on the water. It’s called the Embers. It’s an old Victorian mansion. You can’t miss it.
Please let me miss it, Tracy prayed.
But there it was, looming up out of the dark like some ogre’s castle in a nightmare. It looked deserted. How dare the servants take the weekend off, Tracy thought indignantly. They should all be discharged.
She drove the car behind a stand of giant willow trees, where it was hidden from view, and turned off the engine, listening to the nocturnal sounds of insects. Nothing else disturbed the silence. The house was off the main road, and there was no traffic at that time of night.
The property is screened by trees, my dear, and the nearest neighbour is acres away, so you don’t have to be concerned about being seen. The security patrol makes its check at ten P.M. and again at two A.M. You’ll be long gone by the two A.M. check.
Tracy looked at her watch. It was 11:00. The first patrol had gone. She had three hours before the patrol was due to arrive for its second check. Or three seconds to turn the car around and head back to New York and forget about this insanity. But head back to what? The images flashed unbidden into her mind. The assistant manager at Saks: ‘I’m terribly sorry, Miss Whitney, but our customers must be humoured …’
‘You can forget about running a computer. They’re not going to hire anybody with a record …’
‘Twenty-five thousand tax-free dollars for an hour or two. If you have scruples, she’s really a horrible woman.’
What am I doing? Tracy thought. I’m not a burglar. Not a real one. I’m a dumb amateur who’s about to have a nervous breakdown.
If I had half a brain, I’d get away from here while there’s still time. Before the SWAT team catches me and there’s a shoot-out and they carry my riddled body to the morgue. I can see the headline: DANGEROUS CRIMINAL KILLED DURING BUNGLED BURGLARY ATTEMPT.
Who would be there to cry at her funeral? Ernestine and Amy. Tracy looked at her watch. ‘Oh, my God.’ She had been sitting there, daydreaming, for twenty minutes. If I’m going to do it, I’d better move.
She could not move. She was frozen with fear. I can’t sit here forever, she told herself. Why don’t I just go take a look at the house? A quick look.
Tracy took a deep breath and got out of the car. She was wearing black overalls; her knees were shaking. She approached the house slowly, and she could see that it was completely dark.
Be sure to wear gloves.
Tracy reached in her pocket and took out a pair of gloves, and put them on. Oh, God, I’m doing it, she thought. I’m really going ahead with it. Her heart was pounding so loudly she could no longer hear any other sounds.
The alarm is to the left of the front door. There are five buttons. The red light will be on, which means the alarm is activated. The code to turn it off is three-two-four-one-one. When the red light goes off, you’ll know the alarm is deactivated. Here’s the key to the front door. When you enter, be sure to close the door after you. Use this flashlight. Don’t turn on any of the lights in the house in case someone happens to drive past. The master bedroom is upstairs, to your left, overlooking the bay. You’ll find the safe behind a portrait of Lois Bellamy. It’s a very simple safe. All you have to do is follow this combination.
Tracy stood stock-still, trembling, ready to flee at the slightest sound. Silence. Slowly, she reached out and pressed the sequence of alarm buttons, praying that it would not work. The red light went out. The next step would commit her. She remembered that airplane pilots had a phrase for it: the point of no return.
Tracy put the key in the lock, and the door swung open. She waited a full minute before she stepped inside. Every nerve in her body throbbed to a savage beat as she stood in the hallway, listening, afraid to move. The house was filled with a deserted silence. She took out a flashlight, turned it on, and saw the staircase. She moved forward and started up. All she wanted to do now was get it over with as quickly as possible and run.
The upstairs hallway looked eerie in the glow of her flash-light, and the wavering beam made the walls seem to pulse back and forth. Tracy peered into each room she passed. They were all empty.
The master bedroom was at the end of the hallway, looking out over the bay, just as Morgan had described it. The bedroom was beautiful, done in dusky pink, with a canopied bed and a commode decorated with pink roses. There were two love seats, a fireplace, and a table in front of it for dining. I almost lived in a house like this with Charles and our baby, Tracy thought.
She walked over to the picture window and looked out at the distant boats anchored in the bay. Tell me, God, what made you decide that Lois Bellamy should live in this beautiful house and that I should be here robbing it? Come on, girl, she told herself, don’t get philosophical. This is a onetime thing. It will be over in a few minutes, but not if you stand here doing nothing.
She turned from the window and walked over to the portrait Morgan had described. Lois Bellamy had a hard, arrogant look. It’s true. She does look like a horrible woman. The painting swung outward, away from the wall, and behind it was a small safe. Tracy had memorized the combination. Three turns to the right, stop at forty-two. Two turns to the left, stop at ten. One turn to the right, stop at thirty. Her hands were trembling so much that she had to start again twice. She heard a click. The door was open.
The safe was filled with thick envelopes and papers, but Tracy ignored them. At the back, resting on a small shelf, was a chamois jewellery bag. Tracy reached for it and lifted it from the shelf. At that instant the burglar alarm went off, and it was the loudest sound Tracy had ever heard. It seemed to reverberate from every corner of the house, screaming out its warning. She stood there, paralysed, in shock.
What had gone wrong? Had Conrad Morgan not known about the alarm inside the safe that was activated when the jewels were removed?
She had to get out quickly. She scooped the chamois bag into her pocket and started running towards the stairs. And then, over the sound of the alarm, she heard another sound, the sound of an approaching siren. Tracy stood at the top of the staircase, terrified, her heart racing, her mouth dry. She hurried to a window, raised the curtain and peered out. A black-and-white patrol car was pulling up in front of the house. As Tracy watched, a uniformed policeman ran towards the back of the house, while a second one moved towards the front door. There was no escape. The alarm bells were still clanging, and suddenly they sounded like the terrible bells in the corridors of the Southern Louisiana Penitentiary for Women.
No! thought Tracy. I won’t let them send me back there.
The front doorbell shrilled.
Lieutenant Melvin Durkin had been on the Sea Cliff police force for ten years. Sea Cliff was a quiet town, and the main activity of the police was handling vandalism, a few car thefts, and occasional Saturday-night drunken brawls. The setting-off of the Bellamy alarm was in a different category. It was the type of criminal activity for which Lieutenant Durkin had joined the force. He knew Lois Bellamy and was aware of what a valuable collection of paintings and jewellery she owned. With her away, he had made it a point to check the house from time to time, for it was a tempting target for a cat burglar. And now, Lieutenant Durkin thought, it looks like I’ve caught one. He had been only a short distance away when the radio call had come in from the security company. This is going to look good on my record. Damned good.
