A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(2)
"The pantry." She gestured with her chin toward a door. A round key chain with several keys hung on a hook inside. We stumbled back to the foyer.
I found the correct key after three tries, and we descended the steep cellar steps together. Dim yellow lights revealed a long hallway with doors opening off it every ten feet or so. I twisted the knob of the first door on my right and nudged it open with my foot. A moldy funk wafted out.
A single bulb hanging in the center of the room exposed stone walls, slick with moisture and the shadowy outlines of furniture. Old tables, chairs, desks, and bureaus were stacked and jammed into every corner. Nothing looked particularly valuable. Just old oak.
We moved to the next door. I opened it and saw a mountain of cardboard boxes moldering on a damp floor. I stood Sondra in front of me, close enough to reach her if she moved, and opened one with my box cutter. I pushed aside the dusty cardboard and saw something that looked like peeling skin. I hesitated, then reached in and lifted the object. It was a woman's purse; or rather it had once been a purse. I dropped it in disgust.
"I told you. There is nothing here but trash," Sondra said.
I jerked her forward. The possibility she told the truth angered me more than her attempts to get me to leave off my search. I threw open door after door. The farther we went through the basement, the more enraged I became. My dream, the thing I'd longed for all these years, was nothing but a graveyard of old, decaying junk.
Sondra struggled against me. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone about this. I promise. Let's just go—"
"Shut up." I tightened my grip across her chest and nicked the smooth skin of her throat with the box cutter. She tensed, but stilled.
We came to the dead end of the hallway. I could hear the faint sound of waves throwing themselves against the cliff walls like they were seeking entrance. I kicked open the last door. The heavy wood bounced off the wall behind it. I dragged Sondra into the room, thinking I'd kill her here. Here at the dead end of my hopes. It was the first time I killed a stranger, but I couldn't very well leave her alive after holding a box cutter to her throat.
I pushed the blade of my knife higher in its case. She began to fight in earnest now, scratching and biting. I threw her to the floor and fell on top of her. Her head slammed against the stone. She went limp.
As I sat panting, straddling her body, I saw it. Something glinted in the spill of light from the hallway. I stood to investigate. Joy dawned with realization. What was hidden here was better than I had ever imagined. It was an inheritance meant only for me. Maybe my father did think of me after all.
Chapter Two
It took Gwen eight passes to maneuver her Honda into a tight spot between a MINI and a Ford pickup. Cliff Drive in Laguna Beach bordered Diver's Cove, a popular dive beach in an even more popular tourist town. Parking was at a premium, but that wasn't the only reason it took her so long to settle in and turn off the ignition. Her excitement bordered on anxiety.
"Is this it?" Maricela said, awe creeping into her tone.
Gwen glanced at the elegant Mediterranean home she'd parked in front of. "No. It's at the end of the block."
She led Maricela up the sandy sidewalk until they reached a fence bulging from a jungle of vines and branches fighting to escape from the yard behind it. All that was visible of the house was a bit of gray, shingled roof rising above the fray.
Gwen directed her e-key at a lockbox hanging from the gate. "This isn't a mini-mansion like the rest of the houses on the street, but, hey, it's beachfront property."
The sound of the gate, hinges half-broken, scraping across the cement seemed louder than last time she was here. "It's been empty for a long time," she said, then mentally kicked herself. She'd done it again. She'd apologized for her multi-million dollar listing. This house, as dilapidated as it might be, was a game changer. She'd be damned if she was going to be embarrassed by it.
"The owner's father died about six months ago after living in a nursing home for years. She just inherited." Gwen picked her way up the broken walk around the gnarled roots of a large fig tree. Its fruit, in varying stages of decay, littered the ground.
"Have you already signed the listing agreement?" Maricela said.
"Yes, a couple of days ago, and it's already been shown. Sondra Olsen, First Team Realty, had somebody by yesterday. But I think I'll get more action if I spruce the place up a bit, which is why you're here." Gwen fitted the key into the front door lock and pushed it open. "I want your advice. Fiona, she's the owner, gave me a budget. It's not big, but it's something."
Gwen squinted into the dim interior, and her heart rate rose. It was an overreaction, but dark, enclosed places always made her nervous. Through the shadows, she could see a circular staircase dividing the foyer in two. A hallway opened to its left.
The hallway led to a basement of cave-like rooms. She'd never gone down to see them, and she wasn't planning to. Just walking past the entrance made her queasy. She planned to hire a cleaning crew to haul away the junk they were filled with. Milky sunlight beckoned from a room to the right of the stairwell. Gwen hurried toward it.
"Okay. This is nice." Maricela's voice echoed in the empty living room.
"Nice? It's fantastic." Gwen unlocked French doors that framed a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. The sight never failed to send a ripple of pleasure up her backbone. She'd been selling real estate for three years. Three years of tract houses in planned communities, attached townhomes, and condos. Then last week she got the call.