fluttered, but not from a draft. She wasn’t in a position to see the
lower half of the drapes, but it was clear that something was scurrying
along the floor, brushing them as it went.
Nayva moved quickly into the living room, past the first sofa, so that
she could see the bottom of the drapes. Whatever had disturbed them was
nowhere in sight. The drapes became still again.
Then, behind her, she heard a sharp little squeal of anger.
She whirled around, bringing up the broom, ready to strike.
Nothing.
She circled the second sofa. Nothing behind it.
Looked in back of the armchair, too. Nothing. Under the end tables.
Nothing. Around the bookcase, on both sides of the television set,
under the sideboard, behind the drapes. Nothing, nothing.
Then the squeal came from the hallway.
By the time she got to the hall, there wasn’t anything to be seen. She
hadn’t flicked on the hall light when she’d come into the apartment, and
there weren’t any windows in there, so the only illumination was what
spilled in from the kitchen and living room. However, it was a short
passageway, and there was absolutely no doubt that it was deserted.
She waited, head cocked. -The cry came again. From the kids’ bedroom
this time.
Nayva went down the hall. The bedroom was more than half dark. There
was no overhead light; you had to go into the room and snap on one of
the lamps in order to dispel the gloom. She paused for a moment on the
threshold, peering into the shadows.
Not a sound. Even the furniture movers upstairs had stopped dragging
and heaving things around. The wind had slacked off and wasn’t pressing
at the windows right now. Nayva held her breath and listened. If there
was anything here, anything alive, it was being as still and alert as
she was.
Finally, she stepped cautiously into the room, went to Penny’s bed, and
clicked on the lamp. That didn’t burn away all the shadows, so she
turned toward Davey’s bed, intending to switch on that lamp, as well.
Something hissed, moved.
She gasped in surprise.
The thing darted out of the open closet, through shadows, under Davey’s
bed. It didn’t enter the light, and she wasn’t able to see it clearly.
In fact, she had only a vague impression of it: something small, about
the size of a large rat; sleek and streamlined and slithery like a rat.
But it sure didn’t sound like a rodent of any kind. It wasn’t squeaking
or squealing now. It hissed and . .
gabbled as if it were whispering urgently to itself.
Nayva backed away from Davey’s bed. She glanced at the broom in her
hands and wondered if she should poke it under the bed and rattle it
around until she drove the intruder out in the open where she could see
exactly what it was.
Even as she was deciding on a course of action, the thing scurried out
from the foot of the bed, through the dark end of the room, into the
shadowy hallway; it moved fast. Again, Nayva failed to get a good look
at it.
“Damn,” she said.
She had the unsettling feeling that the critter-whatever in God’s name
it might be-was just toying with her, playing games, teasing.
But that didn’t make sense. Whatever it was, it was still only a dumb
animal, one kind of dumb animal or another, and it wouldn’t have either
the wit or the desire to lead her on a merry chase merely for the fun of
it.
Elsewhere in the apartment, the thing shrieked, as if calling to her.
Okay, Nayva thought. Okay, you nasty little beast, whatever you may be,
look out because here I come.
You may be fast, and you may be clever, but I’ll track you down and have
a look at you even if it’s the last thing I do in this life.
CHAPTER TWO
They had been questioning Vince Vastagliano’s girlfriend for fifteen
minutes. Nevetski was right. She was an uncooperative bitch.
Perched on the edge of a Queen Anne chair, Jack Dawson leaned forward
and finally mentioned the name that Darl Coleson had given him