“Ben.” She was back at the door, her body tense, voice nervous. She waved him toward her, as if she were afraid of being overheard.
He crossed the patio, tilting his head in a question.
“Somebody’s been in the house,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“What?”
“In the office. Things were different. Moved. I could tell.” She put her hand on his arm. “Maybe they’re still here.” Her eyes darting, upset.
“You’re sure? You didn’t lock the doors?”
“Of course I locked the doors. This one, too,” she said, nodding to the patio door. “Sometimes Iris forgets.”
He looked down at the door handle. No scratches or chipped paint, but an easy lock, he guessed, for someone who knew how.
“What if they’re still here,” she said, gripping his arm tighter.
“Calm down. There’s no one here.” He thought of them on the bed, grunting, someone watching—but they would have felt that, sensed anyone’s presence, wouldn’t they? “I’ll walk through.” He flicked on a light. “Is anything missing?”
“I don’t know. I just went to the study, for cigarettes.”
“What was moved?”
“Little things. On the desk.”
“Maybe Iris—”
“No. It didn’t seem right. I could feel it.”
“Another feeling?”
“Don’t laugh at me,” she said, almost snapping. “Someone was here. In the house.” She clutched the top of her robe tighter, her voice rising a pitch.
“All right, I’ll look. Where do you keep your valuables?”
She looked at him blankly.
“Jewels,” he said. “Cash.”
“Jewels? Just the pearls—in the bedroom.”
But the bedroom was untouched, except for the bed, the spread twisted and still damp from sex. Nobody had taken anything from the bureau drawer, the velvet box with earrings and a clip. There was still money under the handkerchiefs.
He went through the rest of the house, turning on lights, Liesl close to him, still anxious, fear bobbing just beneath the surface. Not just an intruder, a more general violation.
“Ever have any trouble before?” Ben said.
“No, it was safe. I was safe here.”
“You’re still safe,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “Stop.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” she said, not really hearing him. “Every knock. Always looking back. I thought it was different here.”
“Liesl, nothing’s missing. So, just in here?” he said, turning in to the study.
She nodded. “The desk. Somebody went through the desk.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s different. Look at the blotter—see the one end out? To look under. See for yourself. You know his drawers.”
She picked up the cigarettes, lighting one now, her hand shaking, then stood watching him go through the drawer. Everything seemed the same. Until the second drawer, the folders of personal papers. The police accident report, jammed at the end, not where he’d put it.
“What?” she said, seeing him hesitate.
“Something’s out of place.”
He went through the envelope, flipping through the photos.
“Everything’s here. Probably where I put it, just looked different.”
“No, you noticed.”
“Liesl, why would someone break into the house and not take money—anything—just go through a desk?”
“His desk.”
“All right, his desk.”
She inhaled smoke, then folded her arms across her chest, holding herself in. “It’s what you said. I didn’t believe you. Why would anybody do that? I thought it was just your way of—” She broke off, hearing herself, racing. “But it’s true, isn’t it? Maybe I always knew it. That he wouldn’t. I didn’t want to be afraid. And now they’re in my house. Somebody killed him and they’re still not finished. What do they want?”
“I don’t know,” he said, coming over to her.
“Maybe they think I have it—whatever they want.”
“They didn’t go through your things. Just his.”
“I can’t stay here. Listening. Any noise. I’ll go to my father’s.”
He took her by the shoulders, as if he were holding her down before she could fly away.
“I’m here. You’re just nervous, that’s all. I’ll be right next to you. All night.”
“Oh, next to me, and what will Iris think?” An automatic response.
He smiled at her. “The worst, probably.”
“How can you joke?”