Miranda Bliss - Cooking Up Murder

“Whatever she’s looking for, she hasn’t found it yet,” I told her, partly to relieve the I’m-dying-to-know-what’s-going-on look on her face, and partly because I was trying to work through the thing in my head, and I found it easier to think out loud.

I also found out the hard way that keeping still while half crouched and hunched over did ugly things to my calf muscles.

I winced and dropped onto the sidewalk, rubbing the back of my right leg with one hand. “Something tells me Yuri got his info wrong,” I said. “If she already has the disc, why would she be here looking for it?”

“Unless she’s looking for something else.”

It was a possibility. Still, something about Eve’s theory just didn’t feel right to me. Neither did Yuri’s take on the situation.

“I don’t think so,” I said, convinced, though I didn’t know why. “She’s being too careful. And she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s been here, either. She’s wiping away her fingerprints.”

“Really? This I’ve got to see!” Eve moved too fast for me. Before I could stop her, she slid away from the wall and turned to look in the front window. Let’s face it, tall and beautiful is great when it comes to most things, but it’s not much of an asset when you’re trying to be sneaky.

I made a grab for Eve to tug her down next to me, but she waved me aside.

“She not there,” she said. I guess I must have looked like I didn’t believe her. “Take a look for yourself.” She pointed into the gallery. “She may have been in there before, but I don’t see hide nor hair of Beyla now.”

Eve was right; Beyla was gone. And the way I read the situation, that meant that there were two possibilities: either she was in one of the back rooms, or she’d already left.

Two possibilities, and only one way to find out which one was right.

“Come on.” I grabbed Eve’s arm and tugged her toward the street where Beyla had parked her car. “Let’s go around back and find out what she’s up to.”

We crept around the corner. When I saw that Beyla’s car was still parked at the curb, I breathed a sigh of relief. “She’s still in there,” I whispered and pointed. There were no windows on that side of the building, but there were three stairs that led up to a small, rectangular porch and a door. Obviously, that was the way Beyla had gotten in, and for a moment, I considered checking to see if the door was still open and going in after her.

For a moment.

Logic prevailed, as did my desire not to be caught doing anything that looked even a little like breaking and entering. I continued down the sidewalk toward an alley behind the building. “Maybe there’s a window.”

“Back there?” Eve hissed. She glanced to where the sidewalk met the back alley and gulped, as if she expected something to jump out of there and bite her.

Which, for all I knew, it could have.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find out what she’s up to,” I reminded Eve, fishing in my purse for the mini flashlight I kept there. I might have been a new woman, but I hadn’t lost all my common sense.

“There’s the Annie Capshaw I know and love,” Eve said, relieved now that we had a little bit of light. “Always prepared. Always on the ball. Always sure of herself.”

I hated to burst her bubble. Because I was about to make a very un-Annie Capshaw-like move. I pulled back my shoulders, lifted my chin, and trained the beam of my flashlight into the pitch-dark alley. Before I could talk myself out of it, I followed the trail of light inside.

My self-confidence lasted for exactly three steps.

That’s when I slammed my knee into the corner of a wooden packing crate. I stopped to rub it, arcing the ray of light all around.

From what I could see, the alleyway ran along the back of Arta as well as behind the two buildings beside it on M Street. My flashlight beam only penetrated so far, and beyond its soft yellow glow, everything was dark and quiet. At our backs was another row of buildings, their shapes tall and hulking in the dark. Right next to us were the packing crates I’d already gotten too up close and personal with. They were stacked one on top of the other in a neat pile, probably awaiting a trash hauler to cart them away. There was no back door, but there was a window that looked out over the alley. From what I remembered from our reconnaissance trip, the window was in Drago’s office. Unfortunately, it was also at least ten feet off the ground, and there were no lights on inside the office. From here, all I could see was a black square a little less dark than the building around it.

Until a light came on inside.

“She’s in there. In the office.” I flicked off my flashlight and backed up as far as I could, but because of how high up the window was on the wall, I still couldn’t see anything. Even Eve standing on tiptoe couldn’t catch a glimpse of the person inside. I shook my head in frustration. “We’ve got to see what she’s doing. We might be missing something important.”

Before I could remind myself that sensible women didn’t do unsensible things, I manuevered the first packing crate into place.

“You’re not-” Eve began, but one look at the set of my chin told her I was.

It didn’t take more than a couple minutes to place three crates one on top of the other like stepping-stones.

Using Eve’s hand for support, I carefully made my way to the top of the stack. From my vantage point, I could just see over the ledge of the window.

As I expected, Beyla was in the office. What I didn’t expect, though, was that it would still be as much of a mess as it was the last time I’d looked inside. Why hadn’t Yuri cleaned? How could he work in such chaos?

I recognized the questions for what they were, the workings of a mind too obsessed with cleanliness, and snapped myself back in focus. I watched Beyla kick her way through the flurry of paper on the floor. She hurried across the room.

“What’s happening?” From the darkness below, I heard Eve’s anxious question. “What’s she doing?”

I shushed her with a wave of my hand and kept watching. From what I remembered from my peek into Drago’s office, there was a small safe right under the window. Sure enough, Beyla headed that way.

Trouble was, the closer she got to the window, the less I could see of her.

I stood on my toes, and caught a glimpse of the top of Beyla’s head.

I craned my neck, but I couldn’t see much of anything except the occasional glimpse of her black clothing.

She moved a little farther to her right, and suddenly, I couldn’t see anything at all.

Now it was frustration fueling my every move. I braced my hands against the window ledge and pulled myself up off the packing crates.

Success!

Suspended like a gymnast, my feet dangling and my arm muscles screaming in protest, I watched Beyla grab the corner of the red and blue area rug nearest to the safe. She yanked back the carpet.

I couldn’t tell what she found there; I only knew it was something important. Beyla breathed a sigh of relief. When she looked up, she was smiling.

She was also looking right at the window.

Instinct took over-and instinct told me to run for cover. Not exactly an easy thing when you’re hanging like a salami in a deli window. I lowered myself back to the packing crate, feeling for a foothold. When my sneakers touched, I settled myself and squatted down, out of range of the window and Beyla’s gaze. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Until I scooted forward and my knee hit an exposed nail.

I felt a sharp pain and the warm trickle of blood, and though I knew it wasn’t serious, I reacted like anyone would have: I jerked away.

Unfortunately, I moved too quickly.