Sydney heaved a sigh of relief. She suddenly felt so depleted and woozy she thought she might faint. But she clung to the banister.
"Are you all right?" Kyle whispered to her. "How's your back? Did you pull anything?" He was referring to her old injury.
Catching her breath, Sydney nodded. "I think I'm okay," she murmured.
Eli took hold of her arm and helped her climb back onto the other side of the railing. Kyle threw his arms around both of them. Everyone on the rooftop broke into applause--as did people on the roof across the way.
"Okay, next on Fear Factor," Kyle announced. "Sydney and Eli are going to wrestle with killer cheetahs! Stay tuned!"
The guests laughed. Some continued clapping. Howard declared he needed a drink.
Sydney's heart was still pounding furiously. With one arm around Eli, she waved at the people on the roof across the way. They were applauding, too. No one was looking at the fireworks pageant's big finale.
Nor was anyone looking toward the rooftop of another nearby condominium, where a man stood alone with his arms folded. The building's windows were all boarded up, and except for that lone man, the place looked deserted--and ready for demolition.
Unsmiling, the dark stranger watched Sydney wave and blow a kiss to the people on the rooftop next door.
She didn't look over toward him. Obviously, all this time, she hadn't noticed him there.
No one had.
CHAPTER FIVE
"No, really, I'd like to know," Sydney said, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Be honest. What the hell were you thinking?"
Slouched in the passenger seat, Eli stared at the dashboard and said nothing. His lower lip was a bit swollen from biting it too hard earlier tonight. Headlights from an oncoming car briefly illuminated his face, and then he was in the shadows again.
Their lane wasn't moving at all, total gridlock. Kyle had been right. The post-fireworks traffic was a nightmare. But Sydney had been so upset at Eli for pulling that stunt, she couldn't stick around the party and make small talk with people. So they'd bid everyone a hasty good-bye about ten minutes after the fireworks show had ended.
Sydney had the car window open, but there wasn't much of a night breeze. Still, whenever some idiot within four blocks let off a firecracker, she heard it--loud and clear. Though that happened about every two minutes, it still startled her and made her flinch every time. Her nerves were so frayed. "Look at me, I'm still shaking, for God's sake," she said, letting go of the wheel for a moment to show him her tremorafflicted hands. "Were you trying to give me a heart attack back there?"
"I said I was sorry," he muttered.
'So what exactly were you trying to do?" Sydney pressed, grabbing hold of the wheel again. Traffic started to move--at a crawl. "And please, don't give me that 'I was leaning over too far and slipped' excuse you gave everyone at the party, because I'm not buying it, kiddo. If you'd really slipped, you'd have yelled. But you didn't. You deliberately climbed over the other side of the railing. Why? And how did you get down to the storm drain?"
Frowning, Eli turned and gazed out his window. He sighed.
Sydney waited for an explanation. She wasn't sure if he'd lowered himself down to that storm drain for some attention or for a dumb thrill. She knew he'd been bored at the party. Perhaps all of Kyle's guests fawning over her had made him feel insignificant--and angry at her. Or maybe he was still upset at her for tearing him away from his home, his father, and his friends in Chicago five weeks ago. He certainly hadn't asked to be relocated to Seattle. And he still had no idea why she'd suddenly decided to leave his dad, a well-respected Chicago cop and all-around terrific guy.
Sydney couldn't tell him why she'd done that, not until Eli was older. If he knew the truth right now, it would wreck him. And the poor kid was already miserable and confused enough.
"Well?" she said, her tone softening. "C'mon, Eli, tell me why you did that, and I'll try to understand. Were you mad at me?"
He shook his head, and then shrugged. "Remember last Friday night, when we went over to Uncle Kyle's and ordered pizza and watched that old movie?"
"North by Northwest?" she asked. Eli had said he'd had a great time that night. She didn't understand why tonight he wanted to act out some hostility toward her--or Kyle--for an evening he seemed to have genuinely enjoyed.
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Anyway, while we were on the roof, I started wondering what it was like to hang off that cliff on Mount Rushmore. So when nobody was looking, I climbed over the railing and lowered myself down--and I guess it was really stupid of me..."
Sydney took her eyes off the road to squint at him for a moment. "Let me get this straight," she said. "You decided to hang from that storm drain so you could feel like Eva Marie Saint in North by Northwest?"
"I guess," he muttered, shrugging.
Sydney resisted all temptation to ask, Are you out of your fucking mind?
She had to remind herself that Eli was an adolescent, and always pushing the envelope. He never walked up or down stairs. He ran--or jumped from one landing to another. It didn't matter how much noise he made or the potential hazards of breaking something--an ankle, leg, or even his neck. If he could leap over something, he leapt over it, and if he could dangle from something, he dangled from it.
His dad knew that about him. It was times like this she really missed her husband. Joe understood Eli. He related to him in a way she never could. She'd foolishly hoped to be both father and mother to Eli here in Seattle, but too often, Sydney realized she was out of her league.
For the rest of the long ride home, she quietly lectured Eli about how he could have gotten himself killed--or gotten her killed. And if someone else at the party had tried to save him, they could have gotten killed. By the time Sydney pulled into the driveway of their apartment complex, Eli was silent and looking miserable.
Wordlessly, he reached up to the sun visor on his side and pressed the automatic opener device.
Sydney stopped the car and waited for the wrought-iron gate to slide open. They lived in Seattle's Madison Park in a charming two-story Tudor town house on Lake Washington. It was part of a group of town houses called Tudor Court. Narrow stone pathways separated all the units. Practically everyone had flower boxes outside their windows, and the blossoms were at their peak this time of year. The pathways--like the driveway--were gated "to keep out the riff-raff," as Kyle had once remarked, tongue in cheek. The public beach was only half a block away, and there was a lot of foot traffic in the area, especially in the summertime.
While the gate took its sweet time opening, Sydney glanced at her woeful son again. "Well, anyway, you're okay, and everyone survived," she sighed. "It's not the end of the world. Just don't do it again, honey. Okay?"
"Okay, Mom," he muttered. "I--I'll call Uncle Kyle in the morning and tell him I'm sorry."
Smiling, she reached over and gently patted his shoulder for a moment. Then she straightened up behind the wheel and steered the car into their parking spot--a sheltered alcove without a door. There were four more individual parking stalls on this side of the driveway and five more on the other side.
They climbed out of the car, then started down the stone pathway to their town house. It was a balmy, star-filled night. They could hear people screaming and laughing on the beach down the block. There was an occasional pop from a firecracker. "Oh, swell," Sydney muttered, the keys in her hand. "I'm really looking forward to listening to that all night long."
She stopped dead at the front door. It was open a crack.
"Eli, did you lock the door when we left for Uncle Kyle's?" she whispered, hesitating on the front stoop. When they'd gotten into the car earlier tonight, he'd suddenly remembered a DVD he'd wanted to return to his uncle, so Eli had run back inside at the last minute.
"Of course, I locked it." He was staring at the door, too. "God, you think somebody broke in?"
Sydney took a deep breath, then slowly pushed open the door. It yawned and creaked.
The front hallway was dark. She couldn't see anything yet--just shadows.
"I'm almost positive I locked it," Eli said. "And I know I left the light on--"
Sydney shushed her son, then wedged herself in front of him. Stepping inside, she nervously felt around for the light switch on the wall. She was shaking again. Someone on the street nearby let off a firecracker, and for a second, her heart seemed to stop. At last, she found the light switch and turned on the hall light.
No one was in the living room. Sydney carefully studied the built-in bookcases and the fireplace mantel. When she'd left Joe, she'd taken some old family knickknacks with her. It was the kind of stuff that would go for a small fortune at an antique store. Everything was still there. Nothing had been disturbed.
Still standing in the foyer, she gazed up the stairs, but could only see as far as the landing. Sydney reached over to the wall near the bottom of the stairs and flicked the switch to the upstairs hallway. She didn't see any shadows moving. There were no footsteps, no floorboards creaking above them. Straight ahead was the coved entrance to the kitchen. The light was off in there. Sydney could hear the refrigerator humming.
She moved into the living room. Behind her, Eli opened the coat closet. He pulled out an umbrella and held it as if it were a club. He headed toward the kitchen.
"Honey, wait," Sydney whispered. She turned on a lamp in the living room, then peeked past the alcove entry to the dining room. She flicked the switch to the small chandelier over the dinner table. There was an old, built-in, dark wood breakfront with more family antiques--with several sterling-silver items among them. Nothing had been touched.
One the other side of the room, the louvered door to the kitchen was closed. They always kept that door open. Through the slats, she saw the light go on.
"Oh, Jeez," she heard Eli murmur. "Mom? Mom, you--ah--you better come in here..."
Scurrying around the table, she pushed open the louvered door.
With the umbrella still clutched in his hands, Eli stood near the kitchen counter. He gaped at her, then looked down at the shards of porcelain on the slate-pattern linoleum floor. Sydney recognized the floral design on the bits of porcelain. It was her teapot, a wedding gift from her favorite aunt. The thing had been chipped and, on the inside, tea-stained despite lots of scrubbings. Still, Sydney had used it every day for the last fourteen years. She'd left it on the dry rack by the sink this morning. Now it was shattered. Some of the porcelain shards had scattered to the far corner of the kitchen, where Sydney had a tall, glass-top cafe table and a pair of stools. Beside it was a framed poster from the 1994 Winter Olympic Games in Lillehammer, signed by the entire U.S. figure-skating team. It was probably worth a pretty penny to some collector. But it hadn't been touched.
Sydney stared down at the broken teapot. "Did you--" she started to ask her son.
As if reading her mind, he shook his head. "No, Mom. I didn't touch it, I swear."
Behind him, a cupboard door was open. A box from the shelf lay on its side, and its contents had spilt onto the counter below. Sydney could see it was a box of Minute Rice. A few grains still trickled from the box's side spout onto the pile of rice that had formed on the green Formica counter. "What in God's name..." she murmured.
Sydney turned and gazed down the hallway at the back door. It was closed, and the chain-lock set. She poked her head into the powder room, to the left of the back entrance. "Eli, honey, you forgot to flush--and you left the seat up. That's not like you."
"What?" he called.
"Never mind," she said, flushing the toilet and lowering the seat.
Across the hall was a kitchen pantry, which she'd converted into her office. Though the quarters were cramped and a bit claustrophobic, the office had a window with a beautiful view of the lake. If there was anything worth stealing in the house, it was in this room: cameras--both video and still, some sound equipment, a laptop, a fax machine, an iPod station, and a computer with a wide-screen monitor. All of it was still there.
It didn't make sense that only two things--both in the kitchen--had been disturbed.
"Think he's hiding upstairs?" Eli whispered. He still had the umbrella--ready to clobber someone.
They crept up the stairs together and checked her bedroom, Eli's bedroom, and the bathroom. They even peeked in the closets and under the beds.
"Are you sure you didn't leave the door open?" Sydney asked Eli. She kept thinking a squirrel must have gotten in and made that mess in the kitchen.
"I'm positive," Eli said. "I remember jiggling the knob to make sure it was locked."
Sydney called 9-1-1 from the phone in her bedroom. She counted four ring tones, and no answer. All the while, Eli stared at her. He still had the umbrella ready.
She had a spectacular view of the lake from here. She could hear people still laughing and screaming on the beach. A few firecrackers went off. It suddenly occurred to Sydney why it was taking so long to get an answer from the police. It was July Fourth, probably one of their busiest nights of the year. She remembered how much Joe hated having to work on the Fourth of July.
"Seattle Police, 9-1-1," the operator finally answered.
"Yes, hello," Sydney said to the woman on the phone. "Um, I think someone tried to break into my house tonight. My son and I came home and found the front door open. A couple of items in the kitchen were disturbed, but nothing else. I don't think anything was stolen."
"Is the intruder in the house right now?" the 9-1-1 operator asked.
"No. We've checked every room and every closet. I'm fairly certain my son and I are alone." Sydney glanced at Eli again.
Standing by her bed, he still had that stupid umbrella clutched in his hands as if it were a saber. Sydney covered the phone's mouthpiece for a second. "Honey, you can put that down now, okay? You don't need it."
"Are you reporting a robbery?" the operator asked briskly.
"It's more like an attempted break-in," Sydney said. "I'm not sure if--"
"Was there any property damage?"
"Um, just a teapot that got broken in the kitchen," Sydney explained, feeling silly. "And a box of food was tipped over--"
"Was there any damage to the property?" the woman cut in, sounding impatient.
"You mean like the lock on the front door? No. No, they didn't do any damage to the house, at least nothing we've noticed so far. We've only--"
"Name please?" the operator interrupted.
"Sydney Jordan." She kept thinking--on this busy 9-1-1 night, she was probably wasting their time with her call about this botched burglary attempt--if that was even what it had been. Despite Eli's insistence that he'd shut and locked the front door earlier, she couldn't totally trust him tonight--not after what he'd pulled at Kyle's place. In all likelihood, he'd accidentally left the door open, and something had gotten in the house.
"Could you verify your address for me?" she heard the operator ask.
"One minute, please," Sydney said. Then she covered the mouthpiece again. "Eli, could you switch off the lights in your bedroom and in your closet? Our electric bill's going to be enormous." She didn't want him hearing what she'd decided to tell the operator. As soon as he left the room, Sydney got back on the phone. "Sorry. Listen, I--I don't want to report anything. But if you could send a patrol car to check for any suspicious activity around the Tudor Court Apartments on Forty-first Street, I'd appreciate it."
She figured if someone had actually broken into their house and he was still around, a police presence might discourage him from trying again tonight.
"We'll check it out," said the woman on the phone.
"Thanks very--" Sydney fell silent at the sound of a click on the other end of the line. She realized she was talking to no one. Sighing, she hung up the phone.
She worked up a smile for Eli, who now stood in her doorway. At least he'd stopped brandishing the umbrella as if it were a weapon. Now he held it as if it were a walking stick. "They're sending a patrol car to check out the general ar
ea," Sydney said, moving to her dresser. "If someone did try to break in, I doubt he'll be back. I think we're okay, honey."
"It's weird nothing got stolen," Eli said, squinting at her. "Do you think it was our ghost?"
From the dresser drawer, Sydney pulled out a pair of long pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. She rolled her eyes. "You blame that ghost for everything."
"Well, something was screwing around in the kitchen," Eli said. "Think we got rats? I mean, after all, we're right on the water. They say rats like the water."
"I'd rather it be the ghost. Let's go back to that one." Her nightclothes slung over her shoulder, Sydney paused in front of him. "Move it, buddy."
Eli stopped playing with the umbrella and stepped aside. Sydney patted his shoulder as she brushed past him, then she ducked into the bathroom. She heard the floorboards squeak outside the door. He was retreating toward his bedroom. Sydney shed her sleeveless top and started washing her face.
Their ghost. For Eli, she always tried to shrug it off as an amusing little curiosity.
In truth, there was some kind of other presence in this place. It was why she'd been able to get a six-month lease so cheap. Even with her respectable salary from the network, Sydney couldn't have afforded any of the other apartments in Tudor Court. But this unit was different. Under Washington state law, the property management company was required to tell potential renters about the suicide here in Apartment 9. Sydney didn't get any details, just that a woman had killed herself in the unit about thirty years ago. Sydney used to wonder exactly how the woman had ended her life--and in which room.
Kyle had had misgivings about her moving in there. But Sydney had considered this beautiful, charming place--ready for immediate occupancy--a godsend. She and Eli had been living with Kyle for two very rough, emotional weeks after leaving Chicago. Sydney was eager to get on with their lives and settle in somewhere. And as much as her brother had insisted they were no imposition, Sydney knew they were. Kyle was used to living alone. She slept in his guest room, and Eli had the sofa in the TV room. Half their stuff cluttered up Kyle's immaculate apartment, and the other half was in storage. Sydney figured her brother would urge them to take the first place she didn't hate--just to get his life back to normal. Instead, Kyle was cautious.
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