Clandestine Cover-Up. Pamela Tracy
Читать онлайн книгу.
dark enough inside for the light to make a difference. “This grand old dame has plenty of life in her yet. I’m glad someone’s finally going to do something with her. You know, I’ve never been inside. I always did the outside yardwork while Lydia worked on the inside.”
“This is only my second time seeing the inside. Billy brought me over once, but he needed to catch a plane back to Denver for some family thing, so we didn’t see much.”
“I’m surprised a lawyer wouldn’t demand a closer inspection.”
“Oh,” Tamara said, “I know a bargain when I see one. I can recognize potential, too. Plus, I trust the home inspector.”
“This is probably the oldest building left on Main Street. The bookstore next door is old, but nothing like this.” Vince stood in the middle of the room. A decade of dust shimmered in the air. Windows, curtainless, were so murky the outdoor sun couldn’t find a spot to peek in.
Tamara walked into the center of the room. Her face softened a bit as she looked around. Some of the spooked look went away as she studied her purchase.
The church’s meeting room housed roughly fourteen pews. Seven on each side. Some were broken; the others looked fine except for dust. A table was at the front of the room and a pulpit was right behind it. Both could use a good cleaning, but other than that, everything looked in fine shape.
“As soon as I can, I’m setting up practice. This will be my secretary’s office. I’ll have a couch as well as tables here. I’ll add bookcases. I’ll have a table set up with coffee and the daily newspaper. I’ll put pictures on the wall showing pleased clients.”
“This room’s big enough,” he agreed. “You could almost retexture and build the bookcases right into the walls.”
Knowing he might regret what he was about to do, Vince reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. Then, he withdrew a business card and handed it to her.
She looked at his uniform with Konrad Construction embroidered on his left pocket. Then she looked again at the card. “You work on the side as a handyman and a lawn man?” she asked after looking the card over.
“I started at age ten mowing lawns. Lydia hired me when I was about thirteen. She had me do more than yards. She had me fixing fences and building sheds. We even redid the sidewalk in front of her house one year. I think she’s to blame for my career choice. She’s definitely to blame for my side job.”
“I’ll take this into consideration,” Tamara said, sliding his card into her purse. Stepping over what looked to be a leg from one of the pews, she headed for a door to the right of the front table. It led to an empty room.
“What could this room have been?” she asked.
“It’s probably where the church shared their meals. Maybe it doubled as a classroom.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You attend church?”
“No, but I’ve helped build one. I do know that potlucks are a given and that there’s never enough classroom space.”
As they walked from room to room, he talked about replacing outdated fixtures and the cost of building materials. And with every word, he saw her relaxing a bit.
Maybe by the time they finished the walk-through she’d be willing to call the police.
They found two classrooms. Small chairs were stacked in corners. Chalkboards, warped beyond repair, hung on the walls. Next were two bathrooms. In black paint, someone had printed MEN on one. The smaller bathroom read WOMEN. He opened both doors, but didn’t step in or invite her to look; instead he muttered something about copper pipe and enough space.
She’d wandered away from him around that time. He backed out of the restroom and saw that she was gone. He felt a moment of concern, and then he saw an open door and her footprints in the dust on the stairs.
She’d found the attic.
“This will be my office. This makes the whole venture worthwhile,” she said, looking out the window at Main Street below. She left the window and her steps creaked in the silence.
“Old houses always make noise,” she said. He could see she needed to believe it, needed to forget what was still written in graffiti on the front door.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Look at this desk! It’s huge, it’s mahogany, it’s perfect.” She looked around the room again. “Everything else in the room will have to go. First, those boxes stacked against the wall. Then, what’s that old machine the size of a dishwasher?”
“That’s an old copy machine. I saw one when we took down the old theater. Look at the crank handle. They probably used it to make their bulletins.”
“Amazing,” Tamara muttered. She wasn’t talking about the copy machine. Right now she was looking at a single room full of dust, junk and old furniture. The look in her eyes said she wasn’t seeing any of that, but what the room would look like after she finished with it.
She took one step toward the machine and froze as she heard movement downstairs. Vince tensed, too. Critters weren’t that loud, and people generally knocked when they entered.
Unless, of course, they were the kind of people who would paint a warning sign on a front door or leave a dead mouse.
“Wait here,” he ordered.
Instead she followed him. Because he’d rather have her within reach, he didn’t protest.
Slowly, they went through the building, listening for more noises, slowing when they heard one. As he led her out the front door, he tried not to remember the mouse or wonder who put it there and why.
He closed the front door and stopped, somewhat shielding her from seeing the words written on a piece of paper tacked to the door.
“What are you doing?” she asked, moving closer to see.
YOU BUY YOU DIE.
This time it looked like the sign maker had been in a hurry. The warning was in pencil and whoever had made the sign had been more than angry. In five or six spots, the point of the pencil had gone right through the paper. Not only that, but the words were in bold, dark letters.
“Another warning,” Tamara muttered.
“No,” Vince said. “This time, it’s a promise.”
TWO
Friday night, according to the police dispatcher, was not the best night for nonemergency responses. If Tamara wanted, she could wait a couple of hours for a squad car to show up. Or she could come down to the station and wait for an hour. Or she could wait until tomorrow.
Vince wanted to yank the phone out of her hand and fill the dispatcher in on Tamara’s history with a stalker, especially since it didn’t seem that she had any intention of doing so.
“I’ll arrange to meet with an officer tomorrow,” Tamara said.
As Tamara deposited her cell phone back into her purse, Vince asked, “So, you don’t think it’s important enough to tell them about the stalker?”
For a moment, he thought she’d clam up or tell him it was none of his business.
“There are three possibilities,” she finally said. “One, these warnings weren’t meant for me. That’s my hope. Of course, more realistically, I may need to accept that my past has followed me and William Massey has an accomplice. Or, finally and even worse, I have something new to worry about.”
That was what he’d been thinking. He didn’t know whether to be relieved that she wasn’t in denial about the threats or to be worried that she wasn’t a screaming lunatic about the threats. He started to make a suggestion, but suddenly she was looking at him with the strangest expression.
“You know, it may not be a stalker.