Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [79]
Jane’s challenge, then, was to find the manuscript. If need be, she would bite the girl and incapacitate her, but she hoped that would not be necessary. She would prefer that Violet not see her at all. But she was prepared to do as she must.
She obviously could not enter the house through the kitchen, so she looked for another way. The front door was risky, but she thought a side window might do nicely. Unfortunately, the one she’d passed was locked. She went to the other side and found a second, smaller window. The glass was rippled and difficult to see through. This must be the bathroom, Jane thought.
She tried the window, and to her immense relief it slid up, revealing the bathroom Jane had suspected would be there. The door to the room was closed. Now Jane just had to get inside. She put her hands on the sill and gave a little jump. Her head passed into the room and she hung there for a moment, balanced on her stomach as she teetered like a seesaw. Then she was able to grasp the lip of the clawfoot bathtub over which she hovered and pulled herself in. She tumbled into the large tub and lay there, catching her breath and listening for the sound of footsteps.
When none came, she climbed out of the tub and went to the bathroom door. Peering through the keyhole, she looked into a long hallway. It was mostly dark, but from the far end came the glow of the kitchen lamp. So far, so good, thought Jane as she eased open the door. She stepped into the hall and looked around. There were two other doors, both of them closed. One of them, she hoped, led to the room where her manuscript was being stored.
She went to the first door and tried the knob. The door opened onto a closet filled with old coats. The smell of mothballs clung heavily to them. Jane stifled a cough as she closed the door and moved on. From the kitchen came the sound of running water. Dinner must be over, Jane thought. I’ll have to hurry.
The second door opened onto what appeared to be a study. A large desk faced one wall, and built-in bookcases that ran from floor to ceiling were filled near to bursting with volumes of all kinds. Oddly, given the time of year, a fire was burning in the small fireplace at the side of the room opposite the desk. An armchair sat in front of it, facing the fire. And before the hearth a small brown and white spaniel was stretched out, its paws twitching as it slept.
Great, thought Jane as she entered the room and shut the door carefully behind her. All she needed was for the dog to wake up and start barking. She eyed it warily as she went to the desk, which seemed the most logical place to look for her manuscript. She pulled open the center drawer. It was filled with the usual assortment of odds and ends: pens, erasers, stamps, a few sheets of stationery. Jane closed it again.
She went through each drawer as quickly and silently as she could. Each time she came up empty-handed. If Violet indeed had a manuscript, she had hidden it somewhere else. Jane stepped into the center of the room and looked around. Perhaps she’s secreted it inside one of the books, she thought, eyeing the shelves that were groaning beneath the weight of their holdings. There was no way she could look through each of them.
The dog gave a yip, making Jane flinch. She looked over at it and saw that it was still asleep. She wondered idly what it was dreaming about. Then she noticed that there was something on the chair beside it. A stack of papers. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? she wondered.
She crept over to the chair and looked. Leaning down, she picked up the papers and looked at them in the firelight. She watched him leave the house with a feeling of great triumph diluted by the bitter taste of despair, she read. She recognized it as the opening sentence (since revised) of chapter