Part 30 (2/2)
It wasn't until the shadows in the kitchen grew long that I realized the house was very quiet. Annabelle was asleep. But hadn't I heard the worker's cell phone ring what felt like only moments before? He'd been talking to someone. Or had he been talking to me?
Quickly, I stepped to the front window. The driveway was empty.
”Come on, Annabelle. We're leaving.” I gathered the wallpaper and placed the rolls in the bag. As I was rooting in my purse for keys, Annabelle leapt up-teeth bared, growling.
”What is it? What's the matter?” I held my breath, my heart beginning to jump.
A moment later, I heard footsteps at the back door. A man's profile appeared at the window.
Too late, I realized the door was unlocked.
The k.n.o.b turned.
Annabelle charged for the door, then squealed, yanked back by the leash.
”Who's there?” I called out, then hoping it might be one of the workers, asked, ”Who is it? Did you forget something?”
The door opened a crack. I backed away, reaching for my cell phone.
A man's head jut inside. ”h.e.l.lo,” he said, smiling. ”It's Gwyn, isn't it?”
”Who are you? You've got no business in here without my permission.”
He studied Annabelle, then stepped inside and closed the door. ”Relax. I guess you don't recognize me.”
”And I guess you didn't hear me.” I held up my phone. ”I already called the cops.” I made a swift move toward Annabelle, but the man instantly stepped between us. Annabelle lunged for his leg, but missed.
”Hey, if your mutt gets loose, I'll have to hurt it. Is that what you want?”
”No. Don't. Calm down, girl. It's okay.”
She stopped struggling, but continued to growl.
”Listen,” he said. ”I'm not here to hurt you. I saw you drive up and I need to talk to someone. I'm tired of running from the cops. I'm Craig Foster.”
I stared at him. It was Craig. The long blond hair was gone, short now, almost a military-style cut, and brown, but definitely Craig. He wore gla.s.ses with large unattractive plastic frames, and his pants hung too short, showing discolored white socks. The disguise was a good one. He appeared geeky, a nerd. Nothing at all like I remembered.
”Give me one minute,” he said, ”then I'm out of here. I didn't kill your sister. For chrissake I was in love with her.”
I pulled my arms tightly across my stomach. ”Just because you bust in here and tell me you loved my sister, don't expect me to believe you're innocent. If you're so innocent, why did you run from the police?”
”Because whoever set me up, did one h.e.l.l of a job. And I'm not stupid enough to do time for anybody.”
”Okay. But I still don't have any reason to believe you.”
”And I don't expect you will, unless I find what I've been looking for.”
”What's that?”
”A box.”
Annabelle jumped up, barking.
”Why? What's so special about it?”
”I wish I knew,” he said, ”but I think whatever it is might clear me. I think she was having an affair, and I think he killed her. She used to write these notes, hide them all over the house. I think she was scared.”
”How do you know there was a box?”
”Right before she died, she joked that if anything happened to her, to look for a box she'd stashed in the house. I didn't think she was serious. She could be really weird sometimes. I didn't pay much attention-until she died. The thing is, he might be looking for it too. I saw someone take off out of this place the other night.”
”Where have you been all this time?”
”Here and there, but I keep coming back to search, but now I've run out of time. You put a for-sale sign out front.”
I hesitated, thinking. ”I found a note too.”
”So you see I'm telling the truth. What did your note say?”
”It said she was having an affair, and that she was afraid, and she mentioned a box.”
”You see. You see. Did she say where she put it?”
”No.”
”Then it's probably gone. I've looked everywhere. I've been through every box in this house, in the bas.e.m.e.nt, in the closets. When things quieted down after she died and I thought it was safe, I used to come by and go through them, but there's nothing. I didn't find anything. Did you move stuff of hers? Throw things out?”
”Yes, some things. You're right. Whatever it is might be gone.”
”Then I'm screwed.”
”I think you should go to the police and tell them what you've told me. I'd be there to back you up.”
”Not a chance. They don't give guys like me the benefit of the doubt.... But there is one place I haven't searched yet.” He reached up and removed his gla.s.ses. ”Did she ever mention the initials, T.D., something T.D., maybe a guy's initials or a code word?”
”No.”
”I never could figure that out. But I saw it once in a note. I could have it wrong. It could have been some kind of a symbol. Do you know what she might have meant by it?”
”No idea.”
”What happened to the furniture she had upstairs? The bedroom furniture. Why did you get rid of it?”
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