The Priest's Graveyard (14 page)

Frantic to avoid embarrassment, Danny stepped into the closet and pulled the sliding door closed as quietly as he could. He
stood between her T-shirts and blouses, breathing in near-perfect darkness.

What had he been thinking?

The moment I
opened the door to my suite, I knew that something was wrong. I saw it clearly right there: The carpet had been stepped on.

I was already in a bad place. The night before, I’d left my embarrassing encounter with Danny Hansen and was filled with a
new fear that he was right—I didn’t stand a chance against my evil enemy. My mind worked furiously and I could not sleep as
I conjured up all kinds of nasty endings to my own life.

Now I saw proof-positive evidence that my enemy had entered my room and was waiting in the bedroom to kill me. The thought
almost made me drop the bag of hygiene products I’d purchased.

Instead, I tightened my grip on the plastic bag and stood perfectly still, studying those prints on my carpet. Maybe I’d walked
on it before leaving. Of course that had to be it.

The prints were fairly large, however. Much larger than mine. A man’s prints, I thought, and if I hadn’t been so freaked out
I might have felt some satisfaction for that piece of detective work. But I was far too preoccupied with the possibility that
someone was in my suite.

I almost ran back out the door. Down the hall, out into the street. But then what? While I ran down the street with nowhere
to go, whoever was here would take all my files and money and maybe turn me over to the police. Or wait for me to come back
so he could kill me then.

For all I knew, the person had already come and gone. Or maybe the manager had come in to set a breaker or something. With
the door open behind me I had an advantage, right? I could make a quick escape from this position if I needed to.

Heart banging away like a woodpecker on speed, I carefully set my bag down. I gripped the door frame to give myself leverage
to hurl myself backward if anyone with a gun or knife suddenly bolted out of my bedroom.

“Hello?” My voice was high-pitched and shaky, not the kind that might frighten anyone, especially not a man with a gun. No
one responded.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Still no answer.

I weighed a dozen possible scenarios, some taken directly from my many books that detailed crimes of passion and murder. Instead
of running, as the intruder would likely expect, I should play it smart and call his bluff. I could hide myself and wait for
him to leave.

The thought of going in while someone with a gun or a machete was lurking in my bedroom made my pulse peak, but I had read
so many accounts of people doing stupid things in the heat of the moment, things that could have been avoided with a little
thought. Like bolting.

Redding had said he had ties with the police. If he found any incriminating evidence against me, like the suitcase full of
cash under my bed, he might send them to investigate. Running away would only leave me looking over my shoulder in a fog of
fear. Someone had found out where I lived, and I needed to know who and why. The best way to do that was to stay put.

All of this flashed through my mind in a few moments while my heart tried to tear itself free from my chest.

The drapes (which I detested because they were green, heavy, and hard to clean) hung next to the sliding glass door, which
led out to a tiny balcony. If I could get to them undetected, I would be able to hide in the corner where they were bunched.
I was thin enough, and the drapes hung all the way to the floor, so my feet wouldn’t stick out.

But I would leave my own marks on the carpet. The intruder might see the tracks, follow them to the drapes, and stab his machete
through the material.

Unless I went over the couch.

I started to move, then hesitated as another thought hit me.

“Okay,” I called, loud enough to be heard in the whole suite. “I’m going to get the manager. I’ll be right back!” Then I slipped
out of my shoes and closed the door firmly behind me.

Snatching up my shoes, I tiptoed to the couch and walked along the cushions, down the length toward the sliding glass door.
If it had been a sleeper couch, the springs might have given me away, but I could hardly hear myself. I stepped on the carpet
at the end, just one step far off the beaten track. I was now committed.

I slipped behind the drape and snugged my heels into the corner, making only the softest of bumps when the shoes in my hands
knocked the wall.

Calm down, Renee. Breathe quietly.

Light filtered through the drape but I couldn’t see the room. I couldn’t peek without risking being caught. I wondered if
I’d be able to hear the intruder shuffling around; the drape was heavy. I could only wait for the sound of the door opening
and closing.

Nothing happened. No shuffling, no creaking, no heavy breathing, no door opening and closing.

She was still
in the suite, Danny thought. He could not be sure, but as he pressed himself against the back of the closet he’d heard a
distinct bump along that same wall.

She’d cleverly called out and shut the door in an attempt to make him think she’d gone to find the manager, but then she hid
behind the drapes along the back wall. This was his guess.

He could remain where he was and wait for the silence that would assure him she was in fact gone. Or he could slip out now
and risk being seen if she had any line of sight through a break in the curtains.

On the other hand, now might be his only chance to leave undetected. If she was behind the drapes, she would more likely be
staring at the back of the curtains, terrorized, than boldly peering out to catch the intruder.

Then again, she’d shown herself to be surprisingly bold.

The thought of her seeing him was so disturbing that it incapacitated him. He, a priest, caught violating her space? If he
were in anyone else’s room, his decision would have come quickly, but his empathy for her was befuddling and frightening.

He was about to slide the door open and take his chances when another thought presented itself to him. The bathroom was more
often than not a person’s first destination upon returning from an errand. His only better chance of escape might come when
she entered the bathroom to use the toilet. For a few seconds, any sound he made running from the room would be masked by
the sound of rushing water.

If he could remain hidden until that moment, he was sure he could get out unseen. To that end he’d made a mistake when he
entered her closet. She would surely check it first. She would throw open the shower door. She would press her face on the
carpet and look under her bed. She might very well check them all ten times.

But there was a small balcony off the bedroom as well. And sliding doors with drapes. He couldn’t go outside, though. He wouldn’t
be able to hear the toilet flushing and then make his escape.

Statistically speaking, however, drapes were the most often overlooked hiding place in a house, because people tended to view
them as an extension of the wall.

If he hid behind the curtain as she had—

A loud bump from the next room cut his thoughts short. She was moving.

I would say
it was my inexperience that made me panic, but it could just as well have been because the heroin had destroyed half my brain
cells and left me a little stupid, like Lamont sometimes said.

I don’t know how much time passed, but to me it felt like a lifetime, and I suddenly thought I had made a terrible mistake.
Whoever had entered my room might have already left and taken all my money and files with him! The police might show up at
any moment with handcuffs!

Or, if the intruder left now while I hid behind the drapes, he would escape with my stuff and then send the police. Either
way, I couldn’t just hide here! I had to know the truth, so I could escape. Or I had to stop him from leaving.

I couldn’t think past this sudden realization, and so I threw the drapes aside and ran out, bumping the wall with my elbow
as I did.

If anyone was in the suite, they must have heard me, so I didn’t pretend any longer.

“Okay, I know you’re in here, okay?” The sound of my voice gave me a little confidence, so I continued, storming into my bedroom.
“I saw your tracks on my carpet. I have a gun! I swear I’ll blow your head off if you don’t come out with your hands up!”

I shoved my hand under my blouse and pointed my finger like a gun. I didn’t know how else to hide the obvious fact that I
had no weapon.

The room was empty. But there were tracks all over the carpet. And my bedspread was rumpled as if someone had sat down—I would
never have left it such a mess.

“Out!” I screamed. “Get out here!”

For the first
time in a very long time, Danny was having difficulty thinking clearly. Renee had done the unthinkable by barging out of
hiding, and by doing something so unexpected, she’d played her hand brilliantly, intentional or not.

His indecision had cost him precious minutes. He was now immobilized and at her mercy.

Part of him wanted to rush out, fall to his knees, confess all, and beg for her forgiveness. Part of him wanted to melt into
the wall behind him, hoping against reason that she would go into the bathroom before checking the closet. Maybe even flush
the toilet.

All of him wished he was in the budget meeting rather than in her closet.

Danny pressed his hands against the wall at his back and breathed a pointless prayer.

I was yelling
not because it was a smart thing to do, but because I was terrified and furious at once, and because no one was coming out
with his hands raised in the air. I took my hand out from under my shirt. It was ridiculous anyway.

He was gone. Or he was hiding. But why would anyone like Redding hide from me? It made no sense. I could hurl all of my hundred
pounds at a man like Redding and maybe, if I was lucky, put a dent in his shirt.

Which could only mean the intruder was no longer here.

I rushed to the bathroom door and spun in. Empty. I raced to the shower and pulled the curtain wide. Untouched.

I ran back to the bedroom, dropped to my knees, and bent low to look under the bed. Nothing but the suitcase I kept my money
in. It hadn’t been moved. Relief flooded my mind. If they hadn’t taken my money…Well, that was a good sign. Maybe the manager
had come in to check on a maintenance issue. He’d done it once before, explaining when I complained that it was his hotel.

That left the closet.

I stood and stared at the sliding door. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it made no sense for anyone
like Redding to hide from me. He would want to intimidate me, not sneak out on me. He would be the one with the machete, not
the one hiding in the closet.

But still, there was that closet. It was always the closet.

I walked across the room, and just to be safe I gave one final warning to offset my fresh surge of fear.

“I told you, I have a gun and don’t think I won’t shoot. I have a hair trigger. And I’m ticked.”

I held my breath, hesitated a few long moments while tingles washed down my neck, and then I shoved the sliding door wide.
They were all there, all my carefully placed possessions, set where I’d left them on my shelves. Not one had been touched.

I glanced to my left, at my shirts, which hung from hangers so they wouldn’t have any creases in them. But the shirts were
not the only thing there.

The priest, Father Danny Hansen, who’d thrown me out of his house last night because he thought I was such a silly little
girl, stared at me from between two pink shirts at the back of the closet.

My heart stopped. Was it his ghost?

Then his ghost blinked and I took a step back.

“Hello, Renee,” he said.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even breathe.

He brushed aside my shirts, stepped past me, and stood with his arms by his sides, staring at me. He looked like a boy who’d
been caught with chocolate on his face ten minutes before dinnertime.

“Father Hansen?” I said.

“Call me Danny,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t make a very good priest.”

My relief at seeing him rather than anyone else was so profound that I lost my mind for a moment. I rushed up to him and threw
my arms around his neck.

“It’s you!” I cried. “Oh! Thank goodness it’s you!”

He stood still without returning my embrace, and it occurred to me that my reaction might be somewhat startling. I released
him quickly and stepped back.

“I’m sorry…Thank you. I mean that it’s you and not someone else.”

“I’m so sorry, Renee. It’s not what you think.”

I began to think about that. He’d been in my stuff and his face looked a little different than I remembered, like he’d been
crying maybe. What if Danny Hansen was some kind of pervert?

“What are you doing in my closet?” I asked.

He spread his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry, I had no right. I…Our conversation last night was bothering me. I…We said
some things. I was thinking that maybe I was a little too quick to judge you.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“So you’ll help me?”

“I didn’t say that. I—”

“Did you touch any of my stuff?”

“No.”

“Did you sit on my bed?”

He hesitated. “Well, yes. I was…I’m sorry, I just—”

“Are you some kind of pervert?”

“No! Oh no, oh no! It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it is like, Father Hansen who wants to be called Danny? Tell me why you broke into my house and snooped
around my closet. Tell me why you were on my bed. Did you go through my food, too?”

“Food? No!” Then he added, “I looked in your refrigerator.”

“Why?”

“I’m trying to tell you, if you’ll just slow down and let me explain!”

I crossed my arms. “Fine. Explain. I want to know why a priest is so good at breaking in and snooping around. Because I have
some thoughts on that.”

“I had to know how sincere you were about all that you said. I had to know if you really did plan on going after these people.
I had to know, because I really do think you’re putting yourself in real danger.”