In The Falling Light Read Online Free Page A

swung in quietly, revealing a vast dark
space. A breeze puffed through the opening, smelling of dust and
mold and age. Cesar stepped inside, closing the door softly behind
him, and panned the flashlight around.
    The attic ran the length of the house, a ten
foot central beam peaked overhead, the roof angling down on each
side with exposed rafters. Moonlight glowed in the circular dormer
windows, spilling washed-out light into some places and casting
deep shadows in others. He checked for a light switch, found none,
traced the flashlight beam along the walls and roof, saw no light
fixtures. It was dusty, and he sneezed twice. A lot of junk had
collected up here in the century since that photograph was taken,
creating a maze of tarp-draped furniture, stacks of crates and
trunks, decaying cane patio chairs and rotting umbrellas, more
dress dummies and lots and lots of paintings. He heard a skittering
noise to his right. Rats for sure.
    The window he had seen in the photo was in
front of him on the opposite wall, and he made his way past a lumpy
couch and a pile of cracked leather suitcases, reaching a central
aisle running both directions through the center of the junk. He
panned the light right and immediately picked out the top of the
vault, right where the photo had shown it, hidden behind a draped
wardrobe. That it was still here was not particularly surprising,
the thing must weigh a ton or more, and must have been a real bitch
to get up to the attic in the first place. Cesar walked towards it,
wondering how much stuff he would need to move to get to it, then
wondering how he was going to get it open. He had no tools. Might
have to wake the old bag up and shake her until she spit out the
combo.
    He needn’t have worried on either count.
There was a clear path to where the vault stood against a wall, and
both doors were wide open. His powerful flashlight beam revealed
multiple shelves running top to bottom on each side, and resting on
every one of those shelves were stacks of tightly-bundled bills
wrapped in colored, paper bands.
    “Jesus,” he whispered, walking slowly
towards it. The flashlight moved up and down, side to side,
revealing that the vault was deep, and every shelf was packed to
the back with bundles. He stopped in front of it – the vault was
taller than he was – tucked the flashlight under an armpit and took
down a stack, riffling through it. Hundreds. The band read
$10,000.00. And there were hundreds of them. Thousands. How much
was here? Had to be millions, all in untraceable cash.
    Cesar grinned broadly, then his mind started
clicking. First off, the pathetic armload of pillow cases wouldn’t
be close to enough. He’d have to find luggage – plenty of that up
here – and start loading. He would stage the cases near the attic
door, then make trips downstairs. The mansion had a mini-van to be
used for emergencies or light errands, and Cesar had the key. He
would back the van to the kitchen door and start loading. How many
trips? Didn’t matter, he had all night. He’d try to be quiet so as
not to wake the old woman, but if he did, what did that matter
either? He could smother her easily, leave her in the bed, let the
doctors wonder if she had simply died in her sleep. As for Cesar?
They’d think he got scared when she died and took off, maybe try to
charge him with negligence or car theft, but it wouldn’t make any
difference. It was only Tuesday, and she wouldn’t be missed until
Saturday. By then he’d have dumped the van and would be in South
America, rich as a Latin dictator.
    “Thanks, Jevon,” he whispered, chuckling,
and then noticed the ladder. It was small, too small for a child,
something for a doll’s bunk bed maybe, leaning up against the open
shelving of the vault. The shelf it reached looked more depleted of
stacks than the others. Was that the shelf where Rosie got her
money? He pointed the flashlight in there and saw a stack of
business envelopes. She could get to the attic?