Page 75 of Sleigh Bells and Snowstorms
I kept looking. “There’s no clear approach from here. He’s awfully concerned about security.”
“Is it just me, or does it seem excessive?”
“Excessive for your average Tilikum resident, probably. He either has something to protect, something to hide, or he’s bloody paranoid.”
“Maybe all three.”
“That would be my guess.” I lowered the binoculars and offered them to Natalie. “Do you want to take a look?”
The smile that lit up her face warmed me against the cold. She looked through them, first at the house, then out across the river.
“These are amazing.”
“We’re not supposed to have them, strictly speaking. Press the side, there, and they’ll take photos.”
She pressed it and gasped. “So cool.”
“Take some of the house, would you? The cameras, back door, windows.”
“Oh my gosh, I can see right into his window.” She paused. “What is that?”
She handed me the binoculars and I took a second look. One of the ground floor windows opened into a large dining room. The binoculars refocused, zeroing in on the interior. A large painting in an ornate frame hung above a sideboard, with a vase and other decor on display.
“He certainly has interesting taste,” I said. “I can’t tell from here if those are originals or not. But if they are, they’re expensive.”
“But did you see the sparkly thing?”
“No.” I looked again. That time, a fleck of light caught my eye. I tapped a button to focus on the spot. “What do we have here?”
It wasn’t the Emerald Crown. But it was jewelry.
“Julian gets more interesting by the minute,” I said. “It looks like a gold brooch with a large green stone—an emerald, if it’s real—in a display frame. It’s either an antique or made to look like one. Certainly displayed like a treasure. I wonder where he got it.”
“All the cameras make more sense.”
I lowered the binoculars. “Indeed they do. He certainly seems to be a collector. The question is whether he’s also a thief. Or paid for one.”
We couldn’t do much more from where we were, so I replaced the binoculars and gestured that we return the way we’d come. Natalie went ahead of me and retraced our steps through the snow. She got closer to the edge than I would have liked, and the hit of adrenaline at the thought of her falling down the slope and into the river made my heart rate rise.
I let out a small breath of relief when we turned back toward the road.
The view through the window had given me a glimpse, but I wasn’t satisfied. Ultimately, I needed to get inside the house, but that would require more planning and preparation. Still, I didn’t want to leave without getting a better idea of what we were dealing with.
Angling toward the house again, we came to the fence. From that vantage, I could see into the front. The landscaping on the back side of the house was largely natural, with the river as the focal point. But the front was intricate, even in the snow. The outline of lit paths and a large pond were visible.
I took more pictures, noting a small corridor outside the view of the cameras that might get me close to the house. Egress windows indicated a basement—and a possible way inside.
Gesturing for Natalie to follow, I made my way along the fence line. Large snowflakes fell all around us, and I hoped she wasn’t too cold. The discomfort of shivering would be made worse by her bruises. I wanted to get her inside sooner rather than later.
“Are you cold?” I asked.
“No. I think the excitement is keeping me warm.”
“All right. I just want one more look. Stay behind me, and I’ll keep us out of sight of the cameras.”
I led us closer to the road but stayed within the confines of the trees. The noise of an approaching car carried through the otherwise quiet morning. We crouched in the accumulating snow, and I pulled out the binoculars.
The gate started to open. It was quiet, probably well maintained, swinging inward with hardly a sound. A Range Rover turned into the driveway.
