Agnes Hahn

by RICHARD SATTERLIE

  A metallic jolt and a rough, sliding sound broke through Jason’s confusion. His mind cleared almost instantly. Someone was trying to push open the window. The lock was nonfunctional, but a wooden dowel placed in the window slide did its job.

  The sodium vapor lamp across the parking lot cast the culprit’s shadow on the unlined drapes. Jason’s flinch drew the covers into a ball around his knees as he pulled them tight to his chest. His heart galloped.

  Was it a he, or a she? The shadow wore a baseball hat, pulled low. But the silhouette was short. Maybe. The angle of the lamp would shorten anyone who stood more than a few inches from the window.

  The window frame jammed into the dowel again. He swiveled his feet to the floor. The screen had to be removed, or cut, to get to the window.

  The shadow moved across the window, toward the door, and Jason launched himself out of the bed. He couldn’t get his breath. He scanned the room for something solid to fend off the attacker, but the only thing he could find was his laptop. The hard drive contained the better part of the last three years of his life. He hesitated, wondering if he could actually bring it down on the shadow’s head. His digital life for his organic life.

  Holding the computer over his head, he slid behind the hinge side of the door. He tried to subdue his breathing, but gave up. The doorknob turned, slowly. It caught on the lock. It turned again, this time harder, but once again the lock held. A third twist was accompanied by a muffled bump against the door, which groaned its resistance.

  Jason slid the computer under his arm. As the knob turned a fourth time, he slammed his fist into the door as hard as he could. The thump echoed through the room and rattled the door on its hinges.

  He watched the shadow hurry across the window, hunched over in a shuffling run. He stepped to the drapes and pulled the corner out a few inches, but he could see only a short length of sidewalk. The room fell silent.

  Should he call the police? It probably wasn’t the best idea. The attempted intrusion would raise more questions. There was so much he hadn’t told Detective Bransome about Agnes and Ella. And Eddie. In fact, Bransome didn’t even know about Eddie, and Jason didn’t feel like telling what he knew just yet. Besides, what could Bransome do about an attempted break-in? It might be unrelated to the Hahn case. The shadow could have been a crackhead looking to bankroll his habit. This wasn’t the Hilton.

  Sleep was impossible, so he opened the laptop and pushed the power button. It was one of the faster models, but it still took a few minutes to boot through the operating system and security programs. He reached over and unplugged the phone from the wall jack. He wasn’t in the mood for any more crank calls.

  The cell phone seemed safe. Or was it? He grabbed it and put his finger on the off button. The screen caught his attention. A voice message? He hadn’t heard the ring—some obnoxious classical tune that grated on him. Perfect at grabbing his attention.

  His finger hovered. He didn’t recognize the number. He looked over at the window, the dowel. Someone was toying with him. Was this part of it?

  The cell phone was his one secure means of communication. Was secure, or was still secure? His mind oscillated. Erase it. See what it says. Don’t give in. It might be important. The button beeped under his finger. He hit the speaker button.

  “Hey, little brother. I got something on your man. The Trent dude. He changed his name two years ago. Get this. Legally. I haven’t been able to get the details, though. Don’t know the original name. I can’t get into the system. They must’ve closed the back door on me. I’m amped about finding another doorway, but I’m having a little problem with a virus at the moment. Imagine that. Bit by my own pet. Anyway, I’ll keep plugging as soon as I clean out my hard drive. Oh yeah. His social security number starts with 557, so he’s a California boy, at least originally. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days. Whoever sent this bug is a clever bastard. I hate clever people. Before I go, can I have another fifty? Don’t worry. I’m clean. Later, little brother.”

  CHAPTER 23

  JASON PAUSED ON AGNES’S FRONT PORCH. WHERE HAD the day gone? The light of day had given him courage to sleep, and he almost missed all three meals, including this one. A stomach growl complained about his lapse.

  He reached to push the doorbell and a loud click came from behind the door. It sounded like a cocking gun. He crouched, ready to hit the deck.

  Another click.

  He took a step to the side, out of a direct line with the doorway, still in a crouch.

  The latch shuddered. One last click and it opened.

  A dead bolt, not a gun. Great name for a lock. Jason straightened and stepped into the doorway, wishing he could kick himself for being such an idiot.

  The slow, wide swing of the door revealed a beautiful woman in a fitted dress. A vision.

  It was Agnes. He blinked to see if it was some kind of hallucination. Agnes? His eyes widened. His reversed sleep cycle and recent stressful experience would allow it.

  It didn’t look like Agnes. It did, but it didn’t. The neckline of her dress plunged to show cleavage, which was pushed upward and inward for emphasis. His eyes stopped at her chest.

  Agnes crossed her arms, effectively blocking the show. She looked at the ground, but a small smile parted her lips.

  He saw hints of eyeliner before her hair swept forward, partially covering both of her eyes. Same Agnes, but in a different package. For the first time, her gender elbowed past her role in the investigation.

  “Wow. You look nice. All the flannels in the wash?”

  She didn’t laugh with him, but her smile remained. She stepped back from the door.

  He followed her through the living room into the dining room, and noticed her hands didn’t drop until she had her back to him. Her gait wasn’t exactly fluid, but it wasn’t mechanical either. His eyes locked onto her butt. The dress clung to her hips, showing a shapely derriere. He didn’t know how he’d missed it before.

  Agnes turned quickly to face him, her hands back over her cleavage. “Please, sit down.” She left the room before he could comply.

  His mind hit Mach 2. Was it really Agnes? Or was it Lilin? He pictured Agnes, bound and gagged in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Was he Lilin’s next victim? His mind danced in zigzags. Who had been calling him, and who tried to get into his room last night? Twins almost always had subtle differences in their appearances, sometimes more than subtle. She looked like Agnes, and definitely acted like Agnes. But she was wearing perfume, a bold, come-here rather than stay-away scent. If it was Lilin, would he be able to tell?

  Jason sat on the edge of the seat and scanned the room. The nearest escape was the front door, unless he wanted to dive out a window. He shook his head. She was so small. But he would keep the table between them anyway.

  Agnes crept back into the room carrying an envelope, pinched at the corner with her thumb and forefinger. Her other arm crossed her chest, her fingertips resting lightly on the top of her shoulder. She walked to the end of the table and slid the letter on the polished wood.

  Jason stood and inched back a step.

  “This came in yesterday’s mail. It was mailed from here, in Mendocino.” The envelope hadn’t been opened.

  He stepped forward to examine the envelope. The address was handwritten in a sloppy hand with a distinct shake. “Looks like a man wrote it.”

  Agnes shrugged.

  “You should open it.”

  She disappeared again, but came back in a less than a minute, a silver knife-like letter opener gripped in her free hand.

  He flexed his knees, prepared to lunge.

  Agnes stepped toward him.

  Lower. Ready.

  She pivoted and grabbed the envelope from the table. With three quick wrist flicks, she threaded the opener under the envelope flap and slit the envelope from side to side. Shaking hands pulled out the single sheet of paper and spread it on the table. The letter opener dropped beside it. Her arm crossed her chest again.

&
nbsp; Jason leaned on the table, trying to regain his breath, then pushed the opener out of reach. The few lines of the letter were hard to read. Agnes leaned close, keeping her arm in position.

  STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. STAY AWAY

  FROM ELLA. LEAVE FAMILY ALONE. STOP

  SEEING THAT MAN. OR ELSE YOU’LL BE NEXT.

  Jason straightened up and looked at Agnes. Her eyes were on the letter, and her palms were flat on the table. He looked past the clear view of her cleavage to her face. Her expression showed more than fear. But what was the additional component? Understanding? Resignation?

  Agnes’s inhalation wavered. “Who’s doing this?”

  Good question. Eddie was a good bet, but it could be Lilin, too. “I don’t know.”

  “Why would they want to hurt me?”

  “They?”

  A faint grin turned the corners of Agnes’s mouth, but her eyebrows canted downward in a scowl. She stomped out of the room.

  Jason glanced back at the letter, and his head spun. The look on her face—it scared him, but he didn’t know why. He looked up. What was she doing in the kitchen? The closest window had a slide lock on top of the lower sash. And the path to the front door was clear.

  The lights flickered overhead. He felt his heart rate hit red line. He turned, ready to bolt.

  The door from the kitchen creaked. Instead of a weapon, Agnes held a pair of Ziploc baggies. She extended her arm. “Here. We should bag these for the police.”

  “What’s with the lights?” His voice cracked.

  “Oh, that. The wiring in this place is really old. They do that every time the refrigerator cycles on.”

  He looked up at the chandelier and blew out a breath. “You should get that fixed.”

  “They’d have to rewire the whole place.”

  He took the baggies and held one open while she pinched the letter at the extreme corner and slid it into the bag. No breast protection this time. They did the same with the envelope.

  “Should we call the detective?” she said.

  Jason didn’t feel like answering Bransome’s questions in front of her. “I’ll drop them by the police station on my way back to the motel.” He reached for the baggies.

  “What about supper? I worked hard on it.”

  Eating fell somewhere between a dentist appointment and an IRS audit at the moment, but in the time it took Agnes to fetch the baggies, her demeanor had sagged. She obviously had spent a lot of time on her appearance, and the smells that wafted from the kitchen rivaled those coming from her body in terms of raw, visceral draw. The mention of food leapfrogged that aroma past her perfume in his sensory hierarchy.

  Her lower lip quivered.

  He couldn’t hurt her right now. “Can I help?”

  “No. Sit down. I have a cart.” Calm returned to her face. “I’ve already dished it up.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared a moment later, pushing a squeaky-wheeled serving cart. She slid a heaping plate in front of him and placed another, half-full, at her place setting.

  The smells from his plate not only registered, they stimulated a twinge of hunger, but only a twinge. He watched her spoon gravy over the sliced beef roast and the mashed potatoes nestled in a half-potato skin. “The gravy smells great.”

  “It has bacon in it. It was one of Gert’s favorites.”

  “Agnes, you said, ‘why would they want to hurt me.’ Who did you mean by ‘they'?”

  She took a large mouthful of meat and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Do you know anyone besides Lilin who’s involved in this?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you say, ‘they'?”

  “I don’t know. I guess because the handwriting on this letter is so different. That’s not Lilin’s writing.” She barely paused. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  The meat offered little resistance to his knife, and as soon as the gravy hit his tongue he cut another piece. “Are you sure you don’t know anything about your family that you haven’t mentioned to me?”

  “I only know what Gert told me.”

  “You don’t know anything about Eddie Hahn?”

  “No. I’d never heard of him before you mentioned him.”

  “Why do you think Gert and Ella didn’t tell you about him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He’s their brother, and your grandfather.” He paused, and decided to go no further. “Why wouldn’t they say something?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Does it?”

  “Nothing makes sense to me, and now it’s all happening here.” Her eyes stared, like they were defocusing.

  Jason had seen the look before, on his brother’s face, when the two of them had to ask for their baseball back from the reclusive neighbor, Mr. Sillar, and ‘fess up to breaking his window.

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “The murders are getting close. Mendocino’s next.” She looked up at him. “Is she going to kill me? Is that what she wants? I’m her sister.” Tears filled her eyes, but they didn’t release.

  “The police are always right outside. I don’t think she’d try anything with them there.”

  “Yeah? They didn’t see her drop off the package.”

  Jason jerked forward. “What package?”

  “These clothes. And makeup.” Agnes folded her arms across her chest. “Lilin bought them and left them in a box on the back porch.”

  Lilin? “How do you know it was Lilin?”

  “There was a note.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “What did you do with the note? And the box?”

  “I threw them away.”

  “Why?” It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like her. “They were evidence.”

  “They didn’t have anything to do with the murders.”

  “Everything has to do with the murders now. What did the note say?”

  “Nothing. Just, here are some clothes. I guess she doesn’t like the way I dress.”

  He glanced around at the windows, then back at Agnes. “She’s seen you?” And she’s been here?

  Agnes pushed back her chair and placed her dish on the cart. “You didn’t finish it.”

  “You gave me enough for two men. Besides, I’m a little worried here. I’m worried about you.” Worried about me.

  She paused, and he thought he saw the hint of a smile.

  She reached for his plate, making no attempt to shield her cleavage. “I still want to find her. I need to talk to her.”

  “But what if she really is after you?” And me.

  “That’s why I need to talk to her.”

  Agnes wheeled the cart back into the kitchen, and Jason pulled the baggie containing the letter in front of him. Whoever wrote it had a pretty bad case of the shakes. The way the pen left a small blob of ink when applied to the paper, and when removed at the ends of words, suggested a herky-jerky lack of coordination. He’d seen this kind of writing before—in his grandfather’s letters.

  Agnes returned holding a tray with two cups of tea. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to make dessert.”

  “You did enough with the supper. It was fantastic. Thank you. I haven’t had a meal like that in a long time.” Ever since his fiancée had stomped out of his life, into the arms of that deadbeat who called himself a writer. Jason wished he had a dollar for every resident of Sausalito who claimed to be halfway through the next best-selling novel.

  He regarded the cup of tea on the tray and his mind wandered back. What if she really was Lilin? She wouldn’t know about the sugar. He scanned the path to the front door again and slid his chair back a few inches. He thought about the phone calls and the person who tried to break into his room.

  Agnes pushed the cup and saucer across the table. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m just freaked out about the letter.”

  “Me, too.”


  He studied her expression, but he couldn’t read it. Was it the makeup? He tried to steady his hand, but the cup chattered against the saucer when he raised it. It brought her eyes up to his. He slid forward a little so his back was away from the chair, ready to spring if he had to. The cup touched his lips and he turned slightly toward the front door. A small stream of hot liquid crossed his lips. It was sweet. He leaned back in the chair and exhaled.

  “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep last night.” His face felt hot. From the tea? “I was up late working on a story.”

  “Maybe you should get the letter over to the police station, and then get some rest.”

  “Will you be all right?”

  “If Lilin comes here, if she gets past the police, I’ll get what I’ve wanted. I’ll get to talk to her.”

  “But what if she wants to hurt you?”

  “She didn’t write that letter.”

  He finished the tea and pulled the other baggie to him. “I guess I’d better go. As long as I know you’ll be all right.”

  “I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”

  Strange. Her smile and soft eyes assured him.

  She walked him to the front door and held it open, leaning into it. Her free arm crossed her chest, blocking the view.

  “Thank you for a lovely supper.” He swept his right hand down in front of her. “And you look beautiful.”

  She straightened and let go of the door. “Do you like the clothes?”

  “Lilin has good taste, but she obviously doesn’t know you. I say keep the look, but go with something a little less revealing.” He drew a V with his forefingers from his neck to his chest. “I don’t think you’re very comfortable with the neckline, although it’s very chic.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides and smiled, showing teeth.

  He reached for her left hand and pulled it upward to his mouth. A soft kiss and it was released. “Thank you again. If you need anything, call me. And don’t worry about the time. Remember, someone will be in the car across the street.”