Death by the Riverside by J. M. Redmann; Jean M. Redmann Page A

might be a prudent idea to change out of my, so far, only slightly tarnished blue dress. I stumbled back over the lumber to the other side of the basement, where I found what I was looking for. I took off my dress, slip, and panty hose, and folded them into my purse, which I hid in one of the bottom boxes. If I couldn’t get out of the coal dump, maybe I could hide there and make them think that I had gotten away. Before putting on my new clothes, I went over to a corner and peed. Get the bodily functions out of the way now, instead of having to go while I’m fighting the bad guys. Then I tried on my new ensemble. A pair of holey jeans a size too big and a moth eaten T-shirt, also too big. I scavenged a length of rope for a belt and rolled up the pants cuffs. I decided against shoes. My slick pumps wouldn’t be much use any place I might be going in the next few hours. Besides, their navy blue color clashed with the faded blue of my jeans.
    I wanted to get into the coal chute without dislodging the old doors too much. I didn’t need a flashing light signaling where I’d gone. First, I had to get the chute door open. It probably hadn’t been moved for decades. The first inch was easy, the hinges were that loose. It screeched protest the rest of the way, and covered everything, including myself, with coal dust. I could only get it to open a little above horizontal, so that the door pointed up at about forty-five degrees from the wall, which solved my old door problem. I could lean them against the coal chute door and still have room to crawl into it. As long as goon boy and friends didn’t search the basement with floodlights, they would probably never notice.
    The only thing now was to squeeze myself in and hope that I didn’t run into any nasty crawling things. I wished I had a bandanna to cover my face with. I was still coughing from the dust kicked up by opening the coal chute door.
    I put my gun in my rope belt, then covered it with a wad of T-shirt to keep dust out of it. I tentatively put my head inside and flashed the light up the shaft. What I saw was more dirt and spiderwebs than I ever thought existed in the state of Louisiana. All in that shaft that I had to climb up.
    I heard a car door slam. Damn, Milo had bad timing. I switched off my flashlight and put it in my pocket, then slid my shoulders into the shaft. I braced my elbows against the sides and pulled my torso in. Then I put one foot on the edge of the opening and pushed the rest of me up. The metal felt cold and sharp against my bare feet. I braced my elbows again, then my feet and lifted myself up a couple of inches. All that was supporting me was the pressure of my arms and legs against the sides of the shaft. I couldn’t look up, even if there was something to see, because of all the dirt and dust. I heaved myself up another couple of inches so that my feet were above the top of the opening.
    I paused for a moment to listen. I didn’t want to be struggling noisily in here when they were in the basement.
    Then I heard it. Off in the distance. A shot. Milo, I told myself, it had to be Milo. The powers that be got tired of his bungling and brought him back here to be shot. I thrust myself up again, then again, before I remembered that I needed to be quiet when they came into the basement. I stopped, hanging suspended in the dark, dusty air.
    The trap door was opened, then footsteps on the stairs. The bottom door opened. I heard some very gratifying cursing. Then the footsteps ran up the stairs and there was more yelling. I chanced hauling myself up the shaft another foot or so. Then more voices and more feet down the stairs. They were yelling and throwing the broken furniture around. They were making enough noise to allow me to continue inching my way up. If they tore up every inch of the basement, they would find this shaft. I didn’t want them to find me in it. Something started crawling on my neck. I didn’t dare shake it off. I couldn’t risk