A noise sounded downstairs.
Elena moved to the door and listened. She knew someone was down in the supposedly empty store. She turned off the light and reached for the phone, dialing 9-1-1. When the operator answered, she whispered her situation.
Pocketing the phone, she slipped out of the office and walked to the top of the stairs to listen. After a moment, she heard something move. She slipped back into the office and dug for Daniel’s phone number. He answered on the second ring.
“Daniel, there’s someone in the store.”
“Elena?”
“Hurry.” She heard someone walking up the treads and hung up. Where could she hide? The office had a large window with a fire escape. She hurried there, hoping she could beat the intruder. The old window hadn’t been opened in years. She unlatched the window and pulled. It sounded as if the gates of a dungeon were opening, but it was her only hope.
Something was wrong.
Elena Segura Jackson stared at the open back door of her family’s antique shop.
“Hello.” Her voice echoed in the empty room. A shiver ran up her spine. “Joyce, are you here?” This was Joyce’s night to lock up. Elena listened for a moment more. Nothing.
“Don’t be silly,” she chided herself. “You’re acting like a five-year-old.”
Shaking off her apprehension, she moved inside. Where was the inside security light? Reaching for the switch, she flicked it on. Nothing happened.
Her stomach sank. Taking a deep breath, she called out again, “Joyce.”
The outside light did little to penetrate the vast darkness of the store. It was like walking into a cave, wondering what she’d find with her next step. She bumped into several pieces of furniture. Slowly, she made her way from piece to piece moving toward the stairs in the center of the room. The papers she needed were upstairs in her office. Halfway across the room, she stumbled and caught herself on the back of a chair.
“Wha—” She looked down. Her eyes followed a pair of legs up to a skirt and a blouse. The body lay against the large Spanish chest.
Slowly she approached the body. “Joyce?”
Kneeling, she shook her shoulder. “Joyce? Are you okay?”
Nothing.
Elena turned the woman over. It was Joyce. Her eyes were open, staring into nothing. Elena shook Joyce’s shoulders, but there was no reaction.
Releasing her, Elena’s fingers skated over Joyce’s chest and encountered a wet spot. Elena jerked her hands back. Although she couldn’t see the color of the liquid, she could smell the coppery scent. Blood.
Stumbling to her feet, she turned. A figure materialized out of the darkness, and before she could react, something crashed into her head turning the world black.
Detective Daniel Stillwater and his partner, Raul Rodriguez, climbed out of their police-issued sedan. Two police cruisers and the evidence van dotted the area around Amarillo Plaza in old town Santa Fe, closing down traffic on the street.
“Hey, Stillwater, you get this case?” Patrolman Mark Sanchez called out.
“We did. You the first responder?”
“Yeah, Icenhour and I caught the call. He’s inside with the lady who found the body. She’s not in too good a shape, crying and blubbering, but you know what a talker Icenhour is. He can soothe things over.”
Daniel stepped into the antique shop and looked around. The overhead lights beat down harshly on the old furniture and elegant collections in the room. He couldn’t figure out what folks saw in this old stuff. It looked like some of the stuff in his aunt’s house. The evidence lieutenant looked up from his evidence kit.
“Find anything?” Raul asked.
“No.” The tech stood. “There was a collection of smudged prints on the doorknob, but there’s nothing I’ve discovered in the shop. The vic was stabbed several times in the chest and bled out.”
“Thanks, Greg,” Daniel replied. He scanned the shop and didn’t see anyone else. A set of wooden stairs divided the room, leading to the second floor. “Where’s the witness?”