“Please,” the old man whimpered, lifting his hands. “Take my money but leave me alone.”
Her grandfather, Kate realized with a little yelp of horror, and the boy whirled to face her, gripping the knife.
Never had she seen such eyes—sizzling with hatred, accentuated by dark, arched eyebrows on fair skin. The overhead light cast his face into hollow shadows beneath stark cheekbones. The face of the devil’s son. His eyes flickered surprise at seeing her.
“No,” he growled, taking a step toward her.
Kate turned and ran, banging into the door frame. She straightened and ran on, down the hall, through the wailing music. She rounded the dining table in the foyer. Tripped over one of her hat boxes. Gasped and stumbled around the trunks—out the front door, into the dark night.
A gust of dry wind tossed leaves across the front path as she ran.
CHAPTER 2
One of Kate’s heels caught in the uneven bricks, jolting her to a stop. She pulled her foot out of the pump and continued in a lopsided limp—then stopped with a cry of frustration, yanked off the other shoe, and tossed it. She continued down the front walkway, the bricks sharp on her stockinged feet, her skirt too tight for more than prancing steps.
She couldn’t outrun him like this. Her only hope was to hide. She glanced back to make sure he hadn’t appeared, then darted into the weedy grass on her left, aiming for the dark row of trees dividing her grandfather’s property from the beautiful house next door. As she reached the cover of the low-hanging branches, she heard him in the doorway and stopped, whirling to look, hoping the shadows hid her.
The boy paused on the front stoop, silhouetted against the light, still gripping the knife. He turned his head to search the dark yard, giving her a glimpse of his evil smirk in the half-light. “Come out, come out,” he called, sounding amused by the chase. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He seemed to realize the knife proved otherwise and lowered it, pressing it against his thigh.
Kate’s heart beat wildly enough to hear. She hoped her grandfather had escaped out the back door.
A car started on the road, and the boy trotted toward the curb, stopping with a growl of frustration as the car drove by. He stared after it, then turned back to the house, not looking so amused now that he thought she’d driven away for help.
Moonlight illuminated his face as he walked. Eighteen or nineteen, she guessed, wearing a sleeveless undershirt tucked into belted trousers. Dark hair, tousled by the wind, and those devilish eyes. He bent to pick up one of her shoes, then took a few steps and picked up the other. He held still for a moment, running his gaze over the dark yard, then continued to the house, taking her shoes with him. He pushed the bust of Beethoven out of the way, and the door swung shut, cutting off the light.
Kate exhaled a gasping breath. She had to call the police. She turned and pushed her way through the shrubbery, and then ran across the neighbor’s enormous lawn, her silk stockings slipping on the grass. She banged on the door and pressed the doorbell several times.
A pretty, blond girl opened the door, looking annoyed. “We heard the first knock.”
“Your phone—I need to call the police!” Kate pushed her way past the girl and spun in a circle in a gleaming foyer. “Where is it?”
“Bonnie, what’s going on?” a feminine voice called from upstairs.
Kate tilted her head back and saw an elegant blond woman at the top of the staircase. “I need to call the police! There’s a boy next door with a knife. He chased me, and I think he—” She didn’t want to say it.
“Bonnie, lock the front door, and then show her the phone.” The woman started down the staircase, adding in an undertone, “No need to guess which house.”
Bonnie turned the lock and led the way into the living room, glancing back at Kate with wide eyes. “What happened?”
Kate spotted a white telephone on a side table and snatched up the receiver. “Hello?” She tapped the holder a few times. “Hello, are you there?”
“Central,” a woman’s voice answered with maddening calm.
“I need the police—and hurry!”
The blond woman entered the living room, dressed in a long gown, as if going out for the night. “Are you all right, dear? Has one of those dreadful people hurt you?”
“I’m fine. I ran outside when I saw.”
“Saw what?” Bonnie asked, fascinated. She looked a little younger than Kate, maybe fifteen or sixteen.
“Pasadena Police Department,” a man’s voice said on the line.
“I need to report a murder. He had a—”
“What’s the address?”
“Address?” Kate reached for the birthday card envelope and realized she no longer had her purse. She must have dropped it along the way.
The blond woman took the receiver. “Thirteen forty-eight Starlight Circle. That’s my address, and I live next door. This is Dorothy Fairchild.”
“Murder,” Bonnie breathed. “Was it a thief? They’re always leaving that door open.”
Her grandfather had begged the boy to take his money rather than hurt him. “I think so. They were in the kitchen, and I—”
“They?” Bonnie’s blue eyes widened. “Was it gangsters from that club? Did they have Tommy guns?”
“No—no, nothing like that.”
“Police are on their way.” The blond woman hung up the phone and turned to Kate, her beautiful face tight with worry. “You say someone’s been killed? I hope … I hope it wasn’t Mr. Banks.”
“No, a younger man.”
Bonnie gasped. “Not the nice Mexican boy?”
“I don’t know.” Kate forced herself to remember the lifeless young man on the floor. “I don’t think he was Mexican. And the one who did it—” The memory of the pale, shadowed face and menacing eyes sent a chill through her. “He wasn’t either.”
The woman touched Kate’s arm. “I’m so glad you came to us. That house is nothing but trouble lately. I’m Mrs. Fairchild, and this is my daughter, Bonnie.”
“I’m Kate Hil—” She stopped before giving the name that would link her to the house next door. “I’m so sorry for barging in.”
“Don’t be silly.” The woman ran her gaze over Kate’s stylish traveling suit and hat. “You don’t look like the sort of girl who would be at that house. Are they friends of yours?”
Kate hesitated before saying, “No.” She barely knew her grandfather.
“Well, it’s a dreadful situation. A retired actor who takes in boarders. Unsavory people coming and going at all hours.”
“One of them is a communist,” Bonnie said. “But the Mexican boy seems nice.”
Her mother cast her a sideways look. “How do you know so much about them?”
“Just what I overhear. The communist has a loud voice.”
Kate looked at the dark front window. Aunt Lorna couldn’t have known, or she wouldn’t have sent her here. “Do you think the police will take long? I’m worried about … the other people in the house.”
“The police station isn’t far. I’ll wait outside and show them which house it is.”