Chapter 40

Finley burst into the apartment. He flew to the bathroom and returned immediately.

“Roxie,” he said gently but with undeniable urgency, “we have to go. The Uber is waiting for us. The ambulance will be here to help Balthus any minute.” He tugged at her.

Roxie reluctantly got to her feet.

“What did you put in his espresso?” I demanded.

Finley strode to Balthus and patted his pockets. He grabbed Balthus’s cell phone and hurriedly pushed Roxie out the door.

I followed them. “Finley!”

He turned to look at me. “I didn’t expect you to be here. But I’m not sorry. You’ve been nothing but trouble.”

I tried to dodge past him. He manhandled me and wrenched my purse off my shoulder.

He used both his hands to thrust me backward with such force that I landed on my back. I heard the door click shut and a key turn in the lock.

I jumped to my feet and grabbed the door handle. It didn’t move. There was no knob to flick. I needed a key to open it from the inside. I jiggled it as hard as I could and glanced around in desperation for a key. “Balthus!” I screamed. “Where’s the key? And then I smelled it.

The sour, rotten-egg smell of gas. Balthus and I were stuck. And Finley had our cell phones. I kicked at the door. It didn’t budge. I tried running and hitting it with my shoulder like they do in the movies. Man, that hurt. My shoulder was still sore from running into the man who came to look at Balthus’s Bose. Nevertheless, I tried again, but the door stayed solid.

I dashed back to the bathroom and found the culprit. Finley had cut a gas line feeding the hot water heater. Gas was pouring into the apartment.

I returned to Balthus, who moaned. “Balthus! Where’s your key?” I patted his pockets but found nothing.

There was only one window. It was small, had bars on it, and it was high. Way higher than I could reach.

I gazed around for anything long. A broom handle? I rapidly looked through the room, desperate for anything that might be long enough to break the window.

The bathroom didn’t yield anything helpful, either. And the gas was way too strong in there to stay long.

And then I saw it. Possibly my only hope. The shower curtain rod. It was old and metal, screwed in on both ends. Holding my breath, I jumped up to grab it and swung from it, raising my knees to let it hold my full weight.

I swung my body the best I could. I heard something crack, and the next thing I knew I was lying on my back, still holding on to the shower curtain rod. I rolled over on my belly. Did gas rise or fall? Stay low in a fire. But gas? I wasn’t sure. I crawled out of the bathroom on my hands and knees, jerking the curtain rod along with me.

When I reached the bedroom, I tied a T-shirt over Balthus’s nose very lightly, hoping that would filter the gas. Probably not. I tied a similar one over my nose anyway. Why hadn’t the ambulance arrived?

I stepped onto the bed and over Balthus’s body. The shower curtain rod almost reached the window. I would have to jump. Holding one end of the rod, I jumped and banged it at the pane.

I couldn’t believe it. The stupid window held tight.

Hoping I wouldn’t fall on Balthus, I tried again. I took a great leap, thrusting the shower curtain rod upward and at the window. It didn’t budge. But I landed squarely on Balthus’s torso.

There was no choice but to keep trying. I was beginning to feel very tired, no doubt the effects of the gas. I jumped again, doing my best to shatter the window.

The last thing I heard was the sound of glass breaking.