Read Online Silent Fall by Barbara Freethy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Freethy
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the desk? Who had unzipped his overnight bag and strewn his clothes on the floor? Someone had been in his room. Why? To search for something or to plant evidence?
"So, are you normally a slob?" Catherine asked.
"I didnât leave the room like this. Someone was in here."
"It appears that way. What were they looking for? Or do you think it was the police who came in here?"
"Possibly. But the only thing of value is the computer. And it's still here. Iâll have to go through my files, see if anything was opened."
He repacked his overnight bag, slipped his computer back into its leather travel case, and surveyed the room one last time. Just to be extra careful, he opened all the drawers and the closet and even glanced under the bed, hoping not to find anything of Ericaâs in the room. Once he checked out, the room would certainly be searched. Of course, what he couldnât see were possible fingerprints. "If Erica came in here and touched things, her prints could be all over and would certainly hurt my alibi."
"Just because she was here wouldnât prove you were. And the fact that you got a new key from the manager supports the idea that your key was taken."
"I agree, but I can see how the sheriff might be able to build a circumstantial case against me. Everything that happened last night was plotted out beforehand. Someone took a lot of time and forethought to set me up."
"Maybe we should wipe down the tables and the doorknobs and other surfaces," Catherine said, striding into the bathroom. She grabbed two towels off the rack and tossed one to him as she reentered the room. "At least we can make sure they donât find her prints here."
Dylan nodded. "Good thinking. Have you done this sort of thing before?"
"Maybe," she said, giving him a cryptic smile. "But thatâs not important now, is it?"
"Youâre a very interesting woman. I like a good mystery, you know."
"Then you must be loving your life right now."
"I like a good mystery when it doesnât involve me," he amended. "Iâd rather be the detective than the victim or the villain."
They worked quickly, wiping off all the furniture and doorknobs; then Dylan tossed the towels in the tub and doused them with water -- for what reason he didnât know, except that it seemed like a good finishing touch. When he returned to the room he picked up the phone by the bed and punched the number for the front desk. "Iâm checking out of room three oh four," he said when the clerk answered. "Iâll leave the key in the room." He gave one last look around as he hung up the phone, remembering the one item he had not located. "Erica must have taken my car keys, unless I lost them in the woods. But I did see my car in the lot when we pulled in, so she didnât take it."
"How will you get home?"
"Iâll figure that out later. I guess Iâm good to go."
"My room is just down the hall," she said as she opened the door.
Catherineâs room was set up the same as his, but her bed was made and everything was in order. Obviously the maid had been in. As Dylan set his bags down on the bed, his gaze caught on the painting displayed on the easel. It was an abstract slash of dark colors that collided with one another in an angry, sinister manner. Heâd seen other such paintings at Catherineâs beach house and had been struck before by their intensity and passion.
Catherine immediately moved in front of the picture. "Donât look," she said, holding up a hand. "I meant to put it away, but it was still wet when I went downstairs."
"You know that makes it impossible for me not to look," he told her. "Besides, I saw the gruesome pictures at your house. I know you have a dark side."
He walked around her to stare at the painting. "When did you do this?"
"Last night. When I wake up from a nightmare I have to paint," she said with a sigh. "Itâs ugly, isnât it?"
"Definitely not my taste. What did you dream about?"
She
"So, are you normally a slob?" Catherine asked.
"I didnât leave the room like this. Someone was in here."
"It appears that way. What were they looking for? Or do you think it was the police who came in here?"
"Possibly. But the only thing of value is the computer. And it's still here. Iâll have to go through my files, see if anything was opened."
He repacked his overnight bag, slipped his computer back into its leather travel case, and surveyed the room one last time. Just to be extra careful, he opened all the drawers and the closet and even glanced under the bed, hoping not to find anything of Ericaâs in the room. Once he checked out, the room would certainly be searched. Of course, what he couldnât see were possible fingerprints. "If Erica came in here and touched things, her prints could be all over and would certainly hurt my alibi."
"Just because she was here wouldnât prove you were. And the fact that you got a new key from the manager supports the idea that your key was taken."
"I agree, but I can see how the sheriff might be able to build a circumstantial case against me. Everything that happened last night was plotted out beforehand. Someone took a lot of time and forethought to set me up."
"Maybe we should wipe down the tables and the doorknobs and other surfaces," Catherine said, striding into the bathroom. She grabbed two towels off the rack and tossed one to him as she reentered the room. "At least we can make sure they donât find her prints here."
Dylan nodded. "Good thinking. Have you done this sort of thing before?"
"Maybe," she said, giving him a cryptic smile. "But thatâs not important now, is it?"
"Youâre a very interesting woman. I like a good mystery, you know."
"Then you must be loving your life right now."
"I like a good mystery when it doesnât involve me," he amended. "Iâd rather be the detective than the victim or the villain."
They worked quickly, wiping off all the furniture and doorknobs; then Dylan tossed the towels in the tub and doused them with water -- for what reason he didnât know, except that it seemed like a good finishing touch. When he returned to the room he picked up the phone by the bed and punched the number for the front desk. "Iâm checking out of room three oh four," he said when the clerk answered. "Iâll leave the key in the room." He gave one last look around as he hung up the phone, remembering the one item he had not located. "Erica must have taken my car keys, unless I lost them in the woods. But I did see my car in the lot when we pulled in, so she didnât take it."
"How will you get home?"
"Iâll figure that out later. I guess Iâm good to go."
"My room is just down the hall," she said as she opened the door.
Catherineâs room was set up the same as his, but her bed was made and everything was in order. Obviously the maid had been in. As Dylan set his bags down on the bed, his gaze caught on the painting displayed on the easel. It was an abstract slash of dark colors that collided with one another in an angry, sinister manner. Heâd seen other such paintings at Catherineâs beach house and had been struck before by their intensity and passion.
Catherine immediately moved in front of the picture. "Donât look," she said, holding up a hand. "I meant to put it away, but it was still wet when I went downstairs."
"You know that makes it impossible for me not to look," he told her. "Besides, I saw the gruesome pictures at your house. I know you have a dark side."
He walked around her to stare at the painting. "When did you do this?"
"Last night. When I wake up from a nightmare I have to paint," she said with a sigh. "Itâs ugly, isnât it?"
"Definitely not my taste. What did you dream about?"
She