She looked around and realized that she was following a narrow path that snaked through the jungle of crates and boxes. The trail led to the closed door of the old wooden storage locker. A heavy padlock secured the sturdy door.
A very shiny new padlock.
She knew before she even touched it that it would reek of the freak’s spore.
She came to a halt a step away from the locker, held her breath, and put out her hand. The edge of her finger barely grazed the padlock but the shock was nerve-shattering all the same.
Burn, witch, burn.
She sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, damn.”
“Miss Tallentyre?” Doug sounded genuinely alarmed now. “What’s wrong? Are you all right down there?”
She heard his footsteps on the stairs. Evidently her small yelp of pained surprise had activated some latent manly impulse to ride to the rescue. Better late than never.
“I’m all right but there is something very wrong down here.” She fished her cell phone out of her purse. “I’m going to call 911.”
“I don’t understand.” Doug halted on the last step, clutching his briefcase. He peered around and finally spotted her near the storage locker. “Why in the world do you want the police?”
“Because I think this basement is about to become a crime scene.”
The 911 operator came on the line before Doug could recover from the shock.
“Fire or police?” the woman said crisply.
“Police,” she responded, putting all the assurance she could muster into her voice in an effort to make certain the operator took her seriously. “I’m at fourteen Crescent Lane, the Tallentyre house. Tell whoever responds to bring a tool that can cut through a padlock. Hurry.”
The woman refused to be rushed. “What’s wrong, ma’am?”
“I just found a dead body.”
She hung up before the operator could ask any more questions. When she closed the phone she realized that Doug was still standing at the foot of the stairs. His features were partially obscured by the shadows but she was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open. The poor man was obviously starting to realize that there were reasons why the other local real estate agents hadn’t jumped on the Tallentyre listing. He must have heard the rumors about Aunt Vella. Maybe he was starting to wonder if the crazy streak ran in the family. It was a legitimate question.
Doug cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re okay, Miss Tallentyre?”
She gave him the smile she saved for situations like this, the special smile her assistant, Pandora, had labeled her screw you smile.
“No, but what else is new?” she said politely.
THE OFFICER’S NAME WAS BOB FULTON. HE WAS THE HARD -faced, no-nonsense, ex-military type. He came down the basement stairs with a large flashlight and a wicked looking bolt cutter.
“Where’s the body?” he asked, in a voice that said he had seen a number of them.
“I’m not certain there is one,” Raine admitted. “But I think you’d better check that storage locker.”
He looked at her with an expression she recognized immediately. It was the everyone-here-is-a-suspect-until-proven-otherwise expression that Bradley got when he was working a case.
“Who are you?” Fulton asked.
“Raine Tallentyre.”
“Related to the crazy lady, uh, I mean to Vella Tallentyre?”
“Her niece.”
“Mind if I ask what you’re doing here today?”
“I inherited this house,” she said coldly. He’d called Aunt Vella a crazy lady out loud. That meant she no longer had to be polite.
Clearly sensing the mounting tension in the atmosphere, Doug stepped forward. “Doug Spicer, Officer. Spicer Properties. I don’t believe we’ve met. I came here with Miss Tallentyre today to take a listing on the place.”
Fulton nodded. “Heard Vella Tallentyre had passed on. Sorry, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Raine said stiffly. “About that storage locker…”
He studied the padlocked door and then glanced suspiciously at Raine. “What makes you think there’s a body in there?”
She crossed her arms and went into full defense mode. She had known this was going to be difficult. It was so much simpler when Bradley handled this part, shielding her from derision and disbelief.
“Just a feeling,” she said evenly.
Fulton exhaled slowly. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You think you’re psychic, just like your aunt, right?”
She flashed him her special smile.
“My aunt was psychic,” she said.
Fulton’s bushy brows shot up. “Heard she ended up in a psychiatric hospital in Oriana.”
“She did, mostly because no one believed her. Please open the locker, Officer. If it’s empty I will apologize for wasting your time.”
“You understand that if I do find a body in that locker you’re going to have to answer a lot of questions down at the station.”
“Trust me, I am well aware of that.”
He searched her face. For a few seconds she thought he was going to argue further but whatever he saw in her expression silenced him. Without a word he turned to the storage locker and hoisted the bolt cutter.
There was a sharp, metallic crunch when the hasp of the padlock severed. Fulton put down the tool and gripped the flashlight in his left hand. He reached for the latch with gloved fingers.
The door opened on a groan of rusty hinges. Raine stopped breathing, afraid to look and equally afraid not to. She made herself look.
A naked woman lay on the cold concrete floor. The one item of clothing in the vicinity was the heavy leather belt coiled like a snake beside her.
The woman was bound hand and foot. Duct tape sealed her mouth. She appeared to be young, no more than eighteen or nineteen, and painfully thin. Tangled dark hair partially obscured her features.
The only real surprise was that she was still alive.
Silver Master Page 28
