Death Under the Lilacs Read Online Free Page B

surface.
    â€œDo not think about Wobblies,” she said aloud. And, of course, she did.
    Two Wobblies, her husband’s benign monsters that peopled his children’s books, sat in the corner and observed her with fire-red eyes and slowly twitching tails. Their tongues lolled under long snouts, and their stubby bodies swayed in unison.
    â€œIt’s all a nightmare, and I’m going to wake up in my bed at Nutmeg Hill, right, fellas?”
    They shook their heads, and she knew they were telling the truth.
    â€œIt’s all a horrible mistake, right?”
    They wouldn’t deceive her and shook their massive snouts again.
    She continued talking to the Wobblies, and it helped dispel the terror until she fell into a fitful sleep. She dreamed of doors: doors that opened out of dark rooms that smelled of rotting things; doors that entered onto broad meadows with grass swaying gently in a soft breeze; doors that filled her with exultation when they swung open into a bright noonday sun.
    The clank of metal against metal awakened Bea with a start. Terror and panic began to flood through her, but she fought it back with a massive exertion of will. She turned her head toward the sound and saw a sliver of light reach from floor to ceiling.
    A flashlight beam bobbed a few feet from her, and then the beam swung rapidly around the room and landed with a blinding flash across her eyes. She squinted into the brightness, trying to make out who held the light.
    A door was open behind the light, and she could see the lighter hues of gray in a night sky. Steps near her. The light left her eyes, and again metal clanked against metal. The beam swung across the room to stop at a Coleman lantern on a granite slab. A gloved hand reached for the lantern, pumped the primer a few times, and then lit it.
    The gasoline lantern sputtered to life. The gloved hand adjusted the flame until a bright white glow filled the room.
    The light hurt her eyes and she strained against the straps that bound her. Then an involuntary moan escaped her as her eyes adjusted and she saw the room that imprisoned her.
    She was a prisoner in a crypt.
    Three massive stone sarcophagi filled the small vault, and the board on which she was strapped was laid on a fourth.
    The man by the lantern turned to face her. It was her attacker from the parking lot. The ski mask hid his face, and he wore the same dark, nondescript clothes. He switched off the flashlight and shifted the small portable cassette recorder he held in his other hand.
    â€œI demand that you unstrap me at once!” Bea said.
    â€œYou aren’t in any position to demand anything, lady.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œJust call me a friend.”
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œYou.”
    â€œIf you’re wearing a mask I must know you. Do I know you?”
    Her abductor turned and walked to the door. Bea saw that at the entrance there was a barred grille that was ordinarily chained to a heavy hasp by the crypt entrance. A foot before the heavy metal bars was a massive arched metal door leading into the interior. He carefully pulled the door shut and returned carrying a large cardboard box which he placed on one of the stone sarcophagi. He methodically began to unpack items from the container and align them neatly on the stone surface. She watched in detachment as he placed everything in precise rows: several plastic water bottles, canned meats and bread, and a length of chain to which was welded a pair of handcuffs.
    He turned to face her, holding the chain in both hands.
    â€œWhat’s that for?”
    â€œTo make you more comfortable.” He stepped toward the sarcophagus on which she lay. He snapped one handcuff over her right wrist and ran the chain over to the wall, where he padlocked it to a metal ring embedded in the masonry.
    He unstrapped her feet and hands and stepped quickly away to the far side of the narrow vault.
    Bea swung her feet to the floor and tried