Wow, he was strong. Like, Godzilla strong. My instinct to zap him one came and went when, in that brief second, I realized I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
Keeping my purse and Belfry close to my chest, I went limp as a wet noodle when he began to drag me into his room. Then when he least expected it, I stomped my very pointy heel on the bridge of his foot, grinding the spike into his flesh with a warrior cry.
I also noted, not only was he strong, but he had some set of lungs.
“Owwww!” he hollered, making my eardrums rattle, but he lost his grip on my arm.
With an opportunity to escape present, my heart pounding, my pulse racing, I made a break for the door, skidding around the corner and flying toward the stairs on the slippery polished floor.
“Stevie?”
The burly figure calling my name at the end of the hallway was like manna from heaven. “Sandwich! Help!” I screamed, barreling toward him, my ankles wobbling in my ridiculously high heels.
My feet somehow moved faster than my legs and I knew I was going to lose my footing before I did, but there was no stopping me as I tilted forward and rammed straight into Sandwich.
His enormous arms went around me just as the velocity of my body impacted his, making him lose his footing, too.
We fumbled and fell down the shallow stairs, me clinging to Sandwich’s big frame, my mouth wide open and screaming with each tread we hit.
Landing with a thud, I flipped over him in an awkward somersault of limbs, where I landed sprawled out in a very unladylike manner, on the ceramic tile of the kitchen floor.
Win almost sounded exhilarated when he cheered, “Way to stick the landing! Good show!”
Chapter 13
Officer Nelson, with his disapproving glare and ultra-shiny shoes, was the first to offer me a hand up. “Miss Cartwright,” he drawled in cool tones.
I allowed him to pull me upward, yanking my hand back and running it over my denim shrug, which was currently somewhere up around my ears. I straightened my clothing with an achy groan and caught my first glimpse of Sandwich’s tangled limbs.
“Oh no!” I ran to the bottom of the steps where he was crumpled up, his head at an awkward angle against the wall. “Sandwich! Aw, sweet Pete! I’m so sorry! I was running from that deranged madman and I saw you too late! Let me get you a cold pack for your head.”
I rose to go to the fridge to search for an icepack, but Sandwich grabbed my hand with a groan and pulled me to him. “Please. Just let me die in peace, Stevie.”
“You’re not going to die, silly. If you didn’t die when you ate a sardine, mayo and sweet-pickle sandwich, you won’t die from a little fall. Promise. Just let me get you some ice for your head, and we’ll fix you right up.”
I patted his wide chest as reassurance, but then old sourpuss Nelson was there, giving me the “could you be any more annoying” stare.
“Miss Cartwright? I suggest you let Officer Paddington have some room to breathe. Why don’t you come with me and explain what you were doing upstairs at Mr. Von Adams’s room?”
Instantly, I was indignant and huffy when I pointed toward the staircase. “Did you see what that deranged lunatic did to me? He attacked me for doing nothing more than knocking on his door! I’m going to file assault charges!”
“Attacked you?” Hendrick was suddenly in the kitchen with us, his expression still outraged, but mixed with some seriously obvious smug. He glared at me so hard, I thought surely my face would melt right off and slide to a puddle on the floor.
Jamming his hands into his equally expensive trousers, he narrowed his gaze in my direction.
But I narrowed mine in return. Right back at ya, Chicken Man. “You have some temper, don’t you, Mr. Von Adams? Care to explain to the officers why you grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me into your room?”
“I did no such thing!” he openly lied.
Now I was livid. Like, so furious my eyeballs rolled so far to the back of my head, I was sure someone would have to knock my noggin to jar them back into place. “You did too!” I accused, shrugging off my denim jacket to show the imprint of his fingers on my upper arm. “I didn’t do that to myself, did I?”
But Hendrick wasn’t so easily intimidated. He came right back at me, his scowl cold and furious. “I told that pesky woman downstairs I didn’t want to be disturbed! How dare you show up at my door unannounced?”
“Why so private, Mr. Von Adams? Just what are you hiding? Could it be the fact that you had something to do with Madam Zoltar’s death?” I yelped, sarcasm seething in my tone.
“Oh, Stevie,” Win groaned. “You’ve cocked it up now.”
But I waved Win off like a fly circling a peach pie on the windowsill. “Care to explain this?” I yanked the Montblanc from my purse, still wrapped in the tissue like it was the Holy Grail, and held it up under his nose in ta-da-like fashion. “Does this belong to you, Mr. Chicken-Opolis-Moneybags?”