He didn’t like it. He had a bad feeling about this job, and had from the get-go. Why not heed his gut instinct and just walk away from it, let The Bookkeeper find someone else to do this?
But then he thought of Isobel. He wanted to get her pretty things, and he couldn’t always steal them. He would need money, especially if he planned to vacation for a while and spend idle days with her. The Bookkeeper’s money was good. An hour, two at most, and he would be due a hefty payday. After collecting, he could leave The Bookkeeper’s employ for good.
Mind made up, he came out from his hiding place. Keeping to the shadows and moving with the stealth of one, he found a place at the back of the Wallace property where the wisteria vine on the estate wall was thick and the lighting thin.
He went over the wall.
Chapter 37
The place was still deserted. The padlock on the door of the detached garage was exactly as Coburn had left it. The black pickup hadn’t been moved from where he’d parked it that morning.
He pulled the sedan to a stop beside it and together they got out. Honor, functioning in a fog, looked to him for direction.
“Let’s see what’s up there.” He nodded toward the room above the garage.
They climbed the staircase attached to the exterior wall. The door at the top of the stairs was locked, but within ten seconds Coburn had found the key above the doorjamb. He unlocked and opened the door, then felt the inside wall for a light switch and flipped it on.
The small room obviously had been occupied by a young male. Posters and pennants for various sports teams were tacked to the walls. The bed was covered with a stadium blanket. Two deer heads with eight points each stared at one another from opposite walls across a floor of clean but scuffed hardwood. A nightstand, a chest of drawers, and a blue vinyl beanbag chair were the only other pieces of furniture.
Coburn crossed the room and opened a door, revealing a closet in which were stored a tackle box and rod and reel, a few articles of winter clothing zipped into garment bags, and a pair of hunting boots standing upright on the floor.
A matching door opened into a bathroom that wasn’t much larger than the closet. There was no tub, just a preformed fiberglass shower stall that was slightly discolored.
Honor stood in the center of the room, watching Coburn as he explored without any sign of compunction. But to her, it all felt very wrong. She wished for some background noise. She wished for more space and a second bed. She wished for Coburn not to be shirtless.
Mostly she wished that the tears pressing against her eyelids would dry up.
Coburn tested the taps on the bathroom sink. After some knocking of pipes inside the wall and gurgling sounds, water gushed from both faucets. He found a drinking glass in the medicine cabinet above the sink, filled it with cold water, and passed it to Honor.
She took it gratefully and drained it. He ducked his head into the sink and drank straight from the faucet.
When he came up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Home sweet home.”
“What if the family comes back?”
“I hope they won’t. At least not until I’ve used their shower.”
She tried to smile, but thought it probably fell flat. It felt as though it had. “Who blew up the car?”
“The Bookkeeper has somebody inside the FBI office. Somebody privy to information.” His lips formed a grim line. “Somebody who’s gonna die as soon as I find out who he is.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Find your late husband’s treasure, and I’ll bet we find that person.”
“But we haven’t found it.”
“We haven’t looked in the right place.”
“Was VanAllen—”
“He was clueless.”
“What did he say when you showed up instead of me?”
Speaking tersely, Coburn recounted his brief conversation with Tom VanAl
len. Honor hadn’t known him, but she knew that he’d married a girl from Eddie’s high school class.