Chapter Seventeen
The biggest problem was that, being in the basement, there was really no light at all. And Myrtle was still just the tiniest bit groggy, which later she would attribute to the aftereffects of the champagne she’d consumed. But she woke quickly and held onto her cane with a tight grip, knowing that the intruder wouldn’t be able to see her either, and believed her to be Ruby.
As she waited for the inevitable attack, Myrtle frowned. What was this intruder doing? Why was it taking so long? And what was the rustling sound she kept hearing?
She kicked impatiently at the bed sheets that were curled around her legs. But apparently there was something on the bed—something she hadn’t noticed in the puffy comforter when she’d climbed into the bed. Whatever it was fell to the floor
