California Schemin' - Kate George [45]
I woke to the vague feeling that something wasn’t right. A faint light filled the room. “Damn!” I sat bolt upright. I’d slept the night in the blue dress on top of the bed, and I’d missed my opportunity to search the house. Probably. The light from the window was pretty faint. Maybe there was enough time for a preliminary search of the upper floors.
The blue shoes were sitting next to the bed where I’d abandoned them the day before. I grabbed them and dumped the paper clip into my hand. Carrying my shoes with my left hand, I stuck the straight end into the hole in the door handle. A minute later the lock clicked and I was free. Cracking the door, I stuck my head into the hall and listened. Nothing. I slid out of the door and locked it behind me. If anyone walked by, they would assume I was still in there.
The stairs at the end of the hall felt uncomfortably open, but if I wanted to search the upper floors I’d have no choice but to go up them. The polished wood was smooth and cool under my feet. I stepped lightly, but there weren’t any creaky stairs. This house was built like a rock.
Halfway up I heard a toilet flush. Sweat prickled on my scalp, and I stood frozen against the wall. There were footsteps in the hall, and a door closed. I moved as quickly and quietly as I could past the second floor and on up to the third. I turned to the right, my thinking being that most people preferred the right, and if Wallace’s office was up here it would be that direction.
The first three doors revealed nothing but beds and storage rooms. This guy could host the Sacramento Kings and have room left over. The other side of the hall wasn’t any better, except that from the windows I could see out onto the road. Wallace had the tallest house in the area so the neighborhood unfolded in front of me. Nothing and no one in sight except for a car parked around the corner to the left. The only car left on the street overnight. Someone’s girlfriend?
I searched the rest of the rooms on the third floor without finding anything remotely interesting. There was an office of sorts, but it was dusty and unused. The late Lily Wallace’s? It looked like a woman’s office, colorful prints on the wall, small desk and chair, a painted tile for a coaster. I searched through the drawers without finding anything. The senator had probably been cleaning it out while someone was tossing her off the bridge.
The only place left was the second floor. Creeping down the stairs I considered leaving it for the night, but it was quiet. My main problem was figuring out which rooms were occupied so I didn’t wake anyone up by mistake.
The first door was easy. I could hear the snores from the top of the stairs. Moose. I’d heard him snoring in the hotel. I did my best imitation of a ghost past his door, the carpet doing a good job of muffling my footsteps. My heart started thumping at the second door. My hand was on the knob, ready to crack the door open, when a faint rustling and a creak sent me down the hall and into the next room. It was a gamble, but I won. The room was empty.
I stood at the door, listening until the door to the room next to me opened and shut and I heard footsteps on the stairway. I waited for what seemed like forever, but it was probably less than five minutes before I ventured out into the hall again. I had a hunch about the layout and hurried past the stairs to a door at the end of the hall. I hit the jackpot. A mahogany desk, file cabinets, bookshelves signaled that I’d found the senator’s office.
I started through the desk drawers. No papers, but I pulled out a ring of keys triumphantly. I’d bet my life they were to the filing cabinets. My hands were shaking when I got the files open. I rifled through the top drawer, going through all the