A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)
Greta Boris
To my husband and my dad who've shown me such vivid pictures of loyalty I was able to write about its opposite.
The infernal storm is raging ceaselessly,
Sweeping the shades along with it, and them
It smites and whirls, nor lets them ever be.
Arrived at the precipitous extreme,
In shrieks and lamentations they complain,
and even the Power Divine itself blaspheme.
I understood that to this mode of pain
Are doomed the sinners of the carnal kind,
Who o'er their reason let their impulse reign.
From the Second Circle of The Inferno
The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri
Chapter One
Prologue
Sometimes it's best to leave a door closed. When I crossed the threshold of my father's house on Cliff Drive, it changed me. Some would say not for the better.
I could argue my behavior was justified. We all have the right to protect our property from thieves and swindlers. But, really, it came down to simple lust. I was captivated by possibilities, and I wanted everything. I should have known by the screech of rusty hinges that that door was better left shut.
I'd made an appointment to see the house as soon as it came on the market, about six months after my father's death. Sondra Olsen, local real estate agent, met me on the curb out front. She opened the gate I'd only passed through once before in my life. The old fig tree I remembered from that time was bigger now and mantled the courtyard like a vulture, obliterating the light and warmth from the late afternoon sun.
We traversed the walkway and came to the front door that had always been locked tight against me. She threw it open and ushered me in. The curved staircase that led to the part of the house reserved for the family—in other words, not me—rose before me without a barrier.
My initial feeling about Sondra was one of warmth. She and I were sharing in a momentous occasion. She dropped the drawbridge across the moat and invited me into the castle, so to speak. But as we toured the house, my opinion changed. Yes, she was pleasant, subservient even, but I began to see beneath the surface.
"It's a fixer, but it has so much charm, don't you think?" she asked with a dimpled smile.
"Yes to both."
"Come look at the ocean view."
I paused before I stepped into the living room I'd only seen in bits and pieces through doors and windows. I don't know what I thought I'd find inside; the meaning of life, some kind of Holy Grail maybe.
"What do you think?" Sondra asked.
I couldn't speak.
It was a disappointment.
A huge disappointment.
It was much smaller than I'd imagined. The lack of furniture revealed nicked and scarred wood flooring. Blank dirty white walls framed the space. I didn't notice the cool breeze kissing my cheek until Sondra said, "Look at this view."
I walked through French doors onto a cement patio and looked down on the beach where I'd so often stood. How many nights had I made my way across the sand or the water, depending on the tides, to bathe in the light emanating from these very doors? How many times had I sat on the rocks that looked so small from this vantage point, straining to catch a glimpse of the family within? My family.
"Leaves you speechless doesn't it?" Sondra said.
I turned to answer her and inhaled sharply. She was caught in a beam from the setting sun, just like another girl on another day. Her hair glowed like gold around her head and on the shoulders of her sky blue dress. The vision only lasted for a moment. She turned and entered the house, and it was gone. But I recognized it as a premonition of sorts.
"The master bedroom has a terrific view as well. Is there a missus? She'll love it if there is. Very romantic." She led me toward the foyer. Before heading up, I noticed a short, dark hallway to the left of the staircase.
"What's down there?" I pointed.
"Believe it or not, that's the basement. Most California homes don't have them, but this house stands on top of a series of small caves that tunnel into the cliff. The man who built this place in the forties was a shipping magnate and a collector of art, furniture, all kinds of things. When he found out about the caves, he commissioned an architect to create a warren of storage rooms."
"Is there anything in the rooms?" I said.
"Probably, but don't worry. They'll be cleaned out before new owners move in."
"Can I see them?"
"The door is locked. I don't have a key." A cloud passed over Sondra's face as she said those words. She lied. It was my second clue. There must be a treasure within these disappointing walls after all.
"Let's go up, shall we?" She tilted her head and glanced at me from the corners of her eyes coquettishly, but it had no effect. She might as well have spit in my face. Unlike most men, I'm immune to the wiles of women.
I fingered the box cutter in my jacket pocket, then moved so quickly I surprised myself. I pulled her close and showed her the blade.
"Down," I said.
"In the kitchen. The...the...cellar keys are in the kitchen," she said.
We shuffled into that room like geriatric ballroom dancers.