Ashes to Ashes Read Online Free PDF Page A

good health, then, and could do for himself.”
    “Not really. He’d gotten pretty feeble and hadn’t been out of his room by himself in two months. A nurse came in every day to check him over and keep him tidy. Though how anyone could stay clean in this dusty old place… . “Dorothy adjusted her glasses and peered critically at a wonderful Landseer landscape hanging in the stairwell. “Well, I tried to help.”
    Rebecca frowned. “If Mr. Forbes was that decrepit, what was he doing on the staircase?”
    “He’d gone soft in the head,” insisted Dorothy. “No telling what he thought he was doing.” Grasping her vacuum and her basket she headed on up the stairs, presenting Rebecca with a vision of her rear end like a sausage encased in pink double-knit slacks. “I’d better get going— still got the rooms up above. I did yours yesterday. I have a system, a rotation pattern… ”
    That voice had enough vinegar in it to etch tracks in the stone steps. Fortunately the vacuum roared into life and blanked it out. Rebecca shook her head, half amused, half appalled. So the local gossip was that there was a treasure here. Romantic fancies, no doubt. Forbes’s stocks and bonds weren’t nearly as interesting as some mythical trove.
    The old man had fallen down these very stairs and died there, alone, in the darkness… . All right, Rebecca thought, she certainly wasn’t going to be intimidated by that macabre image. She turned and climbed up to the fourth floor. And it was the fourth, despite Michael’s calling it the third; when in Rome do as the Romans, or the Americans, do.
    Through the door on her left she saw a bedroom littered with cast off T-shirts, papers, and books. The History of Scottish Second Sight lay open on the unmade bed, Michael’s idea of light bedtime reading. There was no corresponding picture of a woman on his bedside table. The lawyer, Adler, had mentioned to her that the young Scot was single.
    Scrubbing sounds emanated from an adjoining bathroom; Dorothy was removing toothpaste and whiskers from the sink just as Rebecca had once cleaned for her brothers. She was the only daughter, after all. One thing she’d always appreciated about Ray was how tidy he was. Not only did he wipe out the sink, he even hung his dirty shirts back in the closet.
    A large bedroom was straight ahead and a small one to the right. The floor above had the same plan, except that here, on the level of the turrets, the rooms bulged into oblong protuberances filled with furniture. Every available space was distended with richly draped beds and cluttered tables, cabinets, and shelves, every wall was hung with tapestries and artwork. Impassive painted eyes followed her at every step.
    On the next floor, the sixth, a long room stretched completely across the building. Couches and tables arranged on a hardwood floor proclaimed this to be a ballroom. A scrapbook lying on a chair held faded sepia photos of bustled ladies and boatered men picnicking in Dun Iain’s fantastic shadow. Beyond the long room was a warren of smaller ones. Servant’s quarters, probably. Nowhere did Rebecca see any signs of Dorothy’s mice. No wonder Darnley the cat was so sleek and self-satisfied.
    It was lighter up here, the walls thinner and the window embrasures not as deep. From one of the overhanging turrets the parking area seemed a long way down, Rebecca’s and Michael’s cars and Dorothy’s Fairlane looking like miniatures on an architectural model. The only noise this high up was the murmur of the wind and Rebecca’s own footsteps, each producing a faint but precise squeak from the old floorboards.
    And it was cold, bone-chillingly cold. Rebecca fantasized about vats of hot coffee. Just a few more doors. Behind two were rooms crammed with piles of crates, boxes, and old books. A third opened onto a straight staircase. Light and an icy draft spilled down the steps. Ah, the roof. A sudden explosive burst of beating wings and swooping shapes