two routes she’d take when her plan was in full operation.
After pressing a strip of tape across the door lock, she swung the doors closed and, returning to her room, drew her medium-sized suitcase from within her closet, setting it by the outer door. After attaching the flash to the camera, she tested the bulb and set it on the case, beside the skates.
Satisfied that all was ready for action, she looked up a number in her address book and dialed long distance, to New York City .
“Attorneys’ offices,” a woman answered.
“Mr. Theodore Brewster, please,” she said. There was no time to waste on silly games. “Vicky Banning calling.”
“One moment, please.”
Vicky waited, reaching for the directory that had been left in her room when her phone had been installed. She checked the number for Air Express , and folded the page to mark it.
“Hello, darling,” a man’s voice said. “How are you?”
“Hello, Teddy,” she said. “I’m just fine. Sweetheart, I want you to do me a big favor, and time is important. I’m going to be sending you a package by Air Express …”
* * * *
The black dress will be best , Vicky decided, as she dressed for dinner. She then frowned. Why on earth did I buy white skates? That was a mistake, but it’s too late to correct it now. She dressed slowly, killing time, a practice she was unused to. Anxiety germinated a seed of dislike in her, for Sarah. Not because of what Sarah had done, but because she’d forced Vicky to protect herself in a way she knew she’d regret later on. It just wasn’t her style.
Dinner had begun fifteen minutes ago, according to the clock on the mantel, and Vicky knew that Sarah was a stickler for arriving everywhere on time, including for meals. Vicky slipped off her shoes, and then crept around the veranda with the stealth of a cat burglar, clutching the last prop necessary for her plan to her chest. She pulled the unlocked doors to Sarah’s room outward with ease and slid into the darkness. She was out again in less than a minute, empty-handed.
* * * *
When Sarah entered the TV room, Vicky winked lasciviously at her and watched her stalk off in a huff. She watched Sarah closely and, after a while, saw her yawn, glance at her watch, and begin to rise from her chair.
Vicky rose quickly and rushed off to her room. She removed her shoes, retrieved the camera, skates and suitcase, and left through the double doors onto the porch, leaving the light on and the doors open. Though fully laden, she slunk silently around the house to Sarah’s room. Upon reaching it, she laid the suitcase across the arms of the lawn chair beside the doors and placed the skates before the chair, toes pointed toward the balcony. Pressing her back against the wall, she stood staring into the silent darkness and waited.
Suddenly, light showed through the yellow curtains of Sarah’s bedroom. Vicky braced herself for action. After just a few moments, another light sliced through the outdoor darkness, a sharp, projecting beam through the octagonal bathroom window. It was time.
She stepped up onto the seat of the lawn chair, then up again onto the suitcase that spanned the chair’s arms. If the brand of suitcase—as the ads claimed—could withstand a beating by gorillas, then it could certainly bear up under the weight of a little old lady. But the ads hadn’t made any claims about balance.
The chair swayed from side to side under her unsteady climb, nearly tipping her off until she countered its movement with her slight weight. Straightening, she braced her hands on the windowsill beneath the squared-off panes. Having poised the camera on the ledge, she waited for the perfect moment.
It came quickly, the click of the camera loud in the darkness, the hiss of the bulb as it fizzled into gloom.
Vicky scrambled down from the suitcase onto the chair, then down onto the carpeting of the veranda. She spun around, backed up to the chair, stepped into the
After pressing a strip of tape across the door lock, she swung the doors closed and, returning to her room, drew her medium-sized suitcase from within her closet, setting it by the outer door. After attaching the flash to the camera, she tested the bulb and set it on the case, beside the skates.
Satisfied that all was ready for action, she looked up a number in her address book and dialed long distance, to New York City .
“Attorneys’ offices,” a woman answered.
“Mr. Theodore Brewster, please,” she said. There was no time to waste on silly games. “Vicky Banning calling.”
“One moment, please.”
Vicky waited, reaching for the directory that had been left in her room when her phone had been installed. She checked the number for Air Express , and folded the page to mark it.
“Hello, darling,” a man’s voice said. “How are you?”
“Hello, Teddy,” she said. “I’m just fine. Sweetheart, I want you to do me a big favor, and time is important. I’m going to be sending you a package by Air Express …”
* * * *
The black dress will be best , Vicky decided, as she dressed for dinner. She then frowned. Why on earth did I buy white skates? That was a mistake, but it’s too late to correct it now. She dressed slowly, killing time, a practice she was unused to. Anxiety germinated a seed of dislike in her, for Sarah. Not because of what Sarah had done, but because she’d forced Vicky to protect herself in a way she knew she’d regret later on. It just wasn’t her style.
Dinner had begun fifteen minutes ago, according to the clock on the mantel, and Vicky knew that Sarah was a stickler for arriving everywhere on time, including for meals. Vicky slipped off her shoes, and then crept around the veranda with the stealth of a cat burglar, clutching the last prop necessary for her plan to her chest. She pulled the unlocked doors to Sarah’s room outward with ease and slid into the darkness. She was out again in less than a minute, empty-handed.
* * * *
When Sarah entered the TV room, Vicky winked lasciviously at her and watched her stalk off in a huff. She watched Sarah closely and, after a while, saw her yawn, glance at her watch, and begin to rise from her chair.
Vicky rose quickly and rushed off to her room. She removed her shoes, retrieved the camera, skates and suitcase, and left through the double doors onto the porch, leaving the light on and the doors open. Though fully laden, she slunk silently around the house to Sarah’s room. Upon reaching it, she laid the suitcase across the arms of the lawn chair beside the doors and placed the skates before the chair, toes pointed toward the balcony. Pressing her back against the wall, she stood staring into the silent darkness and waited.
Suddenly, light showed through the yellow curtains of Sarah’s bedroom. Vicky braced herself for action. After just a few moments, another light sliced through the outdoor darkness, a sharp, projecting beam through the octagonal bathroom window. It was time.
She stepped up onto the seat of the lawn chair, then up again onto the suitcase that spanned the chair’s arms. If the brand of suitcase—as the ads claimed—could withstand a beating by gorillas, then it could certainly bear up under the weight of a little old lady. But the ads hadn’t made any claims about balance.
The chair swayed from side to side under her unsteady climb, nearly tipping her off until she countered its movement with her slight weight. Straightening, she braced her hands on the windowsill beneath the squared-off panes. Having poised the camera on the ledge, she waited for the perfect moment.
It came quickly, the click of the camera loud in the darkness, the hiss of the bulb as it fizzled into gloom.
Vicky scrambled down from the suitcase onto the chair, then down onto the carpeting of the veranda. She spun around, backed up to the chair, stepped into the
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