Read Online Death Of A Dream Maker by Katy Munger - Free Book Online Page A

park, as agreed, and settled
back for a nap.
    Auntie Lil held the flashlight while Herbert tried
each of the keys on the ring in succession, coming up with the
right ones halfway through. “Double-locked,” he muttered. “Better
keep a lookout for a burglar alarm.”
    But there was no security system. At least, not that
they could discern. No flashing lights, piercing sirens, or
snarling Dobermans waited to welcome them inside. There was,
however, a small cream-colored creature shaped like an elongated
mop that may have been a dog. It made small yipping noises as it
raced in a frenzied circle around them. Auntie Lil could not tell
which end was the front. That mystery was cleared up when it wet
the rug in excitement, leaving a small puddled stain that shone in
the gleam of Herbert's flashlight.
    “Max would never have had a dog like that,” Auntie
Lil whispered. “If indeed that thing is a dog.”
    “I will search the upstairs,” Herbert told her. “Can
you handle down here?”
    “Certainly.”
    Herbert crept up the heavily carpeted steps, followed
by the friendly dog. It left little droplets on each step in its
ecstasy.
    It was a strange feeling rummaging through someone
else's life, especially when that someone was Max and he had
married such an unlikely woman. Auntie Lil examined the photographs
displayed throughout the house. She sighed. His face was large and
squared off, topped by abundant white hair swept back in a mane. He
had a habit of staring into the camera with the same unapologetic
intensity she had remembered from their time together. In contrast,
the photos of his wife showed an overly made-up but pretty woman,
whose expressions ranged in vacuousness from attempted coquetry to
vapid boredom. Why had he married her? What had made him compromise
so late in life?
    Auntie Lil was not doing a very good job of searching
the downstairs. She found one interesting item: an empty,
velvet-lined pouch that might have held a gun at one time. It was
hidden in the back of a foyer-table drawer. But other than that,
she couldn't seem to get past the photos of Max. In fact, she was
still standing in the hallway with her flashlight examining a
professional portrait when she heard the crunch of a car pulling
into the driveway. Someone was home.
    She whirled in alarm and raced to the front door,
peering out of the stained-glass side inserts. Max's widow,
Sabrina, hopped from the front seat of a low-slung red Porsche. She
wore a thick fur coat and was holding a small remote-control device
toward the garage door, angrily clicking buttons while she moved it
about in the air, hoping to trigger the radio sensor. The little
dog came yipping down the inside steps to greet its mistress at the
door. Herbert was hot on its heels.
    “We've got to get out of here,” he said firmly,
grasping Auntie Lil by the elbow and leading her through the
darkness toward the rear French doors. Their exit was blocked when
a figure stepped out of the kitchen into their path.
    “No,” a voice said quietly. “The neighbors are
sitting in their back room overlooking the French doors. You can't
go out that way. Follow me. We can get out through the
basement.”
    Too frightened to be surprised, they followed the
mysterious figure down a steep set of stairs into a damp basement
area. Their feet pattered across the concrete floor. Auntie Lil
pointed her flashlight at their leader, briefly illuminating very
blond hair with very black roots. At the rear of the basement they
spotted a large window that opened up at ground level above a
washer and dryer. Herbert helped Auntie Lil climb up on top of the
dryer. She unlocked the window and pushed it open with a screeching
sound that made her heart stop. She and her partners climbed out
the window, scurried through holly bushes, and dashed across the
yard. The lights flicked on in the living room behind them as they
fled down the block and cut over toward the small park, searching
for T.S. and the car.