Dark Places Read Online Free PDF Page A

toile bedspread was thrown back, along with white sheets and a thick blue quilt. Toile? For a guy? Something about that just didn’t seem right. A hardback book and a pair of black half-glasses were lying on the coverlet, as if Simon Classon had been reading in bed. A newspaper on the bed was folded to the crossword puzzle. I checked the newspaper’s date. Three days ago. Pennington said his neighbor down the road found some newspapers still in Classon’s mailbox, which might help us pinpoint the day he’d gone missing. My gut told me this was more than a missing person and that Classon probably wasn’t going to show up on his own. Maybe someone rang the doorbell and he went downstairs to answer. Maybe somebody he knew. Maybe that’s how the perp got into the house. Made sense.
    I leaned down and looked at the title of the book. Angels Above: The Complete Guide to Angelology . Angelology? This was beginning to look like somebody had quite an unhealthy obsession with the heavenly host. Maybe the guy was a preacher. Or that Bosley guy from Charlie’s Angels reruns that hung around when Charlie called up and gave the angels their assignments. I looked around for a framed picture of three silly, giggling, skinny bimbos in skimpy outfits, but didn’t see any.
    I crossed the room to the closet, stood to one side with the Glock held ready against my shoulder, then quickly thrust open the door. The clothes inside mocked me and my big weapon. “Well, you never know what’s going to jump out of a closet at you,” I muttered in self-defense. I’d found monsters in closets before, I might add, among other things. I found lots of starched white dress shirts, tweed jackets with leather elbow patches, and argyle sweaters hanging inside. There were some ball caps on the shelf but not a single halo. No women’s clothes in sight, either, so Classon obviously lived alone. I wondered if he had a girlfriend and where she was when the doorstop got itself all bloody and nasty.
    There were two other bedrooms, smaller and less lived in, and a single tiny, old-fashioned bath. All neat and tidy, drawers mostly empty except for Classon’s clothes stacked neatly here and there.
    Angels decorated everything, and I mean everything, everywhere, from the dainty little angel figurines to angel books to angel wallpaper, angel towels, angel shower curtains, angel night-lights. Heaven on earth, for sure. Excuse me, Saint Peter, could you tell me how to get to the cherubs’ dormitory? I was getting seriously eager to meet Mr. Classon and see if he played a harp or had wing bulges under his arms.
    I was halfway down the stairs when I heard Bud give a short yelp. I bounded down the rest of the way and found him safe and secure in the kitchen. He was standing in front of the kitchen sink. The cabinet doors under it stood open. He appeared a bit sheepish.
    â€œWhat happened?” I looked around at the yellow angel window shades and matching place mats and the red angel oven mittens hanging on the refrigerator door.
    â€œMan, when I opened that cabinet, a bunch of spiders started running around. Shit.” He shuddered.
    It’s a well-known fact around the station house that Bud does not like spiders, or any other creepy crawlies for that matter. “Did you kill them?”
    â€œHell, no. They ran off too fast. God, I hate those freakin’ things.”
    â€œWhat are you, Little Miss Muffet?”
    He looked offended, so I said more kindly. “They’re itty bitty, Bud. All you have to do is step on them with your great big size-thirteen shoe.”
    â€œI know, I know, but man, they’re ugly as hell. Have you ever seen a close-up of one of ’em? They’ve got eyes that stick out on these kind of antenna-looking stalks, and stuff, and these fang things that they stick in you. And I’ll tell you somethin’ else. They’re not all itty bitty, there’s some