Dead Between the Lines by Denise Swanson

Author:Denise Swanson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Before returning to the store, I sat down at the old desk and sketched out my ideas for Mrs. Ziegler’s basket. I liked to get my thoughts on paper while they were still fresh from the client interview. I was making a note to order a copy of Ten Colors of Blonde when I heard the steps creak.

Thinking that Hannah might be looking for me, I called out, “I’ll be down in a second.” I jotted one more note and added, “I’m coming.”

I grabbed the binder and order pad and hurried out the door toward the stairs. Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck rose, but before I could turn to see if someone was behind me, I felt what might have been a shove between my shoulder blades and stumbled. Unable to regain my balance, I pitched forward and fell, thumping down each step until I lay breathless at the bottom of the staircase. What in the hell just happened?

• • •

It took me a moment or two, and whatever was left of my pride, before I could get to my feet and ascertain that nothing was broken. By then Hannah had run from the cash register to where I’d fallen. I spent the next thirty or so minutes trying to convince her I was fine.

While Hannah was watching me, I made myself walk around as if I were pain-free and frequently descended the stairs on my ass. But after I waved good-bye to her, I admitted to myself that I was in agony and grabbed the bottle of Advil from behind the counter. Dry swallowing a couple of tablets, I collapsed on a soda fountain stool. I was too sore to lock up or even flip on the CLOSED sign.

While my body rested and the ibuprofen started to work, I called the police. Chief Kincaid seemed to think my imagination was working overtime. He said that I had probably tripped rather than been pushed, but if I wanted, he could send an officer over to look around.

I hesitated. Just before Hannah left, I’d checked out the second floor and hadn’t seen evidence of anyone’s presence there. It was a shame that since the door to the upstairs area had been locked, the police had assumed that whoever had hidden in the store hadn’t been able to gain access to it. If they’d processed that space, there’d be fingerprint power to smear. And because my cleaning lady kept the place spic and span, there wasn’t even a layer of dust that might have had footprints to prove someone had been behind me.

Concluding that a search would probably be futile, and realizing that the last thing I wanted was for the police to create another mess or cause any more rumors about me to float around town, I declined the chief’s offer. Maybe he was right. Maybe my nerves had gotten the better of me. Maybe I had just tripped over my own big feet.

Sighing, I checked my messages.

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