Read Online The Accident by Linwood Barclay - Free Book Online Page B

talk into some repairs. Once she got out from under her debt, if she had to, she’d find a way to get the actual work done. If she got wind the owners were going to be back in the neighborhood, she’d have to move on it. Truth was, Belinda would rather explain to those people why the work wasn’t done than have to explain to those other people why she didn’t have their money.
    She held the first jar up to the light so she could read the label. Those magical blue pills. George had tried them, once. Not these ones, not the knockoff variety. He’d gotten a prescription from his doctor, wanted to see what they’d do. What they did was give him one hell of a headache. The whole time he was on her he griped that he needed some Tylenols before his head exploded.
    Belinda was unscrewing the lid when she heard the floor creak above her head.
    She froze. There was nothing for a moment. She told herself she’d imagined it.
    But then it happened again.
    Someone was walking around in the kitchen.
    She was sure she’d locked the front door when she’d come in. She didn’t want anyone walking in on her while she conducted her dispensing duties. But maybe, somehow, she’d forgotten. Someone had seen the For Sale sign out front, her Acura parked at the curb, noticed the business card she kept on the dash, and decided this was an open house.
    “Hello?” she called out tentatively. “Is there someone there?”
    No one answered.
    Belinda called out again. “Did you see the sign? Are you here about the house?”
    If whoever it was upstairs was here for some other reason, like looking for a place to crash, or make out, or vandalize, they’d know now thatsomeone was already here. And if they had half a brain in their head, they’d take off.
    But Belinda hadn’t heard anyone running for the front door.
    Her mouth was dry and she tried to swallow. She needed to get out of here. But there was only one way out, and it was up those stairs, and the kitchen was at the top of those stairs.
    She decided to call the police. She’d whisper into her cell phone, tell them to get here fast, that someone was in the house, someone was—
    Her cell phone was in her purse. A fake Chanel bag she’d bought at one of Ann’s purse parties. And it was sitting upstairs, on the kitchen counter.
    The door at the top of the stairs opened.
    Belinda considered hiding, but where would she go? Behind the furnace? How long would it take someone to find her there? Five seconds?
    “You’re trespassing!” she said. “Unless you’re interested in buying this house, you’ve got no business being here.”
    A man’s silhouette filled the doorway. He said, “You’re Belinda.”
    She nodded. “That’s—that’s right. I’m the agent for this house. And you are?”
    “I’m not here about the house.”
    With the kitchen lights illuminating him from behind, his face was difficult to see. But Belinda determined he was a good six feet tall, thin, with short dark hair, and wearing a dark tailored suit and white shirt, but no tie.
    “What do you want?” she asked. “Is there something I can help you with?”
    “You’re running out of time.” His voice was even, almost no inflection at all.
    “The money,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You’re here about the money.”
    The man said nothing.
    “I’m working on it,” she said, struggling to make herself sound enthusiastic. “I really, really am. But just so you understand the situation. About the accident. There was a fire. So if the envelope was in the car—”
    “That’s not my problem.” He descended a step.
    “I’m just saying, that’s why this is taking some time. I mean, if youfolks took checks,” and here she tried a nervous laugh, “I could write you one on my line of credit. Maybe not for all of it, not today, but—”
    “Two days,” he said. “Talk to your friends. They know how to reach me.”
    He turned, went back up the one step to the kitchen, and