A Premonition of Murder (20 page)

“Angus,” Sophie called as we headed down the hall. “Can you give me a lift into town today? My car's acting up.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Be with you in a couple of minutes.” He turned to me. “Attic or basement? They both have antiques. But I don't know what's on your list.”

I tried not to shudder at the mention of a basement. I have a touch of claustrophobia, and I don't do well in dark, enclosed spaces. When Noah had described the FBI hostage training exercise he'd been subjected to at Quantico, I'd gotten goose bumps. Could I have survived being blindfolded, bound at the hands and feet, and tossed into a storage shed like a bag of potatoes? It's a good thing I never applied to the Bureau, because I know I would have cracked under that kind of pressure.

My claustrophobia is under control but only because I mentally prepare myself for situations and try to take as much control of my environment as I can. I make sure I get an aisle seat on planes, and I avoid elevators whenever I can.

“Let's try the basement,” I told him. It was time to “lady up” and not give in to my phobia. I was surprised when Angus made an abrupt right turn and walked into a tiny alcove that led into the library. “This is the way to the basement?”

“It's one way to get there,” he said, smirking. I had the feeling I wasn't going to like what was coming. “I hope you're not claustrophobic,” he said in a nasty tone.

“Why's that?” I managed to keep my voice level, but just barely.

“Because we have to go through a secret passage in the library, and it's pretty cramped. This is it.” I took a quick look around a beautiful library with a magnificent fireplace and a marble mantelpiece. Two ceramic dogs guarded the fireplace, and there was elaborate dark wood paneling with books stashed from the floor to the ceiling.

I would have liked to explore a little more, but Angus pushed against a center panel in a bookcase and a hidden door suddenly swung open. It was pitch-black beyond the doorway, and I could dimly make out what looked like a staircase.

“Will you be okay?” he asked.

“I'll be fine,” I assured him. He gave me a strange look as if he knew I was afraid and was enjoying every moment of it.

“After you,” he said, his eyes glinting.

I took a deep breath to steel myself against what was coming and started down a narrow set of stairs. It was so tight, my shoulders touched against the walls on both sides. “We need some light,” I reminded him. “It's terribly dark in here.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, not sounding sorry at all. He pressed a switch and the staircase was bathed in a low-level light. It wasn't ideal, but at least I could see where to put my feet. Angus was very close behind me, and I wondered for one horrible moment if he was going to push me down the steps.

When I reached the bottom, I realized we were in a large space with dozens of what I guessed were paintings and antiques stacked against the walls. Some objects were covered with sheets or drop cloths, and the whole place was dank and musty. The air was so foul I coughed, feeling my allergies kicking in. It smelled of earth, soil, and moisture, and I had a sudden image of an open grave.

“When's the last time you've been down here?” I asked him.

He was standing a few feet away from me and seemed reluctant to go any farther. I wondered if he was going to watch me the whole time I inspected the basement, but then I remembered he'd told Sophie he'd give her a lift into town. “I checked out the inventory in the basement when I first arrived,” he said, “but I don't spend much time here now. There's so much to do upstairs, cataloging the antiques in the public rooms, that I just haven't had a chance to deal with this.”

“The lighting is so dim in here,” I said. “How do you get any work done?” I could only see clearly for a few feet in any direction. I could barely make out some flat, rectangular shapes leaning against the wall, and I assumed they were paintings. I saw the edge of a gilt frame peeking out of one. The dark, looming shapes were beginning to creep me out, and I was starting to feel as though I were trapped in a Wes Craven movie. At any moment I'd turn into a terrified, shrieking heroine calling for help.

“It's usually brighter than this,” Angus admitted. “A couple of fuses blew the other day. Lucy plugged in too many things at once, and I heard a popping noise. I'm sure that's what did it. I could try to work on it now, but I've got to get to Charleston.” He looked at me, gauging my reaction. “Maybe you'd like to do this another day?”

“I'll be fine,” I said airily. Actually I wasn't fine at all. But there was no way I was going to give Angus the opportunity to move out any antiques or paintings. My chest was getting tight—either from allergies or nerves—but I wasn't going to let on.

I was convinced the worst thing I could do was show
weakness in front of Angus. Somehow I knew he would laser lock in on my vulnerabilities and use them to his advantage. Now that we were alone in the semidark basement, I was feeling sinister vibes rolling off him. Or was I just stressed out from being in such a claustrophobic environment? I couldn't be sure.

“I can probably switch on another set of lights,” he said reluctantly. “At least you'll be able to see what you're doing.”

“Thank you,” I told him. There was no sense in antagonizing Angus while he was actually offering to help me.

“I'll switch on the lights as I leave,” he said and turned toward the direction of the stairs.

I smiled my thanks and moved toward the painting closest to me. I whipped off the drop cloth. “Oh, Angus,” I said, pointing to the landscape in the gilt frame. “Is this a new acquisition?” The cloth wasn't covered with dust like the paintings behind it, so I assumed it had been placed there recently.

He hesitated. “Yes, it's very famous—a William Gilbert.” I knew that William Gilbert was a prominent landscape painter who'd specialized in painting rural scenes of Savannah and the low country in the early nineteen hundreds. “You can find out more about it on the tag.”

“Thanks.” I checked the tag and whipped out my notebook.
Bingo.
Sunrise over All Saints Church
was one of the items on my inventory. I heard Angus clumping his way up the staircase and in a moment, it was suddenly brighter in the basement. Angus had kept his promise. I breathed a sigh of relief and set to work, first documenting the name and date of the painting, the name of the artist, the gallery where it was purchased, and its location in the mansion.

Then I whipped out my phone and took a quick photo. It
was a lovely landscape with a rolling green pasture, an azure blue sky, and a church steeple in the forehead. I stood back, admiring the craftsmanship and proud that I'd overcome my silly fear of the dark.

And then the lights went out.

22

I gasped aloud. It was as dark as a tomb. Terror slammed into my brain, and I blindly rushed forward, crashing into an end table. I forced myself to stop dead in my tracks, my heart beating in a crazy, accelerated way, while I tried to get my bearings. This was no time to panic. It was taking every ounce of my self-control to stand still.

My heart was drumming a tattoo, and I tried to think of a strategy. Could I turn around and find my way back to the steps that led upstairs? Was that even possible? I did what I hoped was a hundred-eighty-degree turn and immediately tripped over a wooden object on the floor. I reached down and ran my hand over it. A wooden footstool.

I must have moved in the wrong direction, because there wasn't a footstool in my path when I'd been with Angus. The last thing I wanted to do was move deeper into the basement, and I had no way of knowing how to retrace my steps and reach the secret passage.

I felt like full-blown panic was breathing down my neck. It took me a minute to realize I was holding my breath, and I took in a big gulp of air. The air seemed thick, like fog, and I instantly felt light-headed, as if I might pass out. Had the air changed somehow? I lunged forward, trying to ignore my racing pulse, and ran smack into a large veiled painting.

“Help!” I called out feebly. My voice came out as a croak. My throat felt like it was closing up, and I couldn't summon up the energy to scream. I took a few shallow breaths, practically hyperventilating. I'd noticed how thick the stucco walls were, and it was unlikely anyone would hear me.

If I couldn't find my way back to the secret passage, could I find another way out of the basement? Angus had said that this was
one
way to the basement. Was there another? If there was another way in, there must be another way out! My only hope was to find it.

I stood stock-still and forced myself to take three deep breaths.
Think, Taylor, think!
I moved a few feet to the left and thought I spotted a tiny crack of light, a vertical line that was slightly angled. What could it be? I tried to remember what the outside of Beaux Reves looked like from the back.

When we'd had lunch on the patio, I'd noticed two wooden doors lying flat, slightly above ground level. I'd asked Ali about them later, and she said she thought they probably led to a root cellar. Root cellars were common at the time the mansion was built. Could this be my way out?

I stretched my arms straight out in front of me and moved forward toward the light step by step. The light was getting closer, and I saw to my relief there were three short steps leading up to a double wooden door. A tiny burst of fresh air wafted in between the doors. My ticket to freedom!

I nearly cried with relief. I mounted the steps and pushed
against the double doors. The narrow slit of light became larger, but only fractionally. What was wrong? Something was holding the doors closed. Fear was getting the better of me, and I pounded with both fists on the double doors. “Help! Help me!” I shouted. “I'm stuck in here!”

I called out repeatedly, and just when I was ready to sink to my knees in despair, I heard the sound of a board being shifted. In a moment, the double doors opened and a worried-looking gardener peered in at me.

“Are you all right, miss?” He reached down to help me up the last step. The fresh Savannah air had never smelled so good. “What in the world happened to you?”

“I—nothing, I'm fine,” I said hurriedly. “I was doing some inventory in the basement, and somehow I couldn't find my way back through the mansion.” I glanced down and realized I'd guessed correctly. A board about three feet long was lying on the grass. Had someone slid it through the handles of the wooden doors, deliberately trapping me inside? “Are these doors normally kept barricaded?”

“No, never,” he said, shaking his head. He picked up the board and peered curiously at it. “Someone must have taken this from the lumber pile in the garage. And then they threaded it through the handles. Sorry this happened to you, miss. Can't imagine who would do a thing like that.”

I have a good idea who would
, I thought grimly. I glanced toward the driveway and noticed that it was empty. “Is Angus here?” I asked.

“No, he went into town. Do you need something?” His broad face was kind, and I smiled to reassure him.

“No, everything is fine,” I told him. “Are you the only one working here today?”

“Lucy is in the kitchen, and Jeb is somewhere on the grounds,” he said. “If you need someone—”

“No worries,” I said, forcing a cheery note into my voice. “Thanks for your help.”
The quicker I get out of here, the better
, I thought, making tracks toward my car. I pulled open the door, cranked up the AC as high as it would go, and locked the doors and windows. I was surprised to see that my hands were shaking and my legs were trembling. I took a quick peek at myself in the rearview mirror. As pale as a ghost. I grabbed my cell phone and punched in a familiar number. There was one person who could reassure me, and I was relieved when he picked up on the first ring.

“Noah,” I said in a quivery voice, “we need to talk. I'm coming right over.”

*   *   *

“You never should
have been in that house alone,” Noah chided me. I was curled up on the leather sofa in his office with my feet tucked under me. He'd called out for sandwiches, and I was sipping a cup of tea he'd made for me on his hot plate. I was thrilled to see his stern-faced secretary had taken the day off. It was nice to be alone with him. More than nice, I thought. It was heaven.

“At least the color's coming back into your face,” he went on, brushing a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. “You had me worried there for minute. You looked like you were ready to pass out.”

“I was feeling a bit light-headed, that's all,” I said defensively. “The combination of the foul air in the basement and my allergies—”

“And having the shock of your life,” he said wryly. “I can't imagine you in a locked basement in the pitch dark.” I remembered how mortified I'd been when Noah and I had been trapped in an elevator in a high-rise in Atlanta. It had only taken a couple of minutes for him to get the elevator
working again, but those minutes had ticked by like hours. I'd been in full panic mode, and had wanted to climb out through the ceiling even though every instinct told me that was a crazy plan.

“It was awful,” I said, closing my eyes against the memory.

“We can't ever let it happen again,” he said, twining his fingers through mine.

“I just felt I had to go there today. And I had to go alone.” I explained about Ali staying behind to help Dana in the shop.

“Was it worth it?” he asked. The phone rang, and he checked the screen before reaching past me to mute the incoming message. I had a sudden pang of jealousy. Was he expecting a call from a girlfriend? Even though Noah and I were “taking things slow” as we'd agreed on, I wasn't dating anyone and I hoped he wasn't, either.

Ali tells me that my fears are unfounded, that Noah will never find anyone else like me and that we are true soul mates. I'd like to believe her, but Ali has a terrible track record with men and is such a hopeless romantic she cries at Lifetime movies.

“Just boring business stuff,” he said, as if reading my mind. He nodded toward the phone, and I curled up against him again.

“Are you working on a new case?” Noah is making a name for himself in Savannah circles as a private detective and is working hard to build up a clientele. It's never easy starting a new business, but he's keeping his expenses low by doing most of the investigative work himself and managing with a part-time secretary.

“Industrial espionage,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Really? Here in Savannah?”

He grinned and chucked me under the chin. “I'm kidding. It's not really espionage; it's just old-fashioned lust and greed. A CEO thinks his wife is sleeping with his CFO and wants me to check it out.”

“Interesting.” I nestled into him a little closer. The combination of the hot tea and Noah's sexy presence was making me feel better by the minute.

“He also thinks the CFO is embezzling from the firm. It's going to be tough to untangle the financial issues from the marital ones, and I've got to tread carefully. If the CFO figures out that the boss is on to him, he could open up some offshore accounts, and those are horrendous to trace. And the financials are such a tangled mess, you wouldn't believe it.”

“Mmmm,” I murmured. “Sounds really complicated.”

“Why are we talking about cases when we could be talking about other things? Or
doing
other things?” His voice was low and husky and his eyes darkened in a way that set my heart thumping. Noah brushed his lips against my temple, and I was all set to lean in for a full-throttle kiss when I heard the door to the waiting room open.

“Are you expecting someone?” I said, sitting up abruptly. My pulse immediately went into overdrive. A hair-trigger response, probably brought on by my awful morning at Beaux Reves.

“Relax, Taylor,” he said, carefully entangling his arms from around me. “It's the deli sandwiches, that's all.” He shot me a rueful smile. “Terrible timing,” he said, standing up. “Stay right there,” he ordered.

“Don't worry,” I said. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Noah returned with Swiss cheese on rye heaped with coleslaw, one of my favorite sandwiches. And two bottles
of sweet tea. Not as good as homemade, of course, but I appreciated the gesture. After Noah wolfed down half of his sandwich, he pointed to my phone. “Did you get any good pictures today?”

“Just one.” I showed him the photo of the painting
Sunrise over All Saints Church
that I'd snapped in the basement. “I took it right before the lights went out,” I said with a little grimace. “Angus says it's a new acquisition, and I bet it cost a pretty penny. The artist, William Gilbert, is known for his paintings of the low country.”

“It's nice,” Noah said and then took a closer look. “You know, I think I've seen a similar painting somewhere. A landscape, done in the same style.” He paused and then snapped his fingers. “I remember now—it was in Norman Osteroff's office. It was on the far wall, opposite the windows. Did you happen to see it when you visited him?”

“I don't think so.” I tried to picture the lawyer's office with his expensive mahogany furniture and old-timey silver pen set sitting on the desk. “I remember seeing a small painting of Beaux Reves on the wall. I figured it was probably a gift from Abigail. But nothing like this.”

“I'm sure that's where I saw it. He and Abigail traveled in the same social circles, so I suppose it's not surprising they bought the same artwork.” He paused, looking out the window. Noah's office is right on the edge of a pricey district in the city, but it's on a side street, so he managed to get a good price on the rental. “Norman is dry as dust, isn't he? Impossible to have a real conversation with that guy. I wonder if he ever cracks a smile or enjoys anything in life.”

I suddenly remembered the series of framed photographs I'd spotted in his office. “He likes horses, though, so he has one redeeming feature. He told me he helps care for his wife's horses.”

“Now, that
is
a surprise,” Noah said. “I can't imagine Osteroff throwing down bales of hay in a paddock. He can't be all bad. We have to give the devil his due, don't we?”

“Yes, we certainly do.”

Noah turned to me, a devilish grin crossing his handsome features. “Enough talk about lawyers. Now where were we?”

I smiled back. “I think we were just . . .” I began and stopped abruptly when I heard the door to the waiting room open and close again. “Not another delivery?” I asked, my spirits sinking.

Noah pulled his hand through his hair and groaned. “Worse,” he said, checking his watch. “I'd totally forgotten. My two o'clock is here.”