Read Online Take Me for a Ride by Karen Kendall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Kendall
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whipped out a small zippered case. Inside were his company-issued lock picks.
Natalie eyed them suspiciously.
“I only have these on me to demonstrate to customers how easy it is to break in,” he told her. Within seconds, he had the door unlocked. “Wanna purchase a state-of-the-art security system?”
She didn’t look entirely snowed but swallowed and gave him a weak smile. Evidently, fear for her grandmother trumped concern that he might not be entirely aboveboard.
“Why don’t you let me go in first,” he suggested. Without a word, she stood aside to let him enter. She looked as if she dreaded what they might find inside. “It’s gonna be fine,” he said. “There’s a simple explanation for all of this, okay?”
She swallowed and nodded, tugging at the scarf around her throat as if it were cutting off her air supply.
He entered the house and she followed close behind. His first impression was of old hardwood floors and a lot of faded chintz. Musty fabric, ancient plaster, a touch of mildew behind the Pine-Sol. The smell of years of cooking blended with lemon oil.
A silk flower arrangement gathered dust, as did a circa 1978 TV built inside a faux-wood cabinet with a speaker. On top of the TV was a menorah. Squatting in the corner was an old phonograph that played LPs, for chrissakes. And a shelf displayed vinyl albums, all classical.
“Nonnie!”
No answer.
Natalie tried again. “Nonnie! Can you hear me?”
Evidently not.
The layout of the place was simple, with the kitchen, dining room, and small living area on the ground floor. Dark wood stairs led to the second story. On the wall at the foot of the staircase were five Russian Orthodox icons, four smaller ones arranged around a larger one of St. George and the dragon. McDougal had no idea who the other saints were, but they appeared to like gold and wore lots of eyeliner.
Everything so far was neat and orderly, without so much as a breakfast dish left in the kitchen sink.
Hand on the gun in his pocket, McDougal inclined his head toward a door near the breakfast nook. “What’s that? The basement?” There was a small pet door installed near the bottom.
Natalie nodded.
“Your grandmother has a cat?”
“Two.” She frowned. “They must be hiding.”
The door was bolted, so he left it for later. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Nonnie!” she called again. “Kitties! Here, kitty-kitty-kitty . . .”
Nothing but silence greeted them.
McDougal rounded the newel at the bottom of the stairs and went up, the old boards creaking under his feet. At the top was a narrow hallway with two doors on the right and two on the left.
Spare bedroom, empty. Bath, empty. The bedroom on the far right was the master. He nudged the door open with the toe of his Timberland boot, not sure what they’d find.
Nothing. Just a queen-size bed with an antique lace coverlet over a bedspread dotted with cabbage roses. A 1930s dressing table with a round mirror. A high-boy, which, curiously enough, supported a statue of—a theme was becoming apparent here—St. George and his buddy, the dragon. Maybe the old lady really did say prayers to it. What a kook.
But kook or not, she was nowhere to be found.
Behind him, Natalie exhaled a shaky breath. “Oh, thank God. I was afraid—”
From the room at the end of the hallway, right next door, came a heavy thud. Natalie jumped at least two feet in the air and shrieked.
He pivoted left, bringing the gun out of his pocket and cocking it reflexively.
“Dear God, what is that?!” Natalie said. He wasn’t sure whether she meant the gun or the noise.
Two more thuds, lighter this time, came from the room.
“Who’s there?” McDougal called.
Silence.
He reached forward, twisted the knob, and threw the door open. Stacks of books greeted them, and nothing else. Apparently one of the stacks had toppled over. He noticed small droppings on the floor and judged that Granny might have a rat in the house. Maybe they’d
Natalie eyed them suspiciously.
“I only have these on me to demonstrate to customers how easy it is to break in,” he told her. Within seconds, he had the door unlocked. “Wanna purchase a state-of-the-art security system?”
She didn’t look entirely snowed but swallowed and gave him a weak smile. Evidently, fear for her grandmother trumped concern that he might not be entirely aboveboard.
“Why don’t you let me go in first,” he suggested. Without a word, she stood aside to let him enter. She looked as if she dreaded what they might find inside. “It’s gonna be fine,” he said. “There’s a simple explanation for all of this, okay?”
She swallowed and nodded, tugging at the scarf around her throat as if it were cutting off her air supply.
He entered the house and she followed close behind. His first impression was of old hardwood floors and a lot of faded chintz. Musty fabric, ancient plaster, a touch of mildew behind the Pine-Sol. The smell of years of cooking blended with lemon oil.
A silk flower arrangement gathered dust, as did a circa 1978 TV built inside a faux-wood cabinet with a speaker. On top of the TV was a menorah. Squatting in the corner was an old phonograph that played LPs, for chrissakes. And a shelf displayed vinyl albums, all classical.
“Nonnie!”
No answer.
Natalie tried again. “Nonnie! Can you hear me?”
Evidently not.
The layout of the place was simple, with the kitchen, dining room, and small living area on the ground floor. Dark wood stairs led to the second story. On the wall at the foot of the staircase were five Russian Orthodox icons, four smaller ones arranged around a larger one of St. George and the dragon. McDougal had no idea who the other saints were, but they appeared to like gold and wore lots of eyeliner.
Everything so far was neat and orderly, without so much as a breakfast dish left in the kitchen sink.
Hand on the gun in his pocket, McDougal inclined his head toward a door near the breakfast nook. “What’s that? The basement?” There was a small pet door installed near the bottom.
Natalie nodded.
“Your grandmother has a cat?”
“Two.” She frowned. “They must be hiding.”
The door was bolted, so he left it for later. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Nonnie!” she called again. “Kitties! Here, kitty-kitty-kitty . . .”
Nothing but silence greeted them.
McDougal rounded the newel at the bottom of the stairs and went up, the old boards creaking under his feet. At the top was a narrow hallway with two doors on the right and two on the left.
Spare bedroom, empty. Bath, empty. The bedroom on the far right was the master. He nudged the door open with the toe of his Timberland boot, not sure what they’d find.
Nothing. Just a queen-size bed with an antique lace coverlet over a bedspread dotted with cabbage roses. A 1930s dressing table with a round mirror. A high-boy, which, curiously enough, supported a statue of—a theme was becoming apparent here—St. George and his buddy, the dragon. Maybe the old lady really did say prayers to it. What a kook.
But kook or not, she was nowhere to be found.
Behind him, Natalie exhaled a shaky breath. “Oh, thank God. I was afraid—”
From the room at the end of the hallway, right next door, came a heavy thud. Natalie jumped at least two feet in the air and shrieked.
He pivoted left, bringing the gun out of his pocket and cocking it reflexively.
“Dear God, what is that?!” Natalie said. He wasn’t sure whether she meant the gun or the noise.
Two more thuds, lighter this time, came from the room.
“Who’s there?” McDougal called.
Silence.
He reached forward, twisted the knob, and threw the door open. Stacks of books greeted them, and nothing else. Apparently one of the stacks had toppled over. He noticed small droppings on the floor and judged that Granny might have a rat in the house. Maybe they’d
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