Free The Island of Dangerous Dreams by Joan Lowery Nixon

of the bed, close to the candlelight, reached into the deep, right-hand pocket of my skirt, and slowly pulled out the glimmering Peruvian artifact.

CHAPTER
7
    The topaz lay in my palm like a scooped-up handful of clear, turquoise seawater, glowing in the candlelight. But as the flame flickered the tiny monkey that gripped the stone seemed to move, and I could almost swear that he grinned as his eyes stared directly into mine. I kept my eyes away from him. He was primitive, roughly fashioned, and terrifying.
    I couldn’t believe that the artifact was in my possession. I hadn’t intended it to be. Everything during that horrible moment in the living room had happened so quickly that I had reacted instinctively, clutching the stone and dropping to the floor as the darkness and sounds of death slammed into us. At some moment I realized that I was holding the stone and shoved it into my pocket. The artifact shouldn’t be claimed by any of these greedy collectors, including my own Aunt Madelyn. It belonged to the people of Peru. Somehow,I was going to see that it was returned to them.
    How?
I wondered. Well, one thing at a time. I wouldn’t worry about that now. At the moment there was only one thing to be concerned about. The murderer wanted that artifact. If he had killed for it, then sooner or later he was going to come looking for it. I would have to find a good place in which to hide it, but for the moment the safest place was on my body.
    I rummaged through my overnight case and pulled out a narrow blue ribbon. I ran the ribbon through the loop made by the monkey’s tail and tied the ends together. Then I slipped the ribbon over my head and changed into my red-striped cotton pajamas. I tucked the topaz underneath, between my breasts, the sharp little monkey paws scratching my skin. No one else would know that it was there.
    The room was getting awfully stuffy, and I moved to the veranda doors. But I paused before opening them. With my room wide open to the night, I’d be vulnerable to anyone who came prowling. Shivering, in spite of the heat, I rested my head against their shutters. No one had suspected me. They seemed to be too busy suspecting each other. My best defense was innocence. I could open just a few of the shutters, but by opening my doors I would seem to have nothing to hide.
    With trembling fingers I unlatched the doors and swung them wide. Clouds had covered the moon, so the veranda was a dark, shadowless voidin which anyone could hide. I listened and thought I heard a footstep, a board that creaked under someone’s weight.
    Don’t be dramatic
, I told myself, as though I were Mom. Stumbling, shivering, I managed to make it into bed and blew out the candlelight. If only this were my own bed at home!
    As my eyes became accustomed to the darkness I began to calm down. I could see outlines now of pillars and tree branches against a sky that was softer and less foreboding. Down on the beach wavelets made a rhythmic, comforting, shushing slap against the sand, and the breeze from the sea was cool. My eyes closed, I relaxed, and soon I was asleep.
    I don’t know how long I slept. I awoke hearing a squeaking sound that could have been part of the dream that fled from me while I tried to grab at its edges. Rick. The dream had been about Rick, but I was left with nothing but a lonely ache that also must have been part of the dream. The squeak came again. Confusion dissolved as I woke with a start, sucking in air and holding it, afraid even to breathe.
    Someone was walking on the veranda, moving very slowly toward the open doors of my room.
    There was nothing I could do but wait and watch. My eyelids were glued upward, my steady gaze on the open doorway.
    Another creak of boards, and a white figure appeared, silhouetted against the night. Before I could move it swooped toward me. I opened mymouth to scream, but all that came out was a kind of deep, scratchy gasp.
    “Andrea!” the white figure whispered.