Left to Vanish (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Eight) by Blake Pierce (books to read for 13 year olds .txt) 📗

side of the mobilehome in the abandoned lot. As they passed, Mr. Lavigne uttered a quiet series ofexpletives.

AgentPaige kept her gaze fixed firmly on the side of Adele’s face, but still spareda scathing glance every couple of seconds for the back seat.

“Ifhe’s the killer,” Paige whispered, her voice as low as she could manage, barelyaudible over the sound of the engine, “this could all be a trick. We’re followinghim into his lair.”

“Hishome,” Adele said.

“Hometurf advantage.”

“Acalculated risk.”

“Adele!”

“No—look,too late—we’re here now!”

Shepulled up to the small, squat single-story home with the peeling number 15etched into the faux brickwork on the side. A jutting piece of wood had beensnapped off, suggesting a mailbox had once occupied the space but no longer.

Overgrownweeds poked through cracks in an already broken pavement, leading to the housewith greasy windows and dusty porch steps.

Adeleparked with one wheel on the curb and, without readjusting, hopped out of thecar, circling to the back and throwing open the door.

“Well,Mr. Lavigne, we’re here. Lead the way, sir.”

Thebearded man with the squinting eyes combed fingers through the thinning top ofhis hair. He coughed delicately, glancing nervously from Adele to Agent Paigeand then, with slow, careful movements, he slid out of the car onto the crackedsidewalk.

“It’s—ah,just the front door is locked. We’ll have to go around the back.”

“Adele!”Paige insisted.

“Fine,”Adele said. “Around the back it is. Lead the way.”

Gregornodded quickly, moving slower than might have been warranted, but, likely inhis mind, providing Agent Paige with no excuse to draw her weapon.

Adele’sfingers buzzed with excitement, her chest hammering. Her eyes fixed on Gregor’sform as he moved through a small, white gate past a large, gnarled tree juttingbetween the driveway and the house in the small, cramped space allowed for it.Adele followed along with Agent Paige and as they moved along the side of thehouse, Gregor called over his shoulder, “Any idea when I can get my car back?”

“Afterimpound,” Adele replied reflexively. “I’m sure we can figure out a way to covercosts. Please just focus for now, sir.”

Gregorsighed but then moved around into an overgrown backyard, more weeds and thornsthan grass. A small shed, not much larger than a doghouse, occupied a back portionof the equally tiny lot. He stepped over a discarded pile of tires and past arow of small shingles which had been laid neatly out as if to dry in the sun.

“Whatare those?” Adele asked, frowning at the shingles and glancing at the roof ofthe house. They didn’t match.

“Nineteenth-centurybrickwork,” he said, a note of excitement creeping into his tone. “I managed toget them from a demolition site.” The excitement vanished just as quickly to bereplaced by scorn at this last phrase.

Hestepped toward a door two stairs down into the foundation. Adele glanceduneasily at Paige, whose hand rested firmly on her holster. Both of themexchanged long looks and waited as Gregor fiddled with a combination pad. His fingerstrembled badly though, and after a moment, a soft beep left him cursing.

“Sorry,”he said, “forgot I changed it. One sec.”

Hetried another combination and then another beep and the pad flashed red.

“Damnit,” he said. “Hang on… Yeah, there we go.” A third time, another beep, butlonger this time, and a soft click. Gregor fished a small silver key from atray inside the keypad’s receptacle and used it to open the low door in thebase of the home.

Asheet of dust dislodged from the top of the frame, falling across his shouldersand swirling about in the failing light outside his house. He coughed, waving ahand around his face, and then with a look over his shoulder, he stepped intothe darkness, swallowed by the house.

“Adele,”Paige said quickly, her voice warning.

Adelestepped forward, down the two cement steps. She frowned at the still swirlingdust. Didn’t seem like a well-used entry at all. Had he been lying all along?Was she walking into a trap after all?

Shepictured Robert, how she’d found him. Trust your instincts.

Sheswallowed, shaking her head, but then stepped into the darkness after Mr.Lavigne. As she entered the gloomy basement, a light clicked on and suddenlywarm, yellow tones illuminated the room. Mr. Lavigne stood on the opposite sideof the lower level, a single, naked support beam between them. For a moment,they just watched each other. His eyes were wide, unblinking. He tugged at theedge of his beard with sweaty fingertips and then, in a croaking voice, hesaid, “Here—this is my office.”

Heturned away from a light switch and stepped into a small room at the back ofthe dusty, naked hall.

Adeleshivered, listening as Agent Paige finally joined her in the bare basement.

Paigemuttered, “He’s probably killed people down here too.”

“Don’tbe dramatic,” Adele muttered. “He’s just not much of a decorator.”

“Hedecorated his patio with old broken pieces of clay.”

“Yes,well, I never said he wasn’t eccentric.”

Adeleshivered and then approached the single, small room in the back of thebasement.

Asshe drew nearer, she heard a strange, melodious sound… humming… Mr. Lavigne washumming to himself. She drew nearer, entering the small self-proclaimed officeand glancing around.

Sheblinked in surprise.

Comparedto the rest of the house, this room was practically a penthouse.

Everythingclean, clear. Even the small window in the top part of the wall was pristine,and dressed with a neat little curtain with polka-dots. The walls themselveswere plastered in perfectly arranged and sequenced rows of old artifactsand pictures. She spotted crucifixes made of wood, or stone, and—in one case—whatlooked like bone. She spotted an old nun’s robes and a monk’s habit. Shespotted rosaries next to old chalices and wine glasses. She spotted a row ofneatly arranged bricks, each of them a different color and hue, with whitelabels and clear printed writing with dates like 1923, or 1862. She spottedhundreds of black-and-white pictures assorted in binders and folders in a smallbookcase beneath the window. The items in the binders were obvious as two ofthem were already open on the desk in front of Mr. Lavigne where he was quicklysifting through, muttering to himself, clicking his fingers next to his ear andwagging his head as if agreeing with some unheard proclamation.

“Gregor?”Adele ventured, softly. “Find what you’re looking for?”

Hemurmured some more, still clicking his fingers strangely next to