by C. S. Poe
I led Tillman across the hall of the second floor and up another set of stairs. When we reached the landing of the third floor, I walked over to the closet.
The skeleton was gone.
Chapter Two
DETECTIVE TILLMAN raised an eyebrow.
“Wait! It was right here. How did…?” I stepped into the cramped closet and turned a full circle. “I don’t understand. It was here. See, this little nook,” I protested as I pointed to the empty space inside the wall.
“I see,” Tillman said in a so very unimpressed tone.
“I’m not joking! As soon as I found it, I immediately ran outside. The house was locked—you saw yourself. No one went in or out until you got here.”
“With Herb watching the front door?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“He’d sleep through a hurricane,” Tillman answered.
I stepped out of the closet and turned to stare into the dark space. “It was here.”
Tillman let out a deep breath. “I’ve heard around that you have narcolepsy, isn’t that right?”
“Excuse me?” I looked at him. “How is that at all relevant?”
“I’ve heard narcolepsy can cause hallucinations.”
“Not hallucinations while I’m fully awake and going about my daily routine,” I argued. I could feel my cheeks getting warm as my blood pressure rose. “It’s called hypnagogic and hypnopompic hallucinations. They happen sometimes when I fall asleep or am just waking.”
“Perhaps you were falling asleep, then?” Tillman suggested.
“I was perfectly awake,” I spat. “And with all due respect, my sleep disorder is none of your business.”
That was true enough. But at the end of the day, Key West was a small town and people knew all sorts of shit about one another. And since I was the property manager to one of the most important historical attractions on the island, basically everyone knew of the dick-loving narcoleptic who drove a pink Vespa. It was inevitable.
Tillman put his hands on his hips. “I’m not sure what you expected to gain by having me sent out here.”
“There was a skeleton!” I shouted, waving my hands at the closet.
“I’d ask you to mind your tone.”
Oh, this was not going to end well if Tillman kept talking to me like I was twelve. Some locals really hated us transplants. Maybe Tillman was one of those guys.
“It was here,” I said again, because what else could I say?
“What would you like me to do?” Tillman asked in a tone I chose to ignore.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have security footage that can be reviewed?”
I looked up. “We have cameras, but they’re trained on specific artifacts in the house. Maybe I can run through them anyway. Perhaps whoever got inside moved into one of the camera’s points of view while looking for the skeleton.”
“Maybe,” Tillman agreed without sounding like he actually agreed at all. “How long was the house locked up?”
“Fifteen minutes? And before that, I got in at six and we opened at a quarter to eight.”
“Why’d you arrive so early?”
“I’m leaving at ten today and taking some time off. I wanted to get work done before that.”
“Going somewhere?” Tillman asked.
“No. My… uh, friend is visiting.”
Tillman gave me a curious expression.
“He’s a friend,” I insisted again, which was only half-true but also not Tillman’s business either.
Tillman sighed and turned to go back down the stairs. “I’ll check the locks on the doors, see if they’ve been tampered with, before doing a walk around the perimeter of the property.”
“And if you find nothing?” I asked, following him down to the second floor.
“Without any evidence of this so-called skeleton in the wall, there isn’t a hell of a lot I can do.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Did you recognize the deceased?” Tillman asked, still walking.
I paused on the last step. “Skeletons don’t typically have faces.”
“Then believe me when I say that if it was really there, no one’s been missing him.”
“Isn’t stealing a body illegal?” I continued, hurrying after Tillman. “And putting them in someone’s wall?”
“Yes,” Tillman said, halfway down to the first floor. “But there’s been no reports of remains dug up from a cemetery, or anything ransacked from Native American grounds nearby.” He waited for me at the bottom. “I have your word alone that it was even here at all.”
“And how is that not good enough?” I asked.
“Mr. Grant,” Tillman said firmly. “I’ll take a look around, and I’ll file a report, but if there was a skeleton here, it’s gone now. So what did it do, climb out the window?”
I STOOD in the dining room that overlooked Whitehead Street.
Not that I actually believed Skelly had reenacted a scene from The Mummy and strolled out on his own, but Tillman’s sarcastic comment gave me a thought. I’d locked the front door, and the back door had never been unlocked for tours by Herb—the lazy shit—so someone, somehow, got in and out while I was calling the police. And what other way than climbing through an unlocked window?
But it couldn’t have been through the dining room, because it was off the front of the house, in full view of the street, now riddled with morning tourists, and Herb in his chair. Granted, he’d proven to not be much of a guard. So, the back of the house, right?
Right.
I walked through the dining room and exited into the hallway. Crossing to the parlor, I climbed over the rope that kept visitors from the disturbing displays. There were two windows that overlooked the back porch and lush garden. This section of property was heavily shaded from view. Between the countless sapodillas that surrounded the grounds and the heliconias, nearly as tall as me with their huge leaves, it was next to impossible to peer into the house or inner gardens from the cross street.
And considering someone was bold enough to sneak inside to steal a fucking skeleton in broad daylight, coming via this end would provide cover. The fact that my mystery intruder knew what I’d found, got to the house, and slipped out with the human remains in under twenty minutes was so disturbing, I didn’t want to focus on those details quite yet.
So, the windows.
Besides my housekeeper needing to dust better, the one on the left looked undisturbed and was securely locked. We didn’t open the windows of the Smith Home. There were no screens, Florida bugs were a bitch, but more importantly, the glass was antique. I’d be a very cranky boss if any were carelessly cracked or broken due to someone closing them too roughly.
I moved to the right window and found the sill had a stray bit of paint on it. I scratched at it in annoyance. “Fucking painters….” They’d finished renovating the downstairs walls two weeks ago. Clearly one of them wasn’t liberal enough with the plastic sheets to protect the original wood finishing. I stood on my toes and checked the latch. Another spot of paint, and this time… a broken lock.
I turned and looked behind me. There was a camera in the room, but it was aimed toward the tête-à-tête seats and a table with several small artifacts placed on it. It would have been a tight maneuver, but someone could keep out of its frame if they wanted to.
How long had this window been unsecure? A day? A week? Since before the painters? Had one of them done this and not told me so they didn’t have to pay for the damage? I couldn’t imagine that it had been broken on purpose….
Maybe I did dream everything this morning. I mean, come on! A skeleton in the house, which someone broke inside to steal? Absurd. This entire morning was absolutely ridiculous.
Tillman tapped on the window from outside, making me yelp and jump. He motioned for me to join him with a finger wag.
I needed a cigarette so bad. Maybe I could smoke one and spray myself with Febreze before Jun got in….
I left th
e parlor and went out the back door.
“You’re mighty jumpy this morning,” Tillman stated.
“Did you find anything?”
Tillman crossed his arms, doing that cop-trying-to-intimidate thing. I knew the pose. Didn’t matter what branch of law enforcement—they all did the same thing. “The locks on your doors don’t show any signs of tampering.”
“What about windows? The lock is broken on this one.” I pointed.
Tillman ignored the question. “The grounds appear clean as well.”
“That’s it, then?”
“If something turns up, the police department will be in touch.”
“I’m going to go through all of our security footage,” I insisted.
“Please do.”
Tillman left my side. He walked down the porch steps and disappeared into the garden as he made for the front gate.
Screw that guy. He was an ass. I swear it was like a prerequisite. Are you a total dickwad? Here’s your gun and badge. But on the other hand, I had a constant hard-on for men in uniform, and it was my own fault. I grew up reading a lot of romance novels, and the cop stories were my favorite. Too bad I never seemed to find the sexy hero with a heart of gold and a naughty idea or two on how to use their handcuffs in real life.
Until Jun.
But I didn’t want to jinx anything, so I knocked on the wooden windowsill behind me for good luck.
“Aubs?”
I looked to my left as Adam came up the porch steps. “Tillman leave?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s a jerk.”
“I don’t think he likes you,” Adam agreed. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” My shoulders slumped. “The skeleton is gone.”
“I didn’t see Tillman with it.”
“No, I mean it vanished.”
“I… don’t think that’s possible.”
“No shit.” I stepped up to the window again and nudged the bottom of the pane.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to break in.”
“There’s a door right beside you.”
I rolled my eyes and looked back at him. “I’m testing a theory.”
“Which is?”
“Not sure.” I grunted and struggled to try to open the window without any of the leverage provided from opening it on the inside. “There’s no way someone could get inside with the doors locked, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Adam agreed.
“But this window? The latch is broken.”
“You think someone climbed in and… stole the skeleton that no one knew existed thirty minutes ago?” Adam slowly asked. “Because that makes very little sense.”
I paused to look at him again. “It makes no sense.”
“Then why are you trying to get the window jimmied open?”
“Because—I know I didn’t dream it,” I insisted. “It was there. In all of its dead, bony glory. And now it isn’t, and it’s bothering me.”
“I think you should be more concerned with what someone wants to do to a dead body that made it worth stealing.”
“Gross, Adam.” I heaved the window hard, and it groaned and squeaked loudly as it went up. I grinned triumphantly and pointed. “See? Look at that.”
Adam got closer, setting a hand on the sill and peering into the parlor. “A big person would have trouble getting inside.”
I nodded and was about to speak, but a wave of exhaustion hit me like a freight train. I reached out for the sill as a groggy fog started to take over. It’s weird, when the sleep attacks come. It’s like falling over in slow motion. There’s usually enough warning to keep myself from getting hurt, but it’s helpful when someone is nearby. I’d fallen asleep for only a moment, but woke to Adam holding me in a standing position, my weight of little concern to him.
“…hate it when you just topple over,” he was saying.
“Huh?”
“You awake?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Sometimes micronaps were a few minutes, sometimes only a few seconds. And I couldn’t predict when they’d hit. I wiggled free from his hold after a beat, patting Adam’s arm. “Thanks for that.”
“It’s why you pay me fourteen an hour.”
I snorted and looked back at the open window. Now what was I… oh right! I leaned my head inside, looking around the floor. “No footprints or anything, and nothing was disturbed but a bit of dust.” I moved back and swung a leg through the open window. I ducked my head in and did an uncoordinated ballet act to get the rest of me inside. “Ta-da!”
“Very impressive,” Adam said as he gave me a polite golf clap.
I laughed.
“What now, detective?” Adam leaned down to look inside at me.
Good freaking question. I’d proven what exactly? That I had a broken window latch and could get it open from the outside. Not a single thing in the house appeared to be disturbed. Nothing was missing either. Nothing but the skeleton only I had seen.
“Adam?”
“Yup?”
“I’m not… crazy, right?”
He looked contemplative, which, oh my God, rude.
“A little,” he said. “But it’s like the cute, harmless crazy.”
“What!”
Adam held his hands up in defense. “You dated an FBI agent once. I think that’s fairly nuts.”
“So?”
“So, aren’t you dating his partner now?”
“We’re not dating. We’re still performing some weird mating ritual. And Jun doesn’t work with Matt anymore.”
Adam shrugged. “To each his own.”
I’D FALLEN asleep three times scrolling through the home’s security footage. It was boring as hell to say the least, but it was also a passive activity—my worst enemy. Watching television, reading, highway driving—they were all too relaxing to keep me engaged for any reasonable amount of time. I’d nearly flunked out of college because I wasn’t able to stay awake during class and hadn’t been correctly diagnosed as narcoleptic until I was twenty-three. So my professors had all thought I was lazy and unmotivated. What could I say in return to that?
That diagnosis was a blessing, because at least now I knew what was up.
I had to constantly be active and focused, otherwise the overwhelming desire to sleep took hold. Sometimes I could fight it, but usually not. It sucked when a micronap hit while I was in the middle of a conversation. Or eating. (In my defense, salads were boring.) Or repetitive chores—like washing dishes—which I kept doing even as I fell asleep. I’d broken so many dishes over the years due to automatic behavior, nothing matched anymore. But at this point, I’d learned to embrace my cupboards of eclectic, mismatching cups and plates.
It was difficult to explain what being narcoleptic felt like, other than my life was a constant state of extreme sleep deprivation. But I was coping. Considering I experienced all of the narcoleptic symptoms, from daytime sleepiness to sleep paralysis, I think I was doing a pretty decent job. It still sucked, but hey, could be worse. And at least I had a fancy medical bracelet that said NARCOLEPSY so those times I’d passed out alone in a public place, no one thought I’d had a heart attack or overdosed or… you know, something equally awful.
I groaned and scrubbed my face hard. A few more minutes of this and I’d be asleep on my keyboard again. It was taking forever because I’d decided to watch more than just this morning. What if someone had… hidden in the house overnight or something? I wanted to cover all my bases, even though so far no one but tourists had come into the view of cameras.
The beep, boop, beep of an incoming Skype call caught my attention, and I dragged my hands from my face. My webcam turned on and my trouble-prone antiquing friend, Sebastian Snow, popped on the screen. We’d known each other from back in the day, when I still worked in a New York pawnshop and he was only daydreaming about his own business. Now he ran a cool, albeit bizarre, shop in the East Village and was doing quite well for himself.
“Hey, cutie,”
I said. “You saved my life.”
“I did?” Sebastian asked.
“Sure. I’ve been going through mind-numbingly boring security footage. You’re looking great.” That wasn’t a lie. Sebastian had never been my type, but since he started seeing that new boyfriend of his, I’d noticed he looked healthier the last few times we’d talked business. And happier. He glowed, I guess. “Is that a blue shirt?”
Sebastian looked down briefly. “So I’m told. Why are you watching security footage?”
“What? No, Aubrey, you’re looking dashing as well?”
“You look dashing,” he replied. “What footage?”
“You’ve got a sick obsession.”
Sebastian adjusted his glasses. “This sort of stuff sticks to me like shit on shoe treads.”
“Now there’s some imagery.”
“Is everything okay down there?”
I frowned and leaned to the side to open a filing cabinet. “Not sure.” I reached into the very back and retrieved a hidden pack of cigarettes. I straightened in the chair, looked at the computer screen, and pulled a stick free from the crumpled packaging. “You’ve got to promise not to look at me like I’m a crazy person.”
“All right.”
I put the cigarette between my lips but resisted lighting it. Just the motion and feel of it was almost satisfying enough. “This morning,” I mumbled. “I was in the closet—”
Sebastian grinned.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was in the closet, getting ready to remove some wallpaper in the historical home. I found a false wall.”
He perked up and leaned closer to the screen. God, he needed some new hobbies.
“And, uh… a skeleton—”
“Skeleton?” Sebastian protested over me.
I shushed him, as if it really mattered. “A skeleton was there. I swear to God, I saw it. It scared the piss out of me.”
Sebastian raised his hands out, palms up. “And?”
“And—what?”
“You found a skeleton. What did you do with it?”
“You’re way too calm about this,” I said, removing the cigarette from my mouth. “I called the police. A detective showed up, I brought him upstairs, and it was gone.”
