was real life, not some scene from a horror movie. There was nothing inside that could hurt her. Still, images of the living dead danced in her head, and she had to force herself to aim the light at the lock and slip the celluloid into the crack.
Nothing happened. What was she doing wrong? Maybe she should have used her trusty Swiss Army knife. The locks usually popped right open when she applied its thinnest blade to the bolt. The kid had told her that what he called a “ ’loid” worked better, but she didn’t think so.
Before she could try again, a hand descended on her shoulder, and she let out a muffled scream as she whirled around.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Justin Boward slouched in front of her, a smirk on his face. “I live back there.” He pointed across the backyard of the funeral home, toward the small white house that stood behind it. “I saw you with my night-vision binoculars. What are
This was not a good situation. Being caught breaking into a funeral home by a student ranked right up there among the top five reasons to be fired. What could she say to make Justin think this wasn’t what his eyes told him it was?
He continued before she could come up with a plausible excuse. “Say, I know what you’re doing. You’re investigating Lorelei’s murder. Cool.”
His demeanor had changed from a cat who had caught the canary to something close to admiration. She tried to wiggle out of the situation. “Well, no, ah, I’m just trying this out for a book I’m writing.”
Something shuttered closed behind his eyes, and Skye could see that lying had been a mistake. She tried to ease around the boy, thinking that retreat might be the best choice.
His words stopped her. “I hate it when adults lie to me.” His face was expressionless in the flashlight’s glare. “My parents do it all the time. My dad is never straight with me about his health. And my mother would rather lock herself in the bathroom and cry than tell me what’s really bothering her.”
Skye’s counseling instincts kicked in. “That must make you feel left out.”
He nodded.
She thought she saw a tear on his cheek, but it was too dark to tell.
Justin continued in a cold voice. “That’s why at school I make it a point to know about everything. Nobody will tell you anything directly, but if you hang around and listen, you find out stuff.”
“Does that help you feel more in control?” Skye couldn’t believe she was having a therapy session at midnight outside of a funeral home.
“Yeah. Someday the other kids are going to figure out I know all their dirty little secrets, and then they’ll realize I’m one of those bad things that happen to good people.”
“I don’t think so.” Skye took a chance and contradicted Justin. “I think you’re one of the good people, not one of the ‘bad things.’ ”
Hope, doubt, and denial chased across his face. Finally, he crossed his arms, and said, “So, are we breaking in here or not? And don’t give me that crap about research for a book.”
“No,
Justin bent down and picked up the celluloid she had dropped. “Then you don’t need this.”
“Neither do you. Give it here.” She held out her hand.
He turned his back on her and inserted it into the door near the bolt. “This is how you open one of these types of locks.”
At the same time that the latched clicked and the door swung open, she heard another sound—footsteps crossing the street. Skye immediately switched off the flashlight and pushed Justin inside. She followed, quietly closing the door behind her. Unable to see in the utter darkness, she put her lips to what she hoped was the boy’s ear, and whispered, “Hide. Someone’s coming.”
She counted her blessings that at least Justin was one of the smartest kids she had in therapy. Without a word he silently faded away. Obviously his night vision was superior to hers.
Skye put up her hands to feel her way, trying to visualize where she was from previous visits to the funeral home. She thought she was in a tiny back hall and that Simon’s office was the first door to her right. She felt an opening at the same time she heard a key rattle. She slipped quickly inside the room, closed the door, and pushed the button to lock it.
She knew immediately that this was not Simon’s office. She must have gotten turned around, but it was too late to leave now. A light went on in the hall, and she heard footsteps pass the room she was hiding in.
Something wasn’t right. Where was she? There were only two choices, and neither one was a winner. She was either in the room where they prepared the bodies or she was . . . Her hand encountered cold metal, then smooth satin.
