Murder Is Binding

painted in tones of blue, would've suited a boy, and had probably been Mike's. The other, a tiny guest room with a small empty closet, had only a bed, an empty dresser, and a straight-backed wooden chair.

They crossed to the other side of the hall and Tricia played the flashlight's beam across an unmade king-sized bed. 'Aha, the master bedroom.'

'Now can we turn on a light?' Angelica asked.

Tricia threw a switch and the lights blazed. Unlike the other rooms that were more or less intact, the once- pretty master suite had been ransacked. What Tricia had taken as a rumpled bed proved to be destroyed-the sheets torn and the pillows shredded. The gold-edged French provincial dresser's drawers had all been dumped, with piles of woman's clothes littering the floor. She didn't see the jewelry boxes Grace had told her about.

'Looks like the result of a lot of anger,' Angelica said.

'I hope this means he didn't find Grace's hiding place.'

'And you know where it is?'

Tricia nodded. 'Help me move the mattress and box springs.'

'Do I look like a stevedore?' But Angelica did help Tricia pull the mattress up to stand against the wall, and they hauled up one of the twin box springs against it, too. Grace hadn't mentioned the trapdoor would be under a large area rug. They ended up moving the other box spring, dragging away the heavy headboard and side rails in order to pull up the rug. The trapdoor was exactly as Grace had described it, although much larger than Tricia had anticipated, measuring one by two feet. Tricia knelt in front of the recessed brass ring, pulled it up, and yanked open the door. The hiding space was even bigger than the door to it, and filled with an assortment of little black velvet-covered boxes.

Angelica grabbed one and popped it open. 'Trish, look.'

It was empty.

It took ten minutes of searching to find that they were all empty.

Tricia's eyes grew moist. She hadn't thought the loss of Grace's treasures would affect her so much. But anguish soon turned to pique. 'That stinking rat.'

Angelica sniffed. 'Maybe you were right. A man who could steal from his own mother probablyis capable of throwing a rock through a storefront window. Do you think he's already sold everything?' Angelica asked, her voice soft.

'You saw all those eBay sheets.' Tricia picked up the first of the boxes and replaced it in the hiding place. 'Have you seen his expensive little car? I'm not saying an insurance agent couldn't afford it, but it seems pretty coincidental that he bought it after his mother was put in the home-and her assets started disappearing.' She glanced around at the devastation. 'This had to just happen.'

'How do you know?'

'Just yesterday morning Mike offered me a tour of the upstairs. He wouldn't have if the room was in this shape.'

'Unless he was hoping to suddenly discover a robbery with a handy witness in tow.'

Tricia frowned. 'He did seem eager for me to come up here.' Maybe Angelica was right and it wasn't her feminine wiles that had precipitated the invitation.

She shook her head. No, the slimeball had made his intentions well known.

'How did he ever find Grace's hidey hole?' Angelica wondered. 'I mean, this isn't exactly the easiest place to find.'

'He's been throwing out receipts. There were lots of them in the trash. He could've found one from whoever built this hiding space.'

'It's possible,' Angelica agreed, but she sounded skeptical. She helped Tricia replace the rest of the boxes before they restored the room to the way they'd found it. Hopefully Mike wouldn't notice if the sheets, pillows, or bedspread weren't in the exact same positions.

Tricia turned the flashlight on and switched off the overhead light. They waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness before she led the way back down the long staircase, with Angelica at her heels once more.

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs and just started down the hall toward the back of the house when Tricia stopped dead, flicking off the flashlight.

Angelica ran right into her. She opened her mouth but Tricia pivoted and clamped a hand across it. 'Shhh!'

Voices.

In the kitchen.

Mike, and he was with another person… a woman, whose voice Tricia recognized.

Eighteen

With her right hand still clamped across Angelica's mouth, Tricia shuffled across the Persian runner and into the dining room, dragging her sister along with her. She plastered herself against the wall of the darkened room, closed her eyes, and listened-concentrating.

Yes, it was Deirdre Gleason's voice.

'I can't make out what they're saying,' Angelica complained.

Tricia's hand tightened around her sister's arm, silencing her. She closed her eyes again, concentrating on the muffled voices, but caught only snatches of words:

'Books… case price… wholesale…'

'Total-cash only…'

Obviously they discussed some kind of financial deal. No doubt after their talk the day before, Mike had contracted Deirdre, eager to dump more of his mother's possessions. And a cash deal left no paper trail.

Although risking detection, Tricia crept forward and peeked through the crack in the door, hoping to hear better. A solemn-faced Deirdre stood beside the counter, a book in hand, looking very much like a professor in mid- lecture. Could she have picked up that much knowledge about cookbooks in such a short time? Then again, Tricia didn't know how much the sisters had discussed the business before Doris's passing. Or perhaps it was her accountant's background that made Deirdre such a hard negotiator.

Finally, a deal was struck and Mike disappeared into the butler's pantry while Deirdre started taking down the cookbooks from the kitchen cabinet.

Tricia grabbed Angelica's arm and hauled her back into the hallway where they crept along, backs pressed to the wall. 'We've got to hide.'

'Where?'

'There's a closet in the foyer.'

'Ooohhh…please don't make me hide in a closet,' Angelica whined. 'I'm claustrophobic.'

'We get caught and you'll feel a lot more claustrophobic sitting in a jail cell.'

With exaggerated care, Tricia opened the closet door, but the hinges were well lubricated and nothing squeaked except Angelica as Tricia pulled her inside and closed the door.

Tricia was glad she'd donned her good old dependable Timex and not the diamond-studded watch her ex- husband had given her on their tenth anniversary. She pressed the little button and the watch's face lit up: 9:53.

'How long do you think it'll take before they leave?' Angelica whimpered.

'I don't know. I just hope Mike didn't go looking for boxes in the garage. He's sure to see the broken window if he does.'

'That doesn't mean he'll come looking for us in here.'

'I can't remember if I put the pansy picture back on the wall.'

Angelica let out another strangled whine. 'I hate this, I hate this. I want to go home. Please let me go home. This isn't fun anymore. In fact, it never was fun. I don't like being a criminal. How did I ever let you talk me into helping you?'

'You volunteered!'

'Keep that light on, will you? I can't stand being in here.'