I thought of calling 911, but quickly dismissed the idea. No. I’d make too much noise rummaging through my purse to locate my cell phone, and my voice would carry easily through the empty rooms.
All I could think of was how to get out. I headed for the back door, aiming to keep as much distance between me and the intruder as I could. I stepped gingerly into the mud room, and paused to let my eyes adjust. I had trouble catching my breath. In the gathering twilight, I could barely see the doorknob, and a rush of fear streamed over me. My heart hammering, tears welled in my eyes, making it hard to see. I brushed them away, forcing myself to focus on the problem at hand-getting out-and not think about my anxiety.
As soon as I could make it out, I reached for the doorknob, turned it, and pulled. Nothing. I tried again, pulling harder, then spotted a latch and turned it. Still, the door didn’t budge. I looked at it more closely, and felt my stomach lurch as I realized it was a dead bolt and required a key to open, even on the inside. I was trapped, with no way out.
Peeking around the corner, my mouth was so dry, I struggled not to cough. I saw and heard nothing.
I slipped back into the kitchen and crept forward, and stood beside the refrigerator, shielded from view. Purposeful steps headed in what sounded like my direction, and looking around wildly, I ran across the room to a door that swung into the butler’s pantry, connecting the kitchen to the dining room, and unsure where to go or what to do, I crouched down.
Even tucked away in a small room in the middle of the house, I heard a car pull up in the alley and stop. I could picture it. My thighs began to ache, but I seemed paralyzed with dread. Heavy steps approached the back door, and I heard the faint click of the dead bolt turning. Someone was entering the door that had held me prisoner.
A moment later, I heard a rush of scurrying steps, then a long moment later, a car starting and squealing away. I stayed huddled in the butler’s pantry, rocking a bit, tears running down my cheeks unchecked.
“Josie?” I heard. I recognized Alverez’s voice.
I sat down, hard, nearly fainting with relief, dropped my head forward, and began to cry in earnest. “In here,” I called faintly after a moment, my voice muffled with tears. I tried again, using as much willpower as I could muster to stem the flow. I swallowed. “I’m here.”
I heard a soft whoosh as Alverez pushed open the swinging door from the kitchen. I looked over and saw faded jeans and brown boots. I didn’t have the energy to lift my head higher.
“What happened?”
“Someone,” I said, my voice cracking. “Someone was here. They left out the front.”
“Are you all right?”
I nodded, and struggled to speak, but before I could translate my scattered thoughts into a coherent explanation, he was gone, running toward the front. “Stay there,” he called.
I stayed, unmoving, listening. I heard his running steps, heavy thumps, then silence. After several minutes, he again pushed his way into the pantry and squatted beside me. “Can you tell me what happened? What’s wrong?”
I hated that he was seeing me like this. I felt mortified. “I don’t know. Someone was here. I heard noises and I panicked. I tried to leave, but I couldn’t get out.”
I started up, wiping away the remnants of my tears. “I never used to cry. You must think I’m a mess.”
“No, no,” he said. He helped me stand, holding my elbow. “Let’s get you a glass of water and you can tell me what happened.”
Meekly, I followed him into the kitchen and stood silently while he let the water run and opened cabinet doors until he found a glass. He filled it with water and handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting it. I took a sip.
“I called for backup. People will be here in a minute, but in the meantime, I’m going to call the lab and get some technicians up here. Don’t move.”
“I don’t mean to sound wussy, but don’t leave me alone. Okay?”
Alverez smiled. “Okay. I’m just heading to the front door. Tag along if you want. But don’t touch anything.”
I followed him, carrying my water, taking an occasional sip. The front door was wide open.
“I take it you closed the door when you came in.”
“Of course,” I said. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.” I shook my head, the evidence of the open door startling me. I shivered.
“Was the door locked when you got here?”
“I guess. I used the key. I assumed it was.”
He nodded. I listened as Alverez called someone and issued a series of instructions. When he was done, he went into the study and glanced around. Nothing looked different. The books lining the shelves were orderly, the blotter on the partners desk was centered, and the chairs were angled as I recalled.
“It looks the same, right?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. But whoever it was wasn’t here long.”
“Right.”
He gestured that I should lead the way out, and we stood in the foyer, waiting.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“Griff told me.”
“Griff?”
“The officer you spoke to.”
“Oh, I didn’t remember his name. Why did you stop by?” I asked.
He paused, then said, “Just checking on things.”
Was he checking up on me? At the auction, thinking he was following me had made me mad. Here, I had a different reaction. For whatever reason, it was easier for me to believe that he was just doing his job than it was to think he was trying to trap me somehow. I guessed it was adrenalin-fueled relief that allowed me to trust him.
“Feel free to sit down,” he said.
I went into the living room and perched on a French Provincial chair upholstered in blue-and-yellow fleur-de-lis chintz. He leaned on the doorframe, keeping an eye on the front door.
“So, are you okay enough to tell me what you’re doing here?”
He didn’t sound accusatory or judgmental. I looked up and our eyes met and held fast. The attraction I felt was deeper than before, more personal, based on my response to his actions, not just his looks. I felt myself relax and despite the anxiety of my situation, for a moment, all I experienced was the delicious, mysterious connection between an interested man and a willing woman.
A car door slammed and broke the spell. I looked away, disoriented, but calmer, and no longer frightened.
“So,” he repeated, “what were you doing here?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. I was looking around. You know, getting ready for tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Sasha and I begin the appraisal. You heard, right? Mrs. Cabot has hired me to do a full appraisal.”
He nodded. “Yeah, Max told me. Congratulations.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“So exactly where were you and what did you hear?”
“It just occurred to me that I ought to call Max.”
Alverez nodded. “Sure. Do you have his number?”
“Yeah. On my cell phone.” I retrieved my purse from the butler’s pantry where I’d deserted it. Max answered on the first ring.
“Max, I’m sorry to disturb you on a Sunday.”
“No problem, Josie. What’s up?”
“I’m here at the Grant house with Chief Alverez. I’m fine. But it looks like there was a break-in while I was here and he was asking me about it, so I thought I ought to call you.”
“A break-in! Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t see anything. But I heard footsteps and it pretty much scared me to death. Then Alverez came in and found me huddled in a ball crying my eyes out. Pretty embarrassing, all things considered.”
“Let me speak to him,” he said. He didn’t sound like he found my attempt at lightheartedness amusing.