Death by Chocolate

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

A few minutes later as I stood sweating on Paula's porch, Fred emerged from the darkness carrying a suitcase of some sort and a canvas bag. From the bag he produced a gadget that permitted him to unlock Paula's deadbolt in a matter of seconds.

The man was definitely going to have some explaining to do when this was all over.

He handed me a small penlight from the canvas bag. "As soon as we get in," he whispered, "I want you to find Paula, but don't let her say anything. Get her into the bathroom. Since we're dealing with a specialized madman and not your garden variety pervert, that's the place least likely to be bugged. If it's dark, use this light to show her your face."

I held up my piece of paper and whispered, "I'll use the light to show her this note I wrote."

"Good idea. I hope you printed it. She'd never be able to read your handwriting."

"I printed it! Jerk."

He turned the knob and pushed against the door. It stuck.

Fred sighed. "This is a bad time for her to become even more cautious."

He deftly removed the glass from the small window, reached inside and pushed away the obstruction, a kitchen chair, then opened the door.

The house was dark. Paula must have gone to bed. No surprise since it was close to ten o'clock and we had to get up at three.

I tugged off my hot sweat shirt and tossed it onto the chair that had formerly blocked the door. I didn't think a black-hooded figure in her house in the middle of the night would inspire confidence in Paula. Besides, it was hot.

I tiptoed upstairs, cringing every time one of the boards creaked. Old houses made noises, I told myself. Someone listening from across the street would never equate the irregular sounds with footsteps. But I still cringed with every one.

Paula's bedroom door was open. She always slept that way so she could hear Zach if he cried.

Maybe it was also to hear a possible intruder.

I stood for a moment with my back against the wall trying to figure the best way to do this. I doubted if she was asleep so soon after such a traumatic evening, but I was afraid to even whisper her name after Fred's warning.

I eased over into her doorway and was surprised to see that the drapes on the front window were parted a few inches and the blinds were open. From the faint light coming through, I noticed that Paula's bed was undisturbed. She sat in a chair staring out the window. On the alert. This wasn't going to be easy.

I turned on the flashlight, shone the beam on my note and walked into her bedroom.

In the space of a breath, she shot up out of the chair and charged across the room toward me, the blade of a very long, very shiny knife flashing in one uplifted hand. I dropped my note and flashlight and grabbed her arm with both hands, halting that knife in mid-plunge. I'm bigger than she is and stronger from all that chocolate, but she had the adrenaline of panic on her side. Actually, my adrenaline was surging pretty good by that time too. I was amazed...and thankful...that she didn't scream. Probably didn't want to scare Zach. Always the quintessential mother.

After struggling for an hour or a few seconds, depending on whether you measured in real time or perceived time, her gaze fell on my face and apparently there was enough light from that window for her to recognize me. She stopped struggling and opened her mouth as if to speak. I put one hand over her mouth and whispered very softly into her ear, "Don't say anything."