When Sheets Talked, I Stopped a Killer

Chapter 4

The man's footsteps faded down the hallway. He'd gone downstairs to buy duct tape. The suitcase was too damaged, he needed a ton of tape to hold it together before he could move it.

I swiped the master key card and opened the door to 804.

The room reeked of disinfectant.

The fresh sheets he'd swapped out were lying on the floor, screaming at the top of their voices.

"Up there! Up there! He stuffed that black bag full of cash into the ceiling panels above the bathroom!"

I ran into the bathroom, stepped on the edge of the toilet, and pushed up the aluminum ceiling panel.

My hand felt around in the dark. There it was. A heavy black canvas bag.

Gritting my teeth, I yanked it down and dropped it on the floor.

I unzipped it, and the smell of blood mixed with old, musty bills hit me in the face. Nothing but stacks of red bills. Pile after pile, stuffed to the brim.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

With this money, I could pay off the loans.

I could buy back my family's old house.

I frantically shoved the cash into the black trash bags I'd brought.

"Beep! Beep! Beep!"

The door mat suddenly let out a shrill electronic tone.

Someone was swiping a key card at the door.

The man hadn't gone for tape after all. He'd come back five minutes early. The key was in the lock.

"Click." The lock turned.

The room was tiny. There was nowhere to run.

I grabbed the trash bag and dove into the bedroom, crawling deep under the wide bed.

I pressed my face flat against the floor.

The door swung open. Heavy footsteps headed straight for the bathroom. Then came the sound of something slamming against the wall from the bathroom—muffled and violent.

"s**t!"

The man's roar cut through the wall.

He'd found the money was gone.

The footsteps came back toward the bedroom.

Closer and closer.

His muddy leather shoes stopped right by the bed. The man didn't yell. Slow and deliberate, he pulled out an extra-long butcher knife. The tip scraped against the tile, making this sickening screech.

Inch by inch, the blade slid under the bed.

The old rug I was lying on suddenly whispered a secret.

"Don't worry! There's a hidden mechanism under this bed frame! That chopped-up lady hid the most important thing in the secret compartment right above your head! Just press the raised piece of wood, and he'll—"

The rug didn't get to finish. The knife tip lifted the bed skirt.

The man's face appeared in the gap.

"Found you, ma'am."