Читать книгу Rebecca Temple Mysteries 3-Book Bundle - Sylvia Maultash Warsh - Страница 34

Rebecca quickly noted the window in the small room. It would take too long to open and would make too much noise. The closet in the corner. If she could make it to the closet without creaking the floor. A pounding, like a surf, began in her ears.

The intruder had stepped into the hall and stopped. Rebecca turned her body, slowly trying to head for the closet. Clothes lay strewn on the floor. Her feet prodded the ground gingerly before each step. The surf rose in her ears.

The intruder moved through the living-room. Rebecca caught the toe of her running shoe in a sweater on the floor. It made a slight shuffling noise that she hoped would not be noticed. No such luck.

“Is someone there?” said a voice Rebecca recognized. The intruder appeared in the doorway of the small room and turned on the light.

“What are you doing here, Doctor?” asked Feldberg.

He was small, she thought. I’m only in trouble if he has a weapon. “I could ask you the same thing,” she said. His chin rose in a self-righteous thrust. “I wanted to see the condition of the apartment. What needed to be done. I helped her with the maintenance while she was alive. She was my sister-in-law, after all. I have a right.”

The beat of the ocean receded from Rebecca’s ears. She bridled at his gall. Goldie had dealt with everything herself. He needed a good jolt of reality.

“Perhaps you want to take responsibility for cleaning it up then.”

His thin lips twisted as he looked around. “I’m going to call and complain to the police. They’ll have to send someone.” His eyes moved down to her hands and his expression shifted, resolved at the sight of the letters.

He stepped closer to the door, then held out his palm before her, ready to receive them. “I believe that is my property,” he said, the German accent more guttural.

Suddenly the letters took on a new light. She quickly bundled up the envelopes and put them in her purse. “This is something Goldie left for me,” she said.

She tried to step past him in the hall. He grabbed her arm and held her fast. “Are those the letters of my wife?”

Size wasn’t everything, she realized. His grip was iron hard. She was in pitiful shape in comparison.

“Certainly not. I wouldn’t keep letters from your wife.” She counted a heartbeat. “My secretary’s waiting for me outside.” She looked down pointedly at his hand on her arm.

For long seconds he seemed to be weighing his options. Then his iron fingers released her with reluctance. She scooped up her jacket and hurried out the front door.

Rebecca had trouble concentrating that afternoon in the office. She was relieved the problems her patients brought her that day were relatively simple ones. Flus, birth control problems, stomach ailments. Iris had given her an odd look several times and Rebecca wondered if her distraction was showing. She would not compromise the care of her patients. If she had to take off more time, she would.

At the end of the day she eased into a chair near Iris, who was finishing some paperwork. All Rebecca could think of was the sheaf of letters that lay undeciphered in her purse. Who did she know who spoke Polish?

“You must’ve been out late last night,” Iris said without looking up.

Rebecca shifted gears. She hadn’t mentioned the trip to the club or the police. “Did you call?”

“Twice. Did you get my message?”

“I didn’t check my phone. I just went straight to bed.”

Iris finally looked up from her papers. “Are you all right?”

Rebecca was unwilling to drag her friend into her own troubles. She didn’t want anyone else on her conscience. “You’re always telling me to go out, so I went out.”

Iris pulled her glasses down to perch on her nose and observe Rebecca. “You look tired,” she said. “Come for dinner tonight. Joe and Martha are coming. They’d love to see you again.”

Rebecca wasn’t in the mood for company. She stood up. “I know what I need,” she said, trying to sound more cheerful than she felt. “It’s a good day for a brisk walk.”

As soon as she closed the door to her inner office, Rebecca looked up the number of the bakery.

“Could I speak to Rosie?”

“She gone home.” A tired woman’s voice.

Rebecca peeked at her watch: six o’ clock. “Could I have her home number?”

“We don’t give up home numbers. Call tomorrow.” The woman was finished.

“Wait! Do you happen to know if she speaks Polish?”

There was a surprised pause. “Rosie? Nah. She speak Jewish.”

“What about you? Do you speak Polish?”

“Me! You joking? I’m Hungarian. Look, customers are here. I’m busy.”

The woman hung up.

Grey vaporous clouds hung over Cecil Street, casting a pall. Rebecca marched smartly along the sidewalk in her sweatpants and leather running shoes, though her heart wasn’t in it. She had to clear her mind. Speedwalking was good for that. April smelled of earth and moist clouds. She wanted to take it all in, like someone seeing it for the last time. To die in spring would be too ironic, everything just beginning again. God, she felt morose. A few days ago she could almost hear the new buds twisting in the ground. Now it hardly seemed possible to consider any kind of regeneration on this greycanopied street.

She needed to feel her pulse rise, get her heart beating like it used to when she felt alive. The light at Spadina turned in her favour as she approached and on impulse she decided to cross to the market side. There was something about disorderly stores and merchandise spilling onto sidewalks that suggested energy, an affirmation.

It wasn’t till she reached Baldwin Street that the gathering odour of dead meat and fish negated that promise. She glanced down the street, then stopped. Blue Danube Fish sat sedately in the evening. She wondered whether Vogel knew anyone in the market who spoke Polish. It was Friday; everything was still open. Shoppers strolled along Spadina, some of them peering up at the lowering sky. Rebecca stepped onto Baldwin Street. A misty drizzle cooled her skin.

It was almost too late when she saw him striding toward her from the parking garage across the street. The grey sweatsuit, the baseball cap that shaded his eyes into a dark blur. He was coming straight at her. She gasped at his speed. He was three yards away when she turned around and bolted across Spadina against a red light.

Traffic was slow but two cars had to brake to avoid her. One honked as it streaked by within inches, raising the airborne spray into her face. She turned, looking for her pursuer: the grey sweatsuit weaved between the cars more deftly than she. Nearly across the six lanes, she dived for the curb to avoid a speeding taxi. Her foot slipped on the pavement. She fell down on one knee, stunned for a moment as blood began to appear through her pants.

“Wait! Stop!” someone called out.

She jumped up and began to run again. No looking back, no time left. Down the other side of Baldwin, run to Beverley Street. Her knee began to throb, she wasn’t running fast enough, the trusty running shoes couldn’t do it alone, they couldn’t perform miracles. The office was too far away, she wouldn’t make it. She’d have to stand and fight in front of one of those gaudily painted houses. No, her best bet was to find someone at home. There was no one apparent on this side of Baldwin, especially since the drizzle in the air had taken shape and slanted into a soft rain. Her hair hung wet and sticky in her face.

She could barely see where she was going. She couldn’t run anymore. This house would have to be it! She pulled herself up two steps at a time onto a veranda, the green door in sight. Just get to the door! He was stumbling up the stairs right behind her.

“Jesus!” he said as they both toppled over an old bike that leaned into a corner of the veranda. The front door of the house was within reach while her body swayed over the bike. She began to bang her fist on the door.

“Listen to me!” he cried, trying to pull her away.

Just then the door opened. An elderly Chinese woman in a brocade blouse stood in the doorway.

“Call the police!” Rebecca cried at her. “911.”

The tiny woman looked from Rebecca to the man and back at Rebecca again with expressionless eyes, then uttered a stream of singsong Chinese.

Rebecca tried to make for the open door but the man held her back. “Police! Call the police!” she yelled.

The woman registered a brief exclamation of annoyance, then closed the door.

The man took Rebecca by the shoulders and held her firmly. He was very strong, she couldn’t move. He said something to her but she was too frightened to listen. Suddenly adrenaline coursed through her when she remembered. Her office keys were in her pants pocket. Plunging her hand inside, she struggled to arrange the keys between her knuckles. Then, with all her strength, she plucked her hand out of her pocket and aimed at his face. Sharp metal edges scraped at his cheek.

He let go of her then. His hand probed the wound. He looked down at the blood on his fingers. “Are you crazy?” he said in a perturbingly quiet voice. “Why did you do that?”

For the first time she looked at his face. His eyes were not what she expected. They were deep-set and restrained with a perplexing depth to them. And he wasn’t big, just a few inches taller than her. But her heart still pumped fiercely and her words gasped out.

“Why are you chasing me?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?”

Under the wet visor he watched her. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. I wanted to talk to you about Goldie Kochinsky.”

“Just who are you?”

“I was trying to tell you back there but you wouldn’t stop. My name is Malkevich. Nesha.”

Despite the cap, his face had not escaped the rain and drops of moisture glistened on his tanned cheeks. A piece of puzzle edged into place.

“Look, I’m sorry about back there,” he said. “I should’ve tried....”

“You’re the cousin,” she said in an instant of revelation.

“She told you about me?” Rain mingled with the blood on his face.

“You didn’t have to chase me. You could’ve tried some other way to communicate.” Rebecca felt stupid and embarrassed and, finally, paranoid.

“I said I was sorry....”

“Forget it,” she said. “We’d better see to that cut. My office is just around the corner.”