Page 33 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Tanya’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…. That’s too bad, but really, I’m allergic.” To prove the point, and too much on cue for Cissy to fully believe her, the girl sneezed.

“I’ll take care of it,” Cissy said through clenched teeth. She marched across the room, found a towel in the upper hallway, a small dish in the kitchen, filled the bowl with water, and stuffed the towel, dish, and Coco into the carrier. “If she drives you nuts with her whining and scratching, just take B.J. for a walk in his stroller.”

“It’s supposed to rain.” Tanya glanced through the patio windows. Cissy wanted to scream. Tanya was trustworthy enough, but the girl would rather whine about something than do it, which was weird because, as far as Cissy could see, Tanya could do about anything she wanted. She was artistic and smart and, at times, clever. Cissy believed that Tanya would never do B.J. any harm, nor neglect him, and if spurred, as in a crisis, would ultimately do the right thing, but Tanya was forever grumbling, and it was a total pain. Nothing was ever right, and that less-than-sunny disposition bothered the hell out of Cissy. She didn’t want her kid being partially raised by a downer. As soon as she dealt with Gran’s funeral and found a replacement, Tanya would be history.

“Perhaps the dog could go outside,” the girl ventured, as if it was a new, incredible thought.

“You just said it was going to rain.”

“The garage?”

“Believe me, this an

imal has never spent one minute in a garage. You’ll be okay. I’ll be back in about three hours at the latest, it all depends.” She didn’t wait for any more complaints, just told Tanya that Beej had already had breakfast and been bathed, then, using her cell, called Sara.

She was out the door before Tanya could muster up another complaint and crossed the yard quickly. Sara was backing out of her driveway. She stopped, and Cissy climbed into the new Lexus, buckled up, and started pointing the way to her grandmother’s house.

“Oh, I know where it is,” Sara said. “On Mt. Sutro, backs up to the college’s medical school, right?”

“You’ve been by?”

“Half a dozen times since I met you.” Her eyes were on the road as she wove through traffic that was still thick from the morning rush hour. “It’s a great place. I would love to see it. Never been inside, you know, but it has to have a fantastic view.”

“It does,” Cissy said carefully. She knew where Sara was going with this.

Sara flipped on her blinker as they reached Golden Gate Park, and Cissy gazed out the window. Bikers, joggers, and people walking their dogs were already on the paths cutting through the trees and grass. Normal people who didn’t have to worry about psychotic escapee mothers and dead grandmothers. They rode up the hill to the house, and Cissy glanced at Sara, who was practically salivating as she parked on the street. The gate was left open, thankfully, as Cissy’s remote was in the car. “Mind if I take a peek?” Sara asked, and Cissy decided it really didn’t matter.

“Sure, why not. But remember, the police were here. They searched the place for evidence, dusted for prints. I don’t know what it’s going to look like.”

She and Sara walked up the brick path, Sara eyeing the exterior, obviously calculating the home and property’s worth.

Cissy unlocked the front door, steeled herself, then pushed it open.

“Oh God!” Sara gasped, spying the bloodstains on the foyer floor, the black powder covering everything, and the cold, certain feeling of death that seemed to settle throughout the old house’s bones. “Oh, I didn’t know….” Sara, to her credit, swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Cissy.”

“It’s all right.”

Sara’s eyes were drawn to the marble tile floor and the dark stains. “This house…this house is worth a fortune…if, um, if you ever want to sell….”

“Sell the family home,” Cissy responded flatly. She couldn’t think about it.

“I figure you’ll inherit, right? You might want to unload the property, what with the bad memories and all. I’m telling you, it’s worth millions. Exactly how much, I’m not certain yet. But I’ll walk around, and when I get back to my computer, I’ll pull up some comparables. However, I’m sure they’ll be few and far between. This place is almost one of a kind.” She was on a roll now, looking beyond the black dust and blood, eyeing the woodwork, the floors, the wainscoting, as she traipsed from room to room. Her mental abacus going into overdrive, Sara mounted the stairs to the next story.

Cissy let her go. Selling the house was the furthest thing from her mind. She strolled slowly through the cold, empty rooms and felt as if the estate had somehow lost its heart with her grandmother’s death. It just felt different.

She could hear Sara walking upward to the third story, so Cissy climbed to the second. She paused on the landing, envisioning her grandmother, who had probably been in the library, walking across this strip of hardwood toward the elevator and stopping about…here. Cissy positioned herself over the spot and wondered what had happened. Gran had to have gone over the railing right here, but who would push her? How would the killer get into the house? And why? For God’s sake, who would hate Eugenia enough to want to kill her? She’d made her share of enemies over the course of her seventy-plus years, but for someone to come in and murder her?

Could it be Marla? Could it?

Cissy shook her head. If she had arrived in time, could she have saved her grandmother’s life? Or would she and B.J. have been attacked as well? Killed?

She swallowed hard, then walked into the living area, where she and Beej had hung out with the older woman. Cissy felt a new sadness when she noticed the knitting bags now turned over at the foot of her grandmother’s favorite wing-backed chair, the remote control for the television aimed at her twenty-year-old TV. In her room, she saw her outfits, sorted by color, shoes and handbags in cubbies, at the ready near the appropriate jackets, slacks, and skirts.

“Oh, Gran,” Cissy said, her heart breaking all over again.

Before she could become too grief-stricken, she gathered up Coco’s multiple dog beds, leashes, bowls, grooming kits, and blankets, then carried them out to the car. She also found two bags of dog food and a tiny little sweater, which, she was certain, she would never put on the dog.

On her way back inside the house, she nearly collided with Sara, who was smiling. “This is a wonderful, wonderful property,” she enthused. “Really, Cissy, if you want to sell, I have clients who have been looking for nearly three years for a house as unique and ‘San Francisco’ as this one. It would be perfect for them. Perfect.”

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