Legacy of the Witch Read Online Free

pointing. “Thanks. I’ll be quick, promise.”
    He nodded and closed the entry door behind me as I walked
through the house, looking all around as I did. It shouldn’t seem suspicious, I
thought. The place was breathtaking; who wouldn’t look it over?
    I’d seen no alarm panel near the door. But I saw no sign of my
grandmother’s treasure box, either. When I reached the far end of the living
room, I headed down the short hall and spotted the bathroom immediately.
    The lights came on automatically, revealing a spotless half
bath, with tan fixtures, a beige rug, nothing on the walls besides a medicine
cabinet over the sink, and light-colored wood trim, like pecan or something.
There were merlot towels on the rack and a bar of hand soap on the soap dish.
Irish Spring.
    Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the door. “What is it he
thinks I’m here to do?” I couldn’t even imagine. Maybe he’d hired a maid or a
nanny or a party planner or…oh, a house sitter! That would be marvelous, a house
sitter. Then he could just get out and leave me to search for the witches’
box.
    I took a few minutes, washing my hands with the green soap and
thinking about the guy in the commercial, standing in the hills of Ireland and
slicing off the edge of the bar with his pocketknife to show us that it had
those striations clear through, though why we should care, I couldn’t fathom.
The stuff smelled great, though. Drying my hands on the seat of my pants because
I didn’t want to mess up one of those gorgeous towels, I looked into the mirror
and realized I needed a touch-up.
    I shrugged my bag off my shoulder and fixed my makeup, then
tried to untangle my jet-black hair. It was dead straight and completely out of
style. I couldn’t make it “big” no matter what I did to it. Or curly,
either.
    I popped a breath mint for good measure and opened the bathroom
door, then peeked into the living room.
    He wasn’t there.
    I stepped out, looking around, walking through the room and
taking my time. There wasn’t a lot of clutter, and I saw only a few places where
the chest might be hidden. A closet near the front door, a pair of end tables
with doors on the front that must have storage space inside.
    I moved past the staircase, into the dining room, noting the
large hutch—two possible drawers there—and the china closet. That had a drawer,
too. Then into the kitchen where, of course, every cupboard was a
possibility.
    Stainless steel fixtures, white appliances and more of that
same light wood. The countertop looked like marble and matched the pattern of
the floor. White with black swirls. There was a note stuck to the fridge with a
magnet in the shape of an American flag, and I moved a little closer.
    6/21, 6:00 pm, help arrives.
    Today’s date. It was 7:30. Obviously he thought I was the help
he’d been expecting.
    Footsteps behind me made me jump guiltily and turn around.
    “Sorry if I scared you before. I’m antsy about this. Deadline’s
breathing down my neck, and it’s taken me three months to realize I don’t know
what the hell I’m doing. So…”
    “Don’t worry. Now that I’m here it will…be done in no time.” Just as soon as I figure out what it is, I thought.
    He moved past me to the counter, poured coffee into two mugs,
then moved aside with his in his hand. “Help yourself to cream and sugar.”
    I moved forward, standing awfully close to him, but he didn’t
move away. I added cream and sugar to my mug and inhaled as I stirred. “It’s
good,” I said after my first sip.
    He nodded, his eyes on me and way too intent. “A little late
for this, I guess, but I’m Harry,” he said, and extended a hand.
    “Amarrah,” I said.
    “I probably shouldn’t ask, Amarrah, but are you…Middle
Eastern?”
    I lifted my brows and withdrew my hand before it reached his,
instantly offended, as I so often was since Operation Desert Shield had begun.
“That’s because I’m Iraqi. Do you have a problem with