Read Online Dancing in the Baron's Shadow by Fabienne Josaphat - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Fabienne Josaphat
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Probably just blind bats dropping cachiman fruits on the house midflight. Then, just as he started to close the shutters, a shadow streaked through the garden. It headed for the gate. Nicolasâs blood ran cold. He opened the shutters wide again. Yes. A silhouette was stepping over the bougainvillea bushes. A man.
âHey!â Nicolas shouted.
The intruder reached the wall surrounding the property. The gate was padlocked, and he tried to hoist himself over the edge. Nicolas fumbled around under his desk. His fingers found the release and the hidden drawer popped open, revealing a space where he kept his notebook and a blue pouch. He unwrapped the fabric with trembling hands and emerged from under his desk with the Colt .45. The thing seemed to grow heavier each time he held it, especially when he cleaned it under Eveâs reproachful eye.
As he left his study and rushed past the bedroom door, Eveâs head popped out, her eyes panicked. âI heard something. What is it? Why arenât you in bedââ
âGet back in the room and stay inside!â Nicolas pushed past her as she gasped at the gun he held, running to the front door, bumping into the console table and rattling lamps and framed family photographs.
With a grunt, he unbolted the door and ran to the veranda. The warm midnight air coiled around his knees and ankles. He stood there in nothing but his robe and a pair of leather slippers. He caught his breath and stopped for a moment, looking. Was the man still here? There he was, pulling himself over another part of the wall. Nicolas raised his gun to eye level. âStop! Iâll shoot!â
The silhouette fell over the other side of the wall, landing with a thud.
â La police!â Nicolas yelled. âPolice! Au voleur! Thief!â
Heart pounding, he shouted with all the air left in his lungs. He had to alert the neighborhood! He had to scare off the intruder.
A car door slammed, and an engine sped off furiously into the night. The dogs of the neighboring homes howled and barked in concert. Windows lit up, silhouettes ushered behind curtains, residents carefully avoiding exposure. Nicolas looked around to be sure that there was no one else stalking the house. His hand was still wrapped around the handle of the Colt, his finger resting against the trigger guard, as heâd been taught to do.
As dawn lit up Turgeau, the police came to inspect the garden. Nicolas was annoyed when they said the crime had already been committed, so they wouldnât come out till curfew was over.
âI donât think the intruder or his accomplices would stick around for you to come inspect my garden,â he said. âIâve already looked. No one is here!â
Eve tried to placate him, and he kept quiet, allowing them to look for evidence. Maybe the intruder had dropped something. Maybe he was trying to break in. Who knew?
The neighbors asked questions Nicolas was unable to answer. Nothing was stolen, nothing was missing, no door was broken, no harm was done, and there was no conclusive report to be written. His next-door neighbor, Monsieur Pierre-Louis, a retired airline pilot, called him over to the fence that separated their two houses.
âNeighbor, is everything all right?â he asked. âYou know we should look out for each other. If you need anything, let me know.â
Nicolas nodded thankfully. Yet, as the officers left and the neighbors shook their heads in sympathy, Nicolas was filled with a fear and unease he knew would haunt him for days. Who was the true suspect here? When he invited the police into his home, when they took their time wandering the grounds, staring into the windows of his study, were they really searching for clues about the intruder or were they curious about something else? Nicolas shook his head in regret. He shouldnât have caused a scene, shouldnât have called the police. If he wanted to get his family safely out of
âHey!â Nicolas shouted.
The intruder reached the wall surrounding the property. The gate was padlocked, and he tried to hoist himself over the edge. Nicolas fumbled around under his desk. His fingers found the release and the hidden drawer popped open, revealing a space where he kept his notebook and a blue pouch. He unwrapped the fabric with trembling hands and emerged from under his desk with the Colt .45. The thing seemed to grow heavier each time he held it, especially when he cleaned it under Eveâs reproachful eye.
As he left his study and rushed past the bedroom door, Eveâs head popped out, her eyes panicked. âI heard something. What is it? Why arenât you in bedââ
âGet back in the room and stay inside!â Nicolas pushed past her as she gasped at the gun he held, running to the front door, bumping into the console table and rattling lamps and framed family photographs.
With a grunt, he unbolted the door and ran to the veranda. The warm midnight air coiled around his knees and ankles. He stood there in nothing but his robe and a pair of leather slippers. He caught his breath and stopped for a moment, looking. Was the man still here? There he was, pulling himself over another part of the wall. Nicolas raised his gun to eye level. âStop! Iâll shoot!â
The silhouette fell over the other side of the wall, landing with a thud.
â La police!â Nicolas yelled. âPolice! Au voleur! Thief!â
Heart pounding, he shouted with all the air left in his lungs. He had to alert the neighborhood! He had to scare off the intruder.
A car door slammed, and an engine sped off furiously into the night. The dogs of the neighboring homes howled and barked in concert. Windows lit up, silhouettes ushered behind curtains, residents carefully avoiding exposure. Nicolas looked around to be sure that there was no one else stalking the house. His hand was still wrapped around the handle of the Colt, his finger resting against the trigger guard, as heâd been taught to do.
As dawn lit up Turgeau, the police came to inspect the garden. Nicolas was annoyed when they said the crime had already been committed, so they wouldnât come out till curfew was over.
âI donât think the intruder or his accomplices would stick around for you to come inspect my garden,â he said. âIâve already looked. No one is here!â
Eve tried to placate him, and he kept quiet, allowing them to look for evidence. Maybe the intruder had dropped something. Maybe he was trying to break in. Who knew?
The neighbors asked questions Nicolas was unable to answer. Nothing was stolen, nothing was missing, no door was broken, no harm was done, and there was no conclusive report to be written. His next-door neighbor, Monsieur Pierre-Louis, a retired airline pilot, called him over to the fence that separated their two houses.
âNeighbor, is everything all right?â he asked. âYou know we should look out for each other. If you need anything, let me know.â
Nicolas nodded thankfully. Yet, as the officers left and the neighbors shook their heads in sympathy, Nicolas was filled with a fear and unease he knew would haunt him for days. Who was the true suspect here? When he invited the police into his home, when they took their time wandering the grounds, staring into the windows of his study, were they really searching for clues about the intruder or were they curious about something else? Nicolas shook his head in regret. He shouldnât have caused a scene, shouldnât have called the police. If he wanted to get his family safely out of
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