Free Killing Her Softly by Freda Vasilopoulos Page B

right of the door.
    Simon bent close to the nearest box, squinting to read a label in the dim light. “It's blank,” he said. “Unless it's been in here so long the printing's faded. In any case, it's probably more wine. They ship it in crates like these."
    A dark stain on the floor caught Leslie's attention. She squatted on her heels, running her fingertips over it. Holding them to her nose, she sniffed. The chemical odor she'd noticed before, sharper now. She rubbed her fingers together. “This isn't wine. It looks more like oil."
    Simon shrugged. “You're shivering. We'll look again tomorrow. Let's get out of here."
    Her feelings exactly. Leslie wiped her hands on a tissue she drew from her pocket and followed him out, waiting while he locked the door.
    They were halfway across the cellar when the lights went out.
    Leslie let out an involuntary shriek and froze. Was that a new and more sinister rustling she heard from the corners? Nightmare visions rushed through her head, and she swallowed to stifle a scream.
    Beside her, she heard a sharp intake of breath. “Damn, why didn't I bring a flashlight?"
    "You told me the electricity was fine."
    "It was,” he said acerbically. “Wait. Listen."
    Over their heads, the floorboards creaked, as if feet walked across them. “There can't be anyone up there,” Simon whispered, as if he feared they'd be overheard. “Everything was locked."
    "Unless someone was in the house all along,” Leslie suggested, surprised at her own calm now that her heartbeat had slowed. Or maybe it was the warm strength of his arm around her waist that kept the demons temporarily at bay. “We didn't check the attic."
    "No. Have you been up there yet?"
    "No. But no one could live up there in the daytime. They'd suffocate. We had an attic like that in Toronto and it was unbearable in summer. Here, it's even hotter."
    Simon's arm tightened. “If we go ahead slowly, we should—"
    He broke off as the lights flared on, as suddenly as they'd gone off. After a moment of blinking to accustom their eyes to the relative brilliance, they both sprinted for the stairs, pounding up the wooden treads three at a time, and emerging breathlessly into the pantry.
    There was no one there. And no sign that anyone had been. As if to mock them, the floorboards Simon trod on groaned in complaint.
    "Get that electrician to check all the wiring and the fuse box tomorrow,” Simon said. He scribbled on the back of an envelope. “That's the locksmith's number. Good night, Leslie."
    He unlocked the back door and left. The cat, purring rhythmically, rubbed his flanks against Leslie's ankles before he sauntered down the steps.
    Making a mental note to call the locksmith in the morning, Leslie closed the door and locked it securely.
    * * * *
    The room lay dark around her, the night hushed. The crickets had fallen silent. Leslie sat up in bed, her heart pounding. What had awakened her?
    She groped in the recesses of memory. A dream. No, not a dream. Some subconscious thought surfacing in her sleep.
    The cat lay at her feet. She could feel the warmth of his body. Undisturbed by her restlessness, he slept, giving an occasional snore.
    She settled back on the pillows, and pulled the single sheet over her shoulders, shivering as if a wintry breeze had blown through the room.
    The cat.
    How had he gotten inside again?
    * * * *
    Dawn faintly tinted the sky when she got up. She'd barely slept a wink since she'd awakened in the dead of night. She waited until six before she dialed the number Simon had left with her. Not that she entirely trusted him, but she didn't know anyone else.
    Jimmy, the helpful but slightly patronizing cop? No, she couldn't go to him with every fancy especially since he hadn't gotten back to her about the pellet hitting the hall mirror.
    The phone was on its eighth ring. She tapped her foot impatiently. He had to be there. Unless he'd already gone to the orchards to do whatever one did to olives at this time of