The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks - lanyon Josh (читать книги онлайн txt) 📗

It was possible.

Like a lot of the original fixtures in the house, the chandelier no longer worked. Instead of rewiring the old, beautiful lamps and chandeliers, cheap utilitarian lights had been placed at various intervals in the hallways and rooms.

Perry reached up to see if there was a way to dismantle the centerpiece without taking down the whole chandelier. If what he suspected was true, there had to be.

The ladder suddenly jerked out from under him. The thought flashed that he had over-balanced, but as he looked down he saw someone standing beneath him, hands on the ladder.

He grabbed for what support there was -- which happened to be the wildly swinging chandelier. It tore out of the ceiling with a horrendous crack of doom.

Then he was falling. The parquet floor rushed up to meet him.

Chapter Thirteen

The broken chandelier was not a good sign.

Neither was the fact that no one seemed to have noticed it.

Nick hammered on Mrs. Mac’s door. There was no sound from inside. No television, no dogs…just an eerie silence.

Down the hallway he could hear sounds of frantic activity. Nick followed the sounds to the kitchen.

“Where is everybody?” he asked.

Miss Dembecki, who was engaged in pulling stuff out of the built-in cupboard drawers of the walk-in kitchen pantry, jumped like a scalded cat.

Like something feral, she stood there facing him down, her gray hair tumbled over the shoulders of her pink bathrobe, her eyes wild. There was a pile of much-yellowed linens around her feet. Embroidered place mats and lace tablecloths, linen napkins. She was clutching a handful of mother-of-pearl napkin rings as though they were her share of a pirate’s treasure.

“Where’s Perry?” he asked.

She stared at him in that tense but vacant way.

After a pause, Nick said neutrally, “Perry’s missing. Mrs. Mac isn’t answering her door. Bridger seems to have cleared out.”

Miss Dembecki still didn’t answer. Nick had the impression that she had not understood him, but then she said, “Miss Bridger has eloped.”

“What do you mean she’s eloped?”

Her eyes flickered at his tone. “She’s eloped with Mr. Center. They left during the night.” She brightened. “I saw them go. They were carrying suitcases, and they left through the back garden.”

“You’re sure it was Center she left with?”

Dembecki nodded. “They took Mr. Fluffy too. The men in the black van were waiting for them.” She was still watching him with those wide, wary eyes.

“What are you doing?” Nick asked.

To his amazement, she dropped the napkin rings and launched herself at him like a mad thing, hands curved, clawlike, teeth bared. Nick grabbed her wrists and held her away from him as she writhed and snarled.

“Don’t think I don’t know!” she cried. “I know what you’re doing. I know what you’re up to. You have his eyes! You can’t have mine.”

It was like holding onto an animated bundle of rags and bones. Nick held her away from himself while she hissed and screeched at him.

“Lady, I do not have time for this,” he said crisply. He pushed her back. She fell against the cupboard, glaring at him. Nick picked up the ring of keys lying on the counter, stepped out of the pantry and locked the door behind him. He heard her hit the door a moment later, shrieking.

“Settle down in there,” he ordered, but he didn’t care if she tore the entire room apart. He couldn’t deal with her now. There had been no sign of Perry in his apartment or the tower room or anywhere that Nick could find, and he had a very bad feeling.

He took the stairs fast, went back into his room, and phoned the cops. As he was dialing, he spotted Perry’s note about going to the basement for boxes. His guts seemed to crumble away to nothing.

Something had happened to Perry. Something bad.

He could be anywhere in this mausoleum. He could already be dead.

Nick’s temples throbbed. He had to take a moment to think.

Okay, odds were good no one was going to try and stash a body -- he had to believe a still-live body -- in the house. Not with the way the deputies were still prowling through the back. That left the grounds. The gazebo and the icehouse were his two best bets.

Nick raced down the stairway and cut across the garden. He could hear the rush of the river through the trees, but he refused to consider whether Perry’s attacker had simply dumped him into the water.

The gazebo was closer than the icehouse, and he checked it first. He found it empty.

He headed for the icehouse, moving fast and alertly through the wet, frost-etched garden. When he saw the faded building, he became convinced he was right. The icehouse was far enough from the main building to make it ideal for holding someone prisoner.

There would be no point in killing Perry. No need. Just his disappearance was going to have the sheriff combing the place.

No need to kill him. No need to hurt him at all, you fucker.

Frost was melting off the roof of the icehouse in steady, glistening drips. Nick drew his weapon, put his back to the wall, listened.

Silence.

He kicked open the door, ducking back against the wall of the building. The hinges shrieked fit to wake the dead. There was no other sound.

Nick darted a look around the door frame.

It took his eyes an instant to adjust to the lack of light, and then he saw Perry’s body at the edge of the pond.

Nick ducked around the doorway. His eyes raked the corners of the cavernous room. All clear.

He holstered his weapon and squelched into the mud, dragging Perry out of the muck onto solid ground. He rolled him onto his back and knelt, wiping the mud from his nose and mouth. He put his face to his and felt very faint puff of breath against his ear.

Nick rocked back on his heels and wiped his arm across his eyes. “Thank you,” he muttered.

He ran careful hands over long, motionless limbs, taking stock of the damage. Broken left arm, a knot the size of a goose egg on the side of his head, shocky -- but his pulse seemed strong enough.

Perry coughed and opened his eyes. He blinked up at Nick.

“Hooyah,” he said.

“Now I know you’re concussed.” Nick felt over his skull with gentle fingers. “Yep, that’s some knock on the head.”

“I think I kn-kn…know what happened,” Perry told him.

“Yeah?” Nick eased his arm behind Perry’s shoulders. “Did it have to do with falling off a ladder?”

“I don’t think I fell.”

“I think you’re right, Humpty Dumpty. I’m going to pick you up. Don’t freak.”

Perry tensed. “I think my left arm’s broken.”

“Right again.”

“Lucky it’s my left.”

“Yeah. You are one lucky guy. Hang on, this is going to hurt.”

Perry wrapped his good arm around Nick’s shoulders, and Nick lifted him. Perry sucked in his breath and swore into Nick’s shoulder.

“Hang on.”

Perry said conversationally, “Someone yanked the ladder out from under me.”

“Did you see who?”

Perry shook his head, sucked in a sharp breath and swore into Nick’s neck. “I think I know where the jewels…ouch!”

“If they were in the hanging lamp, they’re gone now.”

Perry didn’t answer, breathing hard and fast against Nick’s damp skin.

“I’m going to set you down here.” Nick followed his words with the action, lowering Perry onto the flat-topped boulder. “I don’t want to move you around a lot after a fall like that.”