Read Online There's Nothing to Be Afraid Of by Marcia Muller - Free Book Online Page B

it was someone who lived right here in the hotel. The residents seemed a friendly, cohesive bunch, but so had All Souls once. The trouble at the Globe could very well be internal.
    The basement was quiet, now, except for little pinging noises form the hot metal of the furnace. It hulked in the shadows ahead of me, the orange flicker of its pilot light visible through the grille near the floor. The flame drew my eyes downward and I saw a path of liquid that had trickled along the slightly sloping ground toward the outside wall. It hadn’t been there in the morning . . .
    And then I stopped, senses sharpening as they had earlier on the street. The liquid was thick and dark, and it came from the left where the bovine boiler stood on its absurd spindly legs. Under its bulging white belly was another pair of legs—blue-jeaned, bent at the knees, feet encased in tennis shoes.
    It was a man who lay there, at the beginning of that dark liquid trail.
    I sucked in my breath and hurried over to him. He lay crumpled on his side, arm outflung around his head. One cheek was pressed flat on the floor, and a widening spill of blood spread around it. He was an Oriental, about Duc Vang’s age or younger.
    Quickly I knelt beside him and felt his neck. His flesh was warm and pliant, but I couldn’t detect any pulse from the big artery. I moved my fingers around, thinking the pulse was so faint I might have missed it. Nothing. Leaning forward, I looked at the top of his head. It was caved in, with white splinters of bone showing through the scalp.
    I drew back, balancing on my heels and then tipping into a sitting position. My breath came in short, shallow gasps. This had happened before, in the presence of other dead bodies, in other places. The hyperventilation brought dizziness, and I forced my head forward, slowing my breathing with a concentrated effort. This happened more and more, whenever I saw a human life tossed aside like so much garbage . . .
    In a moment I straightened up. I felt very cold, and the smell of death, pungent and foully sweet, was all around me. Strange I had not noticed it before.
    But then, the smell wasn’t very strong, really. And I hadn’t been expecting it. Instead I’d been looking for . . . what? Oh, yes. A hiding place.
    I scanned the room around me. No one was behind the furnace or lurking at one end of the storage lockers. I searched the concrete floor, looking for a weapon. There was nothing—no wrench, no pipe, no piece of wood—that could’ve done the damage to this man’s head.
    The furnace kicked on with a loud rumble. I jerked my head toward it, then got to my feet, stumbling over the paper sack I’d been carrying. Snatching it up, I went to the stairs and glanced back at the dead man. Nothing to do for him now. Nothing but call the police.
    My limbs felt cold and heavy as I climbed the stairs and went into the hall. Should I knock on one of these doors? I wondered. No, mustn’t alarm the residents. The lobby—there’s a pay phone.
    I ran down the hall and into the lobby. Carolyn Bui stood by the desk, looking up at the Christmas tree. She turned as I came in, and her hand flew to her mouth when she saw my face.
    “Sharon,” she said, “what’s wrong?”
    I shook my head and glanced over at the pay phone in the corner. It seemed impossible to locate a coin in my bag, much less remember the number for Homicide.
    “Sharon—”
    “Give me a couple of dimes.”
    “But what—”
    “Some dimes! Please.”
    Carolyn reached into her purse and extracted the coins. I took them in icy fingers and went to the phone. She followed, pressing closer to me than I would have liked. I could feel her body stiffen as I gave the facts to the Homicide inspector who caught my call.
    When I hung up, I turned to face Carolyn. Her eyes glittered, unnaturally large in the dim light. “When did this happen?” she asked.
    “I don’t know. Not long ago. He’s still warm.”
    “Who is he?”
    “I don’t