noise. I jumped.
“It’s probably the air conditioning, or maybe the elevator,” he said. We waited.
Eventually the sound stopped and we remained quiet in our respective club chairs. Dad shrugged. “Passed us by, it seems the danger has,” he said.
“We’ll see,” I agreed.
“Now, tell me more about this Neville person. What would make one want to stick a knife in his throat?”
I hesitated, then got up and quietly sidled to the door. In a swift movement, I bent down, grasped the handle and jerked the door overhead, revealing Detective Friday leaning against the jamb, notebook in hand.
“Oh, hi,” he said. “Don’t mind me. Go ahead and tell your father what would make someone want to stick a knife in Neville Carstair’s throat.”
I glared at him. “Can I help you, Detective?”
“You can answer the question,” he said.
“I have no idea. Why don’t you answer it? I think that’s your job, not mine. Right?”
I pulled out my cell phone and punched in Phil’s number.
“Who are you calling?” Friday asked.
“My attorney,” I said.
“Why would you need to do that? We’re just talking here,” he said.
“I’m not talking to you. Do you have a warrant?” I asked.
Phil’s phone stopped ringing, and a helpful female voice told me that the voicemail box had not yet been set up. Who on earth did not have voicemail in this day and age? I thought.
“What is all this stuff?” he said, looking over my shoulder into the unit.
I tried to block his path, adopting a “power pose” with my legs apart and my fists on my hips, but that did not stop him from leaning into the shadows and snapping a photo with his cell phone. I grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it down behind me.
“I’m sorry. Did I not ask you if you had a warrant?” I said.
He looked at his watch.
“On the way,” he said. “Anytime now.”
“Well, let me know when you have it then,” I said.
I pulled up the door, and slipped into the room, quickly closing it off behind me.
“Dad, did you get that?” I hissed.
“Yes,” he said. “Help is on the way, worry not.”
“We don’t have much time,” I said.
“Cassandra, what is there to be concerned about? There’s nothing incriminating in this unit, is there?” he asked.
“Well, no,” I said slowly. “But still, I don’t want anyone going through my stuff. And finding out about, well, you know, my personal life. This is private. How did he find me here, anyway? Were they following us all day? Did you notice anything?”
“No,” he said. “Look, I know how you feel. We’ll have a short window of opportunity to move some of your things, but we can’t move all of them, there’s just not enough time. So whatever you want to move, figure it out fast, and we’ll put it into the other unit down the hall. But be quick…”
“How can we do that? Detective Friday is standing right outside.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Father!”
“Just go and separate what you want to be moved, and be quick about it. When I say go, get ready to move. All right?”
“I still don’t get how he found me….” I grumbled, but I turned and went over to my stacks of boxes. How was I supposed to decide which to move and which to leave? Everything was important, in one sense or another. This was impossible.
“I’m an art history major, not a murderer, for heaven’s sake,” I said aloud.
“Shhhh,” came the response.
Shortly thereafter I heard the whine of the elevator again, some scuffling and then the clatter of the door being raised. Two young men were ushered to the back of the unit by my father, who was flushed and disheveled.
“Which boxes?” he asked. “And I’ll be needing that key I gave you earlier, please.”
“I need all of them, so just start moving. Start here,” I said.
“There’s got to be fifty of them here,” Father said. “They may not all fit. Well, do your best, boys. I’ll get the door open, follow me.”
He grabbed a box and each of the hired hands took two and followed him out. I took one and almost tripped over the legs of Detective Friday, propped by the entrance. He seemed to be out cold.
“Should I ask?” I said when I saw my father on his way back for another box. He shook his head.
Phil arrived with a large moving dolly and soon the boxes were gone.
“Anything else?” he asked me, wiping sweat from his brow with a large white handkerchief.
“Well, if you have time, I’d really like that armoire and the hope chest moved, too,” I said.
He signaled the two lackeys and then spread his hands magnanimously.
“Is that all?”
“I guess…” I said.
“Fine,” he said. “Now, not to be crude, but, make yourself comfortable, just turn around and…”
Boom, I was out like a light. The next thing I knew, Detective Friday was shaking my shoulder and I opened my eyes to find the dimly lit room spinning around me.
“Oh, no, you’re not going to hurl again, are you?” He moved away.
“No, I don’t think so,” I croaked.I put my hand up to feel a large egg on the back of my head.
“Damn, what happened?” I asked him. “Somebody hit me on the head.”
“Me too,” he said. “Quite a coincidence. Looks like a lot of your stuff is gone.”
I tried to move my head but almost blacked out with the effort.
“Can you help me get up?” I asked him. “Did you call for back-up or anything?”
“Yeah, about a half hour ago,” he said, shaking his walkie-talkie. “I probably should go down to the car and call from there. It looks like the reception is bad in here. Do you think you need an ambulance or something?”
He pulled me up on one of the covered chairs.
“Can you focus your eyes on me?” he asked.
I tried to stop my eyes from spinning in my head, but it was difficult, and I wasn’t really motivated: although I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out—and truthfully, I was a little put out by the blow—I thought it might be helpful to give the gang some getaway time, so I decided to play up my infirmity.
“I might have a head injury, I really can’t see straight and things keep blacking out. In fact, there’s a loud ringing in my head right now,” I said.
“That’s the elevator alarm,” he said. “Looks like we might have caught a live one in there.”
He grinned.
“Mind if I leave you alone for a minute?”
He stood up and I grabbed his arm.
“Please, don’t leave me here all alone,” I said. “What if they come back? Maybe they’ll kill me, too. Or I could have a seizure or die while you’re gone. I’d really rather you stay here until someone else arrives. Please, officer.