Delores stood there, the key Tori had given her in her hand, and listened. All was quiet inside Tori’s condo, no sounds at all. If what she’d heard had been an acting lesson, Tori should be speaking to the would-be actress, critiquing the scene she’d just performed.
As Delores continued to listen for sounds, she considered her options. She’d look very foolish if she unlocked the door and stepped inside to find that Tori and her student were perfectly fine. On the other hand, she could be walking into danger if what she’d heard was a real murder and the intruder was still there. If she called the police before she went in, they’d advise her to wait until they got there. But what if someone needed immediate medical attention?
Delores hesitated for another moment or two and then she decided to knock. She might feel foolish if Tori came to the door and said that everything was fine, but it couldn’t hurt to check. She raised her hand and knocked sharply three times.
There was no answer and she heard no rushing footfalls as the intruder hurried to a hiding place. There were no sounds from inside at all. Delores hesitated for another moment and then she made a decision. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed the emergency number for the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Station.
“Sheriff’s station. Detective Kingston speaking.”
Delores took a deep breath. She’d been hoping to contact her son-in-law, Bill Todd, but instead she’d gotten Mike. He was a by-the-book cop and he’d tell her to stay outside the door and wait for him to get there.
“Mike. It’s Delores,” she said, thinking fast. “Stay on the line, will you, please? I heard a sound from Tori Bascomb’s condo and I’m going in to make sure everything’s all right.”
“Delores. I want you to wait until . . .”
Delores unlocked the door with one hand and pushed it open. Then, holding the phone away from her ear so she wouldn’t hear Mike’s objections, she glanced around Tori’s living room. Nothing was out of place, no overturned chairs, no strangers lurking in corners, no sign of anything unusual. But the scream she’d heard hadn’t come from the living room. It had come from the room directly below her office and that was the room that Tori had converted into her acting studio.
Delores moved toward the studio silently, holding the phone in her left hand. It was still sputtering and squawking, but she ignored it. As she prepared to open the door, she spotted a piece of artwork on a table in the hallway. It was made of a heavy metal, probably silver, and it resembled a thin but curvaceous lady holding her arms aloft. Delores grabbed it. It was just as heavy as it looked and it would serve as a weapon if the occasion warranted.
The door to the studio was slightly open and Delores peeked in. The focus of the room was the U-shaped couch facing a low platform handcrafted of cherry wood. The platform was one step high and ran the length of the opposite wall, forming a stage for Tori’s would-be actors and actresses. The couch served as Tori’s throne. It was where she sat to observe her students. Delores had sat there one afternoon and she knew it was made of baby-soft, butterscotch-colored leather. A fur throw was draped over the back of the couch. Delores hadn’t asked Tori which particular animals had given their lives to create the fur throw, but she suspected that it had been very expensive and was probably made from Russian sable.
The scene that presented itself did not look threatening, so Delores stepped into the studio. The indirect lighting that covered the ceiling bathed the studio in a soft glow. Delores glanced at the round coffee table in front of the couch and drew in her breath sharply. A bottle of champagne was nestled in a silver wine bucket next to the table and a crystal flute filled with champagne sat on the table next to a distinctive bakery box that Delores immediately recognized. It was a bakery box from The Cookie Jar, the bakery and coffee shop that her eldest daughter owned. The lid was open and Delores could tell that it contained one of Hannah’s Banana Cream Pies. It was Tori’s favorite pie and she’d told Delores that she often served it when she had guests.
The flute filled with champagne was interesting. Clouds of tiny bubbles were rising to the surface and that meant it had been poured quite recently. Delores knew, through personal experience, that the bubbles slowed and eventually stopped as time passed.
Two crystal dessert plates were stacked on the coffee table, along with two silver dessert forks. It was obvious that Tori had been expecting a guest.
Delores set the phone down on the couch and stared at the coffee table. The puzzle it presented was similar to the homework that her daughters had brought home from kindergarten, a photo-copied sheet of paper with a picture drawn in detail. The caption had been What is wrong with this picture? Something was wrong with Tori’s coffee table. What was it?
The answer occurred to Delores almost immediately. Tori had set out two dessert plates and two dessert forks, but only one flute of champagne. That was a puzzling omission. Delores knew that Tori loved champagne and judging by the label that was peeking out of the ice bucket, this was very good champagne. Did this mean that Tori was imbibing, but her anticipated guest was not? Or had Tori filled her own champagne glass and carried it away to drink someplace else in the condo? And that question was followed by an even more important question. Where was Tori?
Delores was dimly aware that hissing and crackling sounds were coming from her phone. Mike was still talking to her, but his words were undecipherable, muffled by the fact she’d placed her cell phone down on the cushions of the couch. Delores ignored it and glanced around the studio again. Her gaze reached the floor near the back of the couch and halted, focusing on that area. The white plush wall-to-wall carpet looked wet. Something had been spilled there.