Alaskan Mountain Pursuit Elizabeth Goddard (best short novels .TXT) 📖

beginning to think that Sylvie was leading them on a wild goose chase. Surely Masters would have destroyed any evidence against him rather than packing it away in the basement. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Sylvie that. Instead, he followed her around like a puppy. Hadn’t he been here before? Following Michelle around? Whoa...what was he doing, comparing the two women? He’d been in love with Michelle. He and Sylvie were trying to solve a murder together and stay alive while they were at it.

He should ask the obvious question. Should have asked a long time ago. “Why would your stepfather leave anything incriminating in your mother’s things if he thought she had something to hide and had killed her for it? I’m thinking that’s the main reason he had the stuff boxed up and put away before you got to it—so he could go through it and get rid of anything problematic.”

She cast him a glare. “I don’t want to believe my stepfather is a murderer, and that’s why I’m here to find out who is responsible. But you’re right, if he is involved he would... Wait... He had Ashley do it.”

“So he says.”

“Look, it’s the best place to start.”

“But you were looking for the plane first—you thought that was the right place to start.”

“I went looking for the plane so I could find out what happened. If I found it then I could let the authorities know and they could see if it looked like foul play. I was only working on the slightest suspicion. Now that I have a strong reason to believe that it wasn’t an accident, I need to see her things. Make sense?” Sylvie paused and turned to face him. “Why are you asking me this now? If you didn’t want to come along, you could have said so earlier. I told you I didn’t need your help.”

Disappointment flickered in her eyes. Will wanted to kick himself. “I’m here, aren’t I? I told you I’d see this through with you. I’m just thinking out loud, is all. The basement doesn’t seem like a good idea to me. What could you hope to find?”

Turning her back on him, she started down again. “I can’t tell you what I’m looking for. Only that I’ll know it when I see it.”

At the end of the hallway, Will followed her down a spiraling wrought-iron staircase that seemed as at odds with the stark lines of the home’s architecture as he was with Sylvie at the moment.

With each step drawing them closer to the basement, Will’s concern for her increased. “Your stepfather told you not to look for your mother’s things. It might be too upsetting. Are you sure about this, Sylvie?”

At the bottom, she turned on him. “He wouldn’t be the man he is today if he wasn’t skilled in the power of persuasion. He’s very convincing. I’ve listened to him persuade my mother that he loved her and only her and would never cheat on her.” Her voice cracked.

Her pain was palpable, and he wanted to take her hand and squeeze it. Reassure her. Instead, he whispered, “Sylvie...” And with that one breath he conveyed all the turmoil and emotions he felt about their situation. About Sylvie. But he didn’t know how to comfort her, or if that was even something she wanted from him.

She had a smudge on her cheek and for some reason Will couldn’t fathom, he reached up and pressed his thumb against the silk of her skin and wiped it away. An innocent-enough motion, but it somehow had his breaths coming faster. And sent his heart into his throat.

Sylvie inched back, wiping the moment away. “Okay, the basement is just down another flight of stairs.”

Will followed her, descending a slim and dank staircase. Everything beyond the spiral staircase looked as if it belonged to a different house entirely. A different century, even. Sylvie slowed as she approached. A single bulb flickered from the ceiling. She took the last three steps to stand in front of the door and tried the knob.

“It’s locked. I should have known.”

“There’s a chair here, too. Would he have a guard on the door to keep you out?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Well, if there was a guard here, he might be back soon. We need to hurry.”

Pulling out his pocketknife, Will tried to work the lock free, but the dead bolt was obviously engaged. “Why not ask for a key?”

“You heard him. He didn’t want me in her things. I can’t ask for a key. All the more reason for me to look.”

Sylvie’s stepfather had told her to stay away, so she would do the opposite. “I’m not sure what’s worse. That what you just said makes some kind of sense to me or that the door is locked and our whole reason for coming is shot.”

Sylvie scraped her hands through her hair. “Being in this house drains me. I can’t think straight. That’s why I moved out and went to work doing what I love. But down here in the dark and dank, I feel like the walls are closing in on me.”

Will could relate. “What now?”

She cocked her head. “Do you hear footsteps?” she whispered. “Someone is coming down the stairs.”

“If it’s the same someone who is guarding the door we can ask for a key.” He grinned, but only to bring levity to the moment. He didn’t like this one bit.

Someone was definitely creeping down the steps, their footfalls soft.

Panic swirled in Sylvie’s eyes. “There’s no place to hide.”

“We’re not going to hide anymore. We’re going to walk up the stairs like we have every right to be here.” Will would go first in case this house harbored the villains after Sylvie.

On the next corner, he came face-to-face with Marguerite, who stood two steps above him. She gasped, covered her mouth and let out a stream of words in French.

Sylvie pushed by Will and hugged Marguerite to her. “You scared us to death.