started to itch and she desperately tried to wiggle it to relieve the problem. She was in luck; it stopped.
The intruder was searching the bedroom. It sounded as if he or she were doing about the same thing Erica was doing before she was interrupted. Drawers were pulled out, and Erica knew that the wardrobes were next. Her panic rose. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. What could she do? The only solution she saw was to squeeze as far back behind the clothes as possible. She was lucky to have stepped into a wardrobe with several long coats in it, and she cautiously squeezed in amongst them and draped them in front of her. She hoped the two ankles sticking out of a pair of shoes on the floor wouldn’t be noticed.
It took a while for the person to go through the bureau. She inhaled a musty smell of mothballs, sincerely hoping they had done their job so that no bugs were creeping around here in the dark. She also hoped that it wasn’t Alex’s killer out there, only a few metres away. But who else would have reason to sneak around in Alex’s house, thought Erica, choosing to ignore the fact that she had no written invitation either.
All at once the door to the wardrobe was opened and Erica felt a gust of fresh air against the exposed skin of her ankles. She held her breath.
The wardrobe didn’t seem to be hiding any secrets or valuables—at least not for the person who was doing the searching—and the door was closed again almost at once. The other doors were opened and closed just as quickly, and the next moment she heard the footsteps going out the bedroom door and down the stairs. She didn’t dare step out of the wardrobe until a good while after she heard the front door carefully closing. It was wonderful to be able to breathe at last without being acutely conscious of each breath.
The room looked the same as when Erica came in. Whoever the visitor was, the search had been careful and had left no traces. Erica was fairly convinced that it wasn’t a burglar. She took a closer look at the wardrobe she had hidden inside. When she retreated to the far corner she had felt something hard pressing against the back of her calves. She swept aside the clothes and saw that what she had felt was a large canvas. It stood with the back facing her. She lifted it out carefully and turned it round. It was an incredibly beautiful painting. Even Erica could see that it had been done by a talented artist. The motif was a naked Alexandra, lying on her side with her head resting on one hand. The artist had chosen to use warm colours, which gave Alex’s face an impression of peace. She wondered why such a beautiful painting had been put in the back of a wardrobe. Judging from the picture, Alex had nothing to be ashamed of. Her body was just as perfect as the painting. Erica couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something familiar about it. There was something obvious that she’d seen before. She knew that she had never seen this particular painting, so it had to be something else. The space in the lower right corner lacked a signature, and when she turned it over there was nothing there but ‘1999’, which must have been the year the painting was done. She carefully put the painting back in its place at the back of the wardrobe and closed the door.
She looked around the room one last time. There was something she couldn’t really put her finger on. Something was missing, but for the life of her she couldn’t think what it was. Oh well, it would probably come to her later. She didn’t dare stay in the house any longer. She put back the key where she had found it. She didn’t feel safe until she was back in her car with the motor running. That was enough excitement for one evening. A stiff cognac would soothe her soul and drive off some of her uneasiness. Why in the world had she decided to drive over there and snoop around? She felt like slapping her forehead at her own stupidity.
When she pulled into the driveway at
The intruder was searching the bedroom. It sounded as if he or she were doing about the same thing Erica was doing before she was interrupted. Drawers were pulled out, and Erica knew that the wardrobes were next. Her panic rose. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. What could she do? The only solution she saw was to squeeze as far back behind the clothes as possible. She was lucky to have stepped into a wardrobe with several long coats in it, and she cautiously squeezed in amongst them and draped them in front of her. She hoped the two ankles sticking out of a pair of shoes on the floor wouldn’t be noticed.
It took a while for the person to go through the bureau. She inhaled a musty smell of mothballs, sincerely hoping they had done their job so that no bugs were creeping around here in the dark. She also hoped that it wasn’t Alex’s killer out there, only a few metres away. But who else would have reason to sneak around in Alex’s house, thought Erica, choosing to ignore the fact that she had no written invitation either.
All at once the door to the wardrobe was opened and Erica felt a gust of fresh air against the exposed skin of her ankles. She held her breath.
The wardrobe didn’t seem to be hiding any secrets or valuables—at least not for the person who was doing the searching—and the door was closed again almost at once. The other doors were opened and closed just as quickly, and the next moment she heard the footsteps going out the bedroom door and down the stairs. She didn’t dare step out of the wardrobe until a good while after she heard the front door carefully closing. It was wonderful to be able to breathe at last without being acutely conscious of each breath.
The room looked the same as when Erica came in. Whoever the visitor was, the search had been careful and had left no traces. Erica was fairly convinced that it wasn’t a burglar. She took a closer look at the wardrobe she had hidden inside. When she retreated to the far corner she had felt something hard pressing against the back of her calves. She swept aside the clothes and saw that what she had felt was a large canvas. It stood with the back facing her. She lifted it out carefully and turned it round. It was an incredibly beautiful painting. Even Erica could see that it had been done by a talented artist. The motif was a naked Alexandra, lying on her side with her head resting on one hand. The artist had chosen to use warm colours, which gave Alex’s face an impression of peace. She wondered why such a beautiful painting had been put in the back of a wardrobe. Judging from the picture, Alex had nothing to be ashamed of. Her body was just as perfect as the painting. Erica couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something familiar about it. There was something obvious that she’d seen before. She knew that she had never seen this particular painting, so it had to be something else. The space in the lower right corner lacked a signature, and when she turned it over there was nothing there but ‘1999’, which must have been the year the painting was done. She carefully put the painting back in its place at the back of the wardrobe and closed the door.
She looked around the room one last time. There was something she couldn’t really put her finger on. Something was missing, but for the life of her she couldn’t think what it was. Oh well, it would probably come to her later. She didn’t dare stay in the house any longer. She put back the key where she had found it. She didn’t feel safe until she was back in her car with the motor running. That was enough excitement for one evening. A stiff cognac would soothe her soul and drive off some of her uneasiness. Why in the world had she decided to drive over there and snoop around? She felt like slapping her forehead at her own stupidity.
When she pulled into the driveway at
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