Adrien English Mysteries: A Dangerous Thing & Fatal Shadows by Missy J Cat Page A
Book: Adrien English Mysteries: A Dangerous Thing & Fatal Shadows by Missy J Cat
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Authors: Missy J Cat
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Light lanced off the lids of the trash dumpsters against the back wall. Everything else was in shadow. I could just make out the edge of some trash cans stacked by the back entrance of the Thai restaurant next door. The trash cans were a point of contention. I didn’t get why my neighbors had to have smelly trash cans by their back entrance (and mine) when the dumpsters were just a few feet away. The food scraps in the cans attracted cats and stray dogs and bums.
As I watched, starting to feel silly, there was another clang of metal on metal and then the reverberation of a lid hitting the pavement. Something round and shiny rolled into view and fell over, like a miniature moon.
A shadow detached itself from the others. I had to wipe the glass where my breath was fogging. The figure in the alley stepped back and looked up. It wore a mask. A grinning skull.
I gripped the window sill as my heart lurched and began that frantic ticking like a turn signal about to short out. I must be clearly outlined by the hall light behind me. I ducked back, like 14 point lace would be useful concealment. I risked another look.
Not sharing my fear, the figure in the skull mask waved to me. It was bizarre. A cheery little salute from the image of death. As I stood there gaping, the dark-clad apparition turned and sprang away down the alley with un-apparition-like vigor.
Belatedly my brain kicked in. I scrambled across the bed, found the phone and called the police. Then I lay flat on the mattress and gave myself a chance to catch my breath while I waited for the squad car to come.
Damn.
Fatal Shadows
63
Just calm down.
Relax.
When I felt better, I pulled out a notepad from the side table and jotted the names of the remaining members of the Chess Club.
Andrew Chin
Grant Landis
Felice Burns
Me
I remembered Felice pretty clearly. She had been exceptionally poised and unreasonably focused for a girl her age. I seemed to recollect that she had been headed for med school. She could have married, but she might use her maiden name professionally. Perhaps I could track her through the AMA.
I barely remembered Andy Chin or Grant Landis. Chin, I thought, had been one of stronger players, Landis one of our weaker. My own membership in the Chess Club had been brief and unremarkable. The life span of the Chess Club itself had been brief and unremarkable, now that I thought about it. Still there was no other connection I could think of linking me and Robert to “The Royal Game.”
The fact Rusty was also connected to the Chess Club seemed conclusive to me.
At last the squad car arrived. The uniformed officers took my report and poked around the alley and side streets, their flashlights picking out empty corners and cardboard boxes. A stray cat rocketed out of its hiding place like a cartoon character. Lights went on in the building across the cinderblock wall.
Though inclined to think “the disturbance” was kids playing a prank, the cops promised to swing around the block once on their way back to patrolling.
After they drove off, it seemed very quiet. Up and down the boulevard, the neighboring businesses stood dark and silent. Inside my building, aged joints popped and creaked, settling for the night -- that would be the architectural joints, though mine weren’t in much better shape.
I paced around, tried calling Claude. There was still no answer. I considered driving over there -- I’d have liked the company -- but I was too skittish to face the alley on my own.
Finally I fixed another cup of Ovaltine and curled on the sofa, rewinding The Black Swan.
* * * * *
By the next morning that indefinable bad smell in the shop had become a decidedly putrid stink.
“It smells like something died in here,” Angus complained.
64
Josh Lanyon
I don’t know why it didn’t click until then. I slammed down my coffee cup and hauled ass back to the office where I started shifting boxes, pulling stuff off the metal
As I watched, starting to feel silly, there was another clang of metal on metal and then the reverberation of a lid hitting the pavement. Something round and shiny rolled into view and fell over, like a miniature moon.
A shadow detached itself from the others. I had to wipe the glass where my breath was fogging. The figure in the alley stepped back and looked up. It wore a mask. A grinning skull.
I gripped the window sill as my heart lurched and began that frantic ticking like a turn signal about to short out. I must be clearly outlined by the hall light behind me. I ducked back, like 14 point lace would be useful concealment. I risked another look.
Not sharing my fear, the figure in the skull mask waved to me. It was bizarre. A cheery little salute from the image of death. As I stood there gaping, the dark-clad apparition turned and sprang away down the alley with un-apparition-like vigor.
Belatedly my brain kicked in. I scrambled across the bed, found the phone and called the police. Then I lay flat on the mattress and gave myself a chance to catch my breath while I waited for the squad car to come.
Damn.
Fatal Shadows
63
Just calm down.
Relax.
When I felt better, I pulled out a notepad from the side table and jotted the names of the remaining members of the Chess Club.
Andrew Chin
Grant Landis
Felice Burns
Me
I remembered Felice pretty clearly. She had been exceptionally poised and unreasonably focused for a girl her age. I seemed to recollect that she had been headed for med school. She could have married, but she might use her maiden name professionally. Perhaps I could track her through the AMA.
I barely remembered Andy Chin or Grant Landis. Chin, I thought, had been one of stronger players, Landis one of our weaker. My own membership in the Chess Club had been brief and unremarkable. The life span of the Chess Club itself had been brief and unremarkable, now that I thought about it. Still there was no other connection I could think of linking me and Robert to “The Royal Game.”
The fact Rusty was also connected to the Chess Club seemed conclusive to me.
At last the squad car arrived. The uniformed officers took my report and poked around the alley and side streets, their flashlights picking out empty corners and cardboard boxes. A stray cat rocketed out of its hiding place like a cartoon character. Lights went on in the building across the cinderblock wall.
Though inclined to think “the disturbance” was kids playing a prank, the cops promised to swing around the block once on their way back to patrolling.
After they drove off, it seemed very quiet. Up and down the boulevard, the neighboring businesses stood dark and silent. Inside my building, aged joints popped and creaked, settling for the night -- that would be the architectural joints, though mine weren’t in much better shape.
I paced around, tried calling Claude. There was still no answer. I considered driving over there -- I’d have liked the company -- but I was too skittish to face the alley on my own.
Finally I fixed another cup of Ovaltine and curled on the sofa, rewinding The Black Swan.
* * * * *
By the next morning that indefinable bad smell in the shop had become a decidedly putrid stink.
“It smells like something died in here,” Angus complained.
64
Josh Lanyon
I don’t know why it didn’t click until then. I slammed down my coffee cup and hauled ass back to the office where I started shifting boxes, pulling stuff off the metal
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