One of Kate’s heels caught in the uneven bricks, jolting her to a stop. She pulled her foot out of the pump and continued in a lopsided limp—then stopped with a cry of frustration, yanked off the other shoe, and tossed it. She continued down the front walkway, the bricks sharp on her stockinged feet, her skirt too tight for more than prancing steps.
She couldn’t outrun him like this. Her only hope was to hide. She glanced back to make sure he hadn’t appeared, then darted into the weedy grass on her left, aiming for the dark row of trees dividing her grandfather’s property from the beautiful house next door. As she reached the cover of the low-hanging branches, she heard him in the doorway and stopped, whirling to look, hoping the shadows hid her.
The boy paused on the front stoop, silhouetted against the light, still gripping the knife. He turned his head to search the dark yard, giving her a glimpse of his evil smirk in the half-light. “Come out, come out,” he called, sounding amused by the chase. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He seemed to realize the knife proved otherwise and lowered it, pressing it against his thigh.
Kate’s heart beat wildly enough to hear. She hoped her grandfather had escaped out the back door.
A car started on the road, and the boy trotted toward the curb, stopping with a growl of frustration as the car drove by. He stared after it, then turned back to the house, not looking so amused now that he thought she’d driven away for help.
Moonlight illuminated his face as he walked. Eighteen or nineteen, she guessed, wearing a sleeveless undershirt tucked into belted trousers. Dark hair, tousled by the wind, and those devilish eyes. He bent to pick up one of her shoes, then took a few steps and picked up the other. He held still for a moment, running his gaze over the dark yard, then continued to the house, taking her shoes with him. He pushed the bust of Beethoven out of the way, and the door swung shut, cutting off the light.
Kate exhaled a gasping breath. She had to call the police. She turned and pushed her way through the shrubbery, and then ran across the neighbor’s enormous lawn, her silk stockings slipping on the grass. She banged on the door and pressed the doorbell several times.
A pretty, blond girl opened the door, looking annoyed. “We heard the first knock.”
“Your phone—I need to call the police!” Kate pushed her way past the girl and spun in a circle in a gleaming foyer. “Where is it?”
“Bonnie, what’s going on?” a feminine voice called from upstairs.
Kate tilted her head back and saw an elegant blond woman at the top of the staircase. “I need to call the police! There’s a boy next door with a knife. He chased me, and I think he—” She didn’t want to say it.
“Bonnie, lock the front door, and then show her the phone.” The woman started down the staircase, adding in an undertone, “No need to guess which house.”
Bonnie turned the lock and led the way into the living room, glancing back at Kate with wide eyes. “What happened?”
Kate spotted a white telephone on a side table and snatched up the receiver. “Hello?” She tapped the holder a few times. “Hello, are you there?”
“Central,” a woman’s voice answered with maddening calm.
“I need the police—and hurry!”
The blond woman entered the living room, dressed in a long gown, as if going out for the night. “Are you all right, dear? Has one of those dreadful people hurt you?”
“I’m fine. I ran outside when I saw.”
“Saw what?” Bonnie asked, fascinated. She looked a little younger than Kate, maybe fifteen or sixteen.
“Pasadena Police Department,” a man’s voice said on the line.
“I need to report a murder. He had a—”
“What’s the address?”
“Address?” Kate reached for the birthday card envelope and realized she no longer had her purse. She must have dropped it along the way.
The blond woman took the receiver. “Thirteen forty-eight Starlight Circle. That’s my address, and I live next door. This is Dorothy Fairchild.”
“Murder,” Bonnie breathed. “Was it a thief? They’re always leaving that door open.”
Her grandfather had begged the boy to take his money rather than hurt him. “I think so. They were in the kitchen, and I—”
“They?” Bonnie’s blue eyes widened. “Was it gangsters from that club? Did they have Tommy guns?”
“No—no, nothing like that.”
“Police are on their way.” The blond woman hung up the phone and turned to Kate, her beautiful face tight with worry. “You say someone’s been killed? I hope … I hope it wasn’t Mr. Banks.”
“No, a younger man.”
Bonnie gasped. “Not the nice Mexican boy?”
“I don’t know.” Kate forced herself to remember the lifeless young man on the floor. “I don’t think he was Mexican. And the one who did it—” The memory of the pale, shadowed face and menacing eyes sent a chill through her. “He wasn’t either.”
The woman touched Kate’s arm. “I’m so glad you came to us. That house is nothing but trouble lately. I’m Mrs. Fairchild, and this is my daughter, Bonnie.”
“I’m Kate Hil—” She stopped before giving the name that would link her to the house next door. “I’m so sorry for barging in.”
“Don’t be silly.” The woman ran her gaze over Kate’s stylish traveling suit and hat. “You don’t look like the sort of girl who would be at that house. Are they friends of yours?”
Kate hesitated before saying, “No.” She barely knew her grandfather.
“Well, it’s a dreadful situation. A retired actor who takes in boarders. Unsavory people coming and going at all hours.”
“One of them is a communist,” Bonnie said. “But the Mexican boy seems nice.”
Her mother cast her a sideways look. “How do you know so much about them?”
“Just what I overhear. The communist has a loud voice.”
Kate looked at the dark front window. Aunt Lorna couldn’t have known, or she wouldn’t have sent her here. “Do you think the police will take long? I’m worried about … the other people in the house.”
“The police station isn’t far. I’ll wait outside and show them which house it is.”
“Mama, there’s a killer on the loose!”
“I’m sure it was only one of those boarders, and he’s run off by now. But you stay inside.”
“If you’re going, I’m going.” Bonnie headed for the door.
Kate hesitated, and then followed the mother and daughter into the night. The trees blocked their view, so they made their way down to the street and walked cautiously to stand in front of her grandfather’s house, remaining back in the shadows of the trees. Light glowed around the edges of the living room drapes, but Kate couldn’t hear any violin music.
The strange, warm wind stirred the branches overhead.
Bonnie leaned closer. “I’m an actress. We were supposed to start filming tomorrow, but—”
“Not now, Bonnie,” her mother said.
Kate hugged her waist, staring at the living room window. She hoped the violinist had escaped. He must be one of the boarders.
Bonnie whispered, “Do you know the boy named Aurelio?”
Kate shook her head. “No.”
“He seems awfully nice. Sometimes he waves at me across the yard.”
Mrs. Fairchild looked at Kate. “If you don’t know any of them, why were you at the house?”
Kate was saved from answering by the arrival of two police cars. She quickly told the officers everything she’d seen, describing the boy with dark hair holding the knife, the old man in striped pajamas—without admitting her relationship—and the violinist. The policemen fanned out in the dark, two cautiously entering the front door, one going around to the back, and one staying behind on the driveway.
Mrs. Fairchild said, “I’ve seen that boy you described with the knife, and he does look like trouble. He’s one of the boarders.”
Maybe he hadn’t paid his rent, and when her grandfather had tried to kick him out, he’d snapped.
Bonnie said, “Mr. Banks deserves to get murdered if he lets people like that live with him.”
“No, dear,” her mother said quietly. “He was a wonderful man before he fell on hard times.”
Hard times. Kate stared at the hulking stucco mansion, wondering where she would sleep tonight. There might be a late train back to San Francisco, but where would she stay once she got there? The furniture had been moved into storage today and her car repossessed. Aunt Lorna was on a ship in the Pacific Ocean, and Hattie had gone to Sacramento to stay with her sister while the house was remodeled.
Bonnie leaned close to Kate’s ear. “I can see into their house from my bedroom window. A new man moved in a few weeks ago. None of them like him very much, but he won’t leave.”
A gust of warm wind rattled the trees.
Voices drew Kate’s attention to the front door. She caught her breath as the boy who’d had the knife came into view. But he wasn’t wearing handcuffs, he was laughing with a policeman.
“What’s going on?” she murmured, doubts churning.
The policeman left the house and came toward them. “No one dead in there, just a bunch of actors rehearsing a scene.” He gave an easy laugh, his gaze settling on Kate. “Sorry for the fright, miss, but this is Oliver Banks’s house. You’ve heard of him?”
Her gaze darted back to the boy in the doorway, who lifted a hand in distant greeting, looking amused. An actor. Her face warmed with embarrassment. “Yes. I’ve heard of him.”
“So … no one’s been murdered?” Bonnie asked.
“Not tonight. I’ll get home in time to kiss the kids good night.” The policeman chuckled as he turned away.
The boy disappeared into the house, leaving the door propped open with Beethoven, allowing Kate to hear the laughter and ringing voices inside. Shadows moved behind the living room drapes.
Her face burned.
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Mrs. Fairchild said, touching her arm.
“I’m so sorry for disrupting your evening,” Kate said stiffly.
“Don’t be silly. We were happy to help.”
“It was exciting,” Bonnie said.
“Do you need a ride home?” Mrs. Fairchild asked. “I was about to go out and could drop you off. Do you live far?”
Everything Kate owned was inside her grandfather’s house, but that didn’t make it home. “No, not far.” They would learn the truth eventually. “I live here now, with my grandfather, Oliver Banks.”
“Grandfather?” Bonnie’s eyes widened with new fascination. “But that means you’re—” She didn’t need to say the name. Everyone in the world knew about Oliver Banks’s granddaughter.
Mrs. Fairchild studied Kate more closely in the moonlight, her expression softening. “I see it now. You dear girl.”
Kate didn’t want their pity. She’d had four years of suffocating pity. She turned and made her way up the brick path to the door.