Read Online Dead Dreams by Emma Right - Free Book Online Page B

casement and wiggled it open. Good thing the windows here didn’t have screens. Sarah and I had discussed installing them, what with the population of insects migrating into our apartment each time we cracked the windows open even an inch.
    I didn’t know what to expect when my feet landed with a soft thud on her carpeted floor. Could I get prosecuted for entering a crime scene, even if it were in my own apartment? Had I incriminated myself, since I hadn’t notified 911 when I first suspected foul play? I hadn’t even thought of wearing gloves. What if I found Sarah dead, or something as sinister, and the cops found my prints all over the sill? It sure wouldn’t look good for me. I rushed to the bathroom attached to Sarah’s room.
    Get a towel, and wipe off where my prints might be, I told myself, even though I still heard the thudding. It seemed more like a tap-tap sound, louder now, sharper, and more consistent. Then I saw it: the cause of the tap-tapping .
    Water was dripping from the sink faucet and hitting the porcelain sink bowl. Rest and fear must have heightened my senses, and I’d heard the drip of the water in the bathroom when I was in the quiet of my kitchen. Fool!



Chapter Seventeen
     
    “Sarah?” I called, just in case she was sleeping in the room. But unless she was in the walk-in closet or under the bed, I could tell the room was empty of human presence, save mine. Sarah had installed the drawers neatly back in the dresser, and the yellow polka-dotted bedspread lay smooth over her twin four-poster bed.
    An idea popped into my mind.
    The top drawer slid open, to my surprise. Unlocked! There was a keyhole, but she must have not thought to lock it, since her bedroom door was already guarding her privacy. I knew it was wrong to attempt what I had in mind, but something within me urged me on. Although it was not something I was proud of doing, it was a necessary evil, I convinced myself. After all, Sarah was keeping secrets from me that could help us solve the burglary mystery.
    The room was dim, with the sliver of light from the florescent street lamp and the faint nightlight, but still, I dared not turn on the stand-up lamp next to her bed. I rummaged in the dark. My hand slipped inside one of her silky panties—my makeshift glove to prevent incriminating fingerprints. Nothing but silky and lacy underwear in the top drawer. They must all be of the La Perla brand, knowing Sarah. Three hundred dollars for a pair of flimsy thongs—literally shreds of silk, I kid you not.
    I was about to search the next drawer when the alarm buzzed and announced that someone had entered the apartment. Was it Sarah? A faint beeping told me someone had successfully disarmed the code. She’d catch me in the act. No time to slip out the window. I quickly closed the casement as I’d found it, ran to the small walk-in closet, and crouched behind her long dresses on hangers. Her clothes smelled faintly of an expensive, musky perfume I was unfamiliar with.
    Someone unlocked the bedroom door, and the soft padding of stockinged feet on carpet approached me. I confirmed from the gait it was Sarah.
    Something rustled—possibly paper bags being tossed. The twin bed creaked. She must have sat on it. The familiar high-pitch ping of her iPhone 5, I presumed, as Sarah punched in a series of numbers. She hadn’t programmed in the contact as I’d seen her do on some occasions before.
    “Hi!” she said. A moment of silence, and she let out a low laugh, almost husky-like. “I could be persuaded.” Another set of sultry giggles. I felt bad for listening in on her private life. I hoped she wasn’t going to mention anything graphic. “Okay, okay. Business time—yep. It’s planned. ... Don’t worry. He’s gone. Taken care of.”
    Who was she referring to? Todd? Her Uncle Stuart?
    “I don’t know. Tonight, probably… It’s like Chateaux Margaux. You can’t rush it... Soon, baby. Soon.”
    She sighed, that lost-in-love kind of