Read Online No Sanctuary by Richard Laymon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Laymon
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Gillian went into the den. She shut the curtains across the glass door, then turned on a lamp. On top of the television, along with two remote control units, was a copy of TV Guide. It had a label with the address of this house.
The owner, therefore, was undoubtedly Fredrick Holden.
So, she thought, I’m house-sitting for Uncle Fred. Or is it Unde Rick? I’d better just stick with Uncle Fredrick till I find out what he goes by.
With the lamp off, she stepped under the curtains and slid the door open. She carefully peeled off the duct tape she had used to hold the glued section of glass in place. She wadded it in her hand, shut and looked the door, turned on the lamp again, and tossed the tape into a waste basket she found behind the bar.
The bar had a refrigerator. Inside was a nice selection of soft drinks and beer, and a couple of jugs of wine. Gillian lifted out a jug of Blanc de Blanc. She chose a good-sized brandy snifter from a shelf of glasses, twisted out the bottle stopper, and filled her glass. She took a sip. The cold wine had a subtle, fruity flavor, and was not too sweet.
With the glass in one hand and her flashlight in the other, she went into the kitchen. The windows there faced the side of the house and the front porch, as she searched the kitchen in darkness except for the glow from outside. A bulletin board hung next to the wall phone. Some notes were pinned to it. Gillian decided to wait until morning to read the notes. Beside the bulletin board was a picture calendar. Flashlight tucked under her arm, she lifted the calendar off its small nail and carried it into the den.
She sat on a soft recliner chair, took a sip of wine, and studied the calendar. The top portion had a glossy color photo of a slender young woman posing beside a pool. She wore a string bikini and her skin was shiny with oil. Just what Gillian expected of a fellow who had mirrors on his bedroom ceiling.
The lower portion of the calendar was devoted to the month of June. Today was Saturday the 21st. The square block for the 21st had no writing on it. Neither did any of the squares for earlier in the week. On the 13th was written: “7:30 Stewardess; 9:05 Passion.” The 7th had similar notations: “7:10 Elena, 8:50 Crazy.” Gillian guessed that these were the starting times for double-features, the movie titles abbreviated. The rest of the dates for the month of June had no writing in their spaces. She glanced at July, then shook her head.
“You’re no help,” she muttered at the calendar.
Apparently, Fredrick Holden needed no reminders of when he was leaving on his trip or returning. Maybe Gillian would turn up some information later. She was in no mood to continue investigating the matter now. She wanted to settle in and relax.
One final chore.
After taking the calendar back into the kitchen, Gillian went to the front room. She stepped into her skirt again and pulled the sweater over her head, but decided not to bother with her heels. Car keys in hand, she removed the burglar bar and unlocked the door.
Outside, the night air was cool and fresh after the stuffy warmth of the house. The grass was dewy under her bare feet. Down the street, a car swung into a driveway. A man and a woman climbed out and walked toward their front door. Nobody else was in sight.
Gillian climbed into her car. She drove it to the end of the block, turned the comer, and parked at the first empty stretch of curb. She walked back to the house.
At the driveway, she stopped.
Something looked different.
She frowned. What was ... ?
Light no longer glowed through the living room curtains.
The nape of Gillian’s neck went tight.
Someone inside the house? Had someone been in there all along?
No. Probably the lightbulb burnt out.
But what if someone is ... ?
She suddenly knew. Shaking her head and smiling at her foolishness, she checked her wristwatch. Eleven o’clock. Though she hadn’t seen
Gillian went into the den. She shut the curtains across the glass door, then turned on a lamp. On top of the television, along with two remote control units, was a copy of TV Guide. It had a label with the address of this house.
The owner, therefore, was undoubtedly Fredrick Holden.
So, she thought, I’m house-sitting for Uncle Fred. Or is it Unde Rick? I’d better just stick with Uncle Fredrick till I find out what he goes by.
With the lamp off, she stepped under the curtains and slid the door open. She carefully peeled off the duct tape she had used to hold the glued section of glass in place. She wadded it in her hand, shut and looked the door, turned on the lamp again, and tossed the tape into a waste basket she found behind the bar.
The bar had a refrigerator. Inside was a nice selection of soft drinks and beer, and a couple of jugs of wine. Gillian lifted out a jug of Blanc de Blanc. She chose a good-sized brandy snifter from a shelf of glasses, twisted out the bottle stopper, and filled her glass. She took a sip. The cold wine had a subtle, fruity flavor, and was not too sweet.
With the glass in one hand and her flashlight in the other, she went into the kitchen. The windows there faced the side of the house and the front porch, as she searched the kitchen in darkness except for the glow from outside. A bulletin board hung next to the wall phone. Some notes were pinned to it. Gillian decided to wait until morning to read the notes. Beside the bulletin board was a picture calendar. Flashlight tucked under her arm, she lifted the calendar off its small nail and carried it into the den.
She sat on a soft recliner chair, took a sip of wine, and studied the calendar. The top portion had a glossy color photo of a slender young woman posing beside a pool. She wore a string bikini and her skin was shiny with oil. Just what Gillian expected of a fellow who had mirrors on his bedroom ceiling.
The lower portion of the calendar was devoted to the month of June. Today was Saturday the 21st. The square block for the 21st had no writing on it. Neither did any of the squares for earlier in the week. On the 13th was written: “7:30 Stewardess; 9:05 Passion.” The 7th had similar notations: “7:10 Elena, 8:50 Crazy.” Gillian guessed that these were the starting times for double-features, the movie titles abbreviated. The rest of the dates for the month of June had no writing in their spaces. She glanced at July, then shook her head.
“You’re no help,” she muttered at the calendar.
Apparently, Fredrick Holden needed no reminders of when he was leaving on his trip or returning. Maybe Gillian would turn up some information later. She was in no mood to continue investigating the matter now. She wanted to settle in and relax.
One final chore.
After taking the calendar back into the kitchen, Gillian went to the front room. She stepped into her skirt again and pulled the sweater over her head, but decided not to bother with her heels. Car keys in hand, she removed the burglar bar and unlocked the door.
Outside, the night air was cool and fresh after the stuffy warmth of the house. The grass was dewy under her bare feet. Down the street, a car swung into a driveway. A man and a woman climbed out and walked toward their front door. Nobody else was in sight.
Gillian climbed into her car. She drove it to the end of the block, turned the comer, and parked at the first empty stretch of curb. She walked back to the house.
At the driveway, she stopped.
Something looked different.
She frowned. What was ... ?
Light no longer glowed through the living room curtains.
The nape of Gillian’s neck went tight.
Someone inside the house? Had someone been in there all along?
No. Probably the lightbulb burnt out.
But what if someone is ... ?
She suddenly knew. Shaking her head and smiling at her foolishness, she checked her wristwatch. Eleven o’clock. Though she hadn’t seen
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