Virginia Smith - A Deadly Game

Susanna fanned through the papers. They were in date order going all the way back to 1980, the year the car was manufactured. Oil changes, brake pad replacements, a receipt for new tires. Something dropped out of the bundle and landed on the cushion beside the owner’s manual—a small canvas pouch with a drawstring opening cinched shut. Curious, she opened it and emptied the contents into the palm of her hand: a silver coin, about the size and weight of a half dollar. One side was embossed with a single word—nine. She flipped it over. The other side contained the digit—9.

A comment from the car’s previous owner, whom she had met briefly while sitting at the auction desk signing papers, came back to her. He’d smiled as he shook her hand and said, “Congratulations. You got number nine.” She had assumed the man was a dealer or something, and the Corvette was the ninth car he’d sold today.

She weighed the token in the palm of her hand. How odd. Why would he put numbered coins in with each of the cars he sold? Maybe it had something to do with Corvettes, like a numbered painting or something. Or maybe it had something to do with the auction. Sort of like a proof of purchase, perhaps? She held the token up to the light and inspected it carefully for any other markings. Nothing. No Corvette emblems, nor the auction house’s logo. She’d have to remember to ask Mr. Ingram about—

Reality slapped at her, cutting off the thought unfinished. She’d never be able to ask Mr. Ingram anything, ever again.

In a flash, the events of the day caught up with her. She replaced the coin in its pouch, stuffed everything back into the envelope and shoved it inside her purse. Then she switched off the lamp, clutched a throw pillow to her chest and tucked her feet beneath her. Tears held too long in check burned her eyes and blurred her vision. She could hardly believe Mr. Ingram was gone. Memories paraded through her mind, each one bringing a fresh rush of tears, until her cheeks were raw from salty rivers flowing over them. After an eternity they slowed and finally stopped. Numbness gradually stole over her, and Susanna slept.

A clang jarred her awake. She jerked upright. What was that noise? Had it come from inside the house?

The digital clock on the DVD player read nearly two-thirty. Heart thudding heavily inside her chest, Susanna rose as quietly as she could from the couch. She tiptoed across the carpet to the front door and checked the lock. Still securely closed. She hurried down the hallway and into Lizzie’s room. Maybe the child had fallen out of bed again. The weight in her chest lightened a fraction at the sight of the little girl sleeping peacefully in her bed, tousled blond curls splayed across her pillow. She was safe.

And yet, if the sound hadn’t originated from Lizzie, where had it come from? Quickly Susanna went through the house, checking every room, every lock on the windows. All was as it should be. Had she dreamed it, maybe? No, she didn’t think so. She could hear an echo of it still, pulling her from sleep with a metallic clank.

The noise must have come from outside.

Mr. Ingram’s Corvette! She hurried back to the front room and, standing in the dark, parted the front curtain a fraction, just the width of her eye. The sky had cleared and white moonlight illuminated the yard. She saw no movement at all. On the other side of her Toyota, the trailer was in the exact place Jack had left it.

She let the curtains fall back into place. Maybe she had imagined the noise. Or maybe it had come from a passing vehicle. Or she dreamed it.

Her tea mug sat on the end table, half full of cold tea. She picked it up and carried it to the kitchen. Dim, white light filtered through the miniblinds in the window above the sink. As she emptied the contents of the mug down the drain, she peeked into the dark backyard. All was still. Not even a breeze stirred the branches of the tall evergreen hedge that bordered her yard.

A noise close by sent alarm zipping down her spine. It was coming from the door. Breath caught in her throat, she crept toward it. Horror stole over her as she watched the door knob turn slowly. Just a tiny bit, a fraction of movement, back and forth, as someone on the other side jiggled the handle.

Susanna couldn’t stop the scream that tore from her throat. She raced from the room, snatching her cell phone off the kitchen counter as she ran. By the time she got to Lizzie’s bedroom and slammed the door, she had already punched 9-1-1.

“I’d fallen asleep on the couch,” Susanna told the policeman standing in her living room, “and a noise woke me up. I’m almost positive it came from the car trailer in the driveway.”

The young man wasn’t one of the officers she’d seen at Ingram Industries last night, nor his partner, who at the moment was investigating the backyard with a flashlight.

He nodded. “Have you checked the trailer?”

“Are you kidding?” Susanna clutched Lizzie, whose arms and legs were still wrapped tightly around her even though the child was starting to drift back to sleep. “We shoved the dresser in front of the bedroom door and hid in the closet until you got here.”

“That was a smart move, ma’am.”

She glanced toward the window. “I’m worried about the car, though. It’s extremely expensive, and it doesn’t belong to me.”

“I’ll check it out.”

When he turned toward the door, she stopped him. “Here. You’ll need this.”

She scooped up the trailer key, which was still where Jack had left it on the coffee table. As he left the house, she considered putting Lizzie back to bed so she could check on the Corvette. But the child had been terrified to be awakened by Susanna’s panicked shrieks, and she didn’t want to risk her waking up alone while everyone else was outside. Instead, she scooped up a throw blanket from the armchair, bundled it around the little girl and followed the officer outside. Bitterly cold air slapped at Susanna’s face as she hurried down the porch steps and across the short walkway to where the officer stood at the rear of the trailer.

“The lock appears to be intact.” The man pulled on a thin rubber glove and, with a finger and thumb, carefully tested the handle.

To her surprise, the lever pushed all the way down.

The officer’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sure you locked it?”

She thought back, picturing the scene in the auction house’s rear parking lot. Jack had locked the door after they’d loaded the car inside, hadn’t he? She couldn’t remember. “Well, no, I’m not positive. But I’m pretty sure we did.”

The officer pulled on the handle, and the door swung open. Breath caught in her chest, she peered inside.

The sight of the red sports car sent a wave of relief flooding through her tense muscles. “It’s still there.” Maybe Jack had simply forgotten to lock the door.

The policeman climbed into the trailer and unclipped a small flashlight from his belt. The Corvette’s body gleamed in the powerful beam.

He gave a low, admiring whistle. “This is a beautiful car.”

“Is it all right?” Susanna asked.

The beam flashed around. “Not a scratch on her.” He dropped down on his haunches and peered beneath. “The straps are still in place, too. I don’t think anyone’s messed with this car.”

“Thank goodness.”

The officer circled to the passenger side, still examining the unblemished paint. Susanna turned toward the house. Now that she’d satisfied herself the Corvette was safe, she could go back inside where it was warm. Obviously the noise that had woken her earlier hadn’t come from the trailer. She took a step as the officer opened the passenger door and aimed his flashlight inside. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pull the seat upright and heard a distant snap as it clicked into place.