Read Online But He Was Already Dead When I Got There by Barbara Paul - Free Book Online

climb the wall.
    â€œI don’t know what’s got into you, darling,” Simon complained. “You come rushing in yelling that we’ve got to do something, you drag me out of the shower, you make me dress in this ridiculous outfit—”
    â€œYou’re supposed to wear black when you break into someone’s house. Everybody knows that.”
    â€œWe’ll go to jail !”
    â€œNo, we won’t. Here.” Dorrie had found the part of the wall she wanted to climb; it looked no different from the rest of the wall to Simon. “Give me a leg up,” she commanded.
    Simon locked his fingers together and held his hands for Dorrie to step in. He flipped her up as high as he could, and she scrambled to the top of the wall. “Now what?”
    â€œWait.” She dropped down on the other side.
    He waited. Before long a rope came sailing over the top of the wall and dangled down on Simon’s side. “I’m supposed to climb that, I assume,” he muttered.
    He managed it, although the rope began to slip a little just as he reached the top. He dropped down beside Dorrie and saw she’d tied the rope to the leg of a heavy wrought-iron bench. The streetlights caused the wall to cast a heavy shadow over about half the terrace, but beyond the shadow visibility was good. Dorrie picked up her backpack and started to creep along the outside of the house.
    â€œWait a minute,” Simon stopped her. “Have you forgotten Uncle Vincent’s alarm system? Exactly how do you plan to get in?”
    â€œI thought of that.” Dorrie opened the backpack and pulled something out.
    Simon looked at the aerosol canister she’d handed him. “Redi-Whip?”
    She nodded. “You know how on television burglars are always spraying the alarm box with a white foam—to shortcircuit the wires or whatever? All we have to do is find the box and give it a squirt.”
    Simon felt his head reeling. “I think that’s shaving foam, darling.”
    â€œBut you use an electric razor,” she explained patiently. “Whipped cream was all we had. Come on—help me look for the box.”
    Two circuits of the house failed to turn up any conveniently located alarm box. The Murdochs ended up by the double doors leading to the library, their ultimate destination. Simon folded his arms and arched an eyebrow at his frustrated-looking wife. “What now, Madame Burglar?”
    â€œMaybe the alarm isn’t turned on. We could try the doors and see. If it is turned on, we just get out of here fast and try to think of something else.”
    â€œWhat if it’s a silent alarm? The kind that’s hooked up to the nearest police station?”
    â€œBut it’s not, darling—remember the time Gretchen set it off by accident? Made one hell of a racket.”
    Simon remembered. “But before we try the doors—hold on.” He put down the can of Redi-Whip and grabbed the edges of a rectangular wrought-iron table and, with much groaning and straining of muscles, carried it over and put it down flush against the wall. “In case we do have to make a quick getaway,” he said.
    â€œDarling, that’s brilliant!” Dorrie beamed at him. “Do you think you can jimmy those doors open with a screwdriver? The backpack wasn’t big enough to hold a crowbar.”
    â€œLet’s try the doorknob first.” Simon reached out and turned the knob; the door swung open easily. No alarm went off.
    â€œHallelujah!” Dorrie cried softly, and dipped into her backpack again. “Here—I brought one for each of us.”
    Simon took the flashlight she handed him. “Why don’t we just turn on the lights?”
    Dorrie was scandalized. “You never turn on the lights! The idea!”
    â€œBut with that wall blocking the view—”
    â€œNo. No lights. Absolutely not.” Her voice was firm.
    Simon shrugged and turned on