The Plot Read Free

meandered across her father's computer monitor. The disk storage box lay upside down amid a clutter of pens and pencils on the desk. The drawers had been removed and smashed into splinters.
    Cassie's mind raced. Neither the living room nor dining room, where the sterling silver was kept, had been disturbed. The sitting room or kitchen, either. She shook her head sharply. Focus, dammit. There was nothing in here but Daddy's mementoes and his work. Why would anyone ... His work ... “rock the foundations ... Pulitzer .” Her scalp prickled. If someone did this ... if they were this determined ... would they have gone so far as to ... what if I'm not alone? She dashed from the study, through the sitting room and into the kitchen, where she grabbed the telephone and punched 9-1-1.
    A husky female voice answered on the first ring. Cassie cupped her hand around the phone and spoke as softly as she could, then listened to the dispatcher contacting a patrol car. She heard the garbled radio response of a policeman and held her breath until she was told that units were on the way.
    "Stay where you are,” instructed the operator, “and remain on the phone with me until our officers arrive. If you see or hear anything unusual, tell me immediately. Understand?"
    "Yes,” she replied, almost whispering. God, how she hated the fear that threatened her ability to think.
    Although she had been aware of every creak in the old house, every rustle of the wind and leaves against its walls, the first she knew of the policemen's arrival was from the emergency operator.
    "Miss Hart, the perimeter is secured, and some officers will be coming to the kitchen door. Once you've let them in, put one of them on the telephone. Okay?"
    "Yes. And thank you for everything.” She'd seldom said thank you with such sincerity. “I see them now."
    "Miss Hart? I'm Officer Gatlin,” said the tall, squarely built black man as she opened the door. Three other officers followed him inside. “Is that your burgundy Mercedes parked in front?"
    She nodded and handed him the telephone. Her legs went weak, and she sank onto the nearest chair. Two of the policemen positioned themselves by the dining room door. A short, wiry officer squatted beside her.
    "Are you all right? You look kind of pale,” he asked, studying her face.
    "Yes, I guess so. It's just, well, I've never stumbled upon a burglary before,” Cassie responded, or seen my father dead or sat in the kitchen with his ashes . She brushed her black hair from her forehead with trembling hands.
    The officer nodded, gave her an encouraging pat on the arm, then stood and walked to the corner of the room to huddle with the others. She caught only bits and pieces of their conversation. “...two sets of footprints ... no vehicles ... probably gone."
    "Miss Hart, you said that the only room you found disturbed was your father's study? Where is that?” It was Gatlin. Obviously, he was in charge.
    "Yes, that's right, but I didn't check the rest of the house. As soon as I saw the study, I called 9-1-1. It's through that door and to the left,” she responded, waving toward the sitting room.
    "Is there an attic? A basement?"
    "An attic, yes, but not a basement really. Just a small cellar that opens from the outside. You probably passed the entrance on your way around the house. The door to the attic is at the far end of the upstairs hall.” The attic. “Uh, but there's nothing up there but junk. I don't think you need to waste your time."
    Gatlin ignored her. “I'll start in the study. Davies, you and Rodriguez check upstairs. Williams, stay here with Miss Hart and radio a couple of the guys outside to check the cellar."
    The one who had shown such concern for her spoke briefly into his shoulder-mounted radio, then stood by the back door with his arms folded while the other officers spread out through the house.
    Several minutes passed with Officer Williams standing alert and silent. Cassie closed her eyes and prayed