Bun in the Oven: The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag, #6

by Jennifer L. Hart

  “Holy smokes, she was right.” I quickly shut the lid again and then glanced around as though checking to make sure no one had wandered into the garage and stumbled onto my discovery.

  Now I had two choices. Either leave the tool box in the house and then call Capri to come “discover” it or lug it back to my place.

  My back twinged again and Baby X moved, reminding me that the less of this chaos I brought into our home, the better off we’d be. I debated wiping my prints from the toolbox, then decided that I should leave it be. Who knew who else might have handled the thing.

  Mission accomplished, I crept back through the house and let myself out. Mr. Johnson was grilling hamburgers and gave me another wave as I crossed the yard. I waved back, glad that I was done with the sneaking around portion of the evening and could walk through the neighborhood as a law abiding citizen once more.

  Sylvia was sitting at the kitchen table exactly where I’d left her. Her eyes were closed as though she were praying. Astrid was back in her carrier, eyes closed.

  “Sylvia, you won’t believe what I found,” I said as I let myself back into my own kitchen door.

  “Maggie, no!” Sylvia shrieked.

  “What?” I had my back to her in the space of time it took to shut the door. At her cry I turned and tripped over something on the kitchen floor.

  Panic seized me, my only thoughts were for Baby X as I fell, bracing my arms out straight so my stomach didn’t hit the floor first. Pain shot through my elbows and down my spine and I rolled with the impact, curling onto my side and tucking my knees up to protect the life inside me.

  What had I tripped on? I glanced at my feet, looking in horror to where Atlas lay sprawled out, something I couldn’t quite see protruding from his neck.

  “Sylvia?” I asked, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “So glad you could join us.” A third voice, a familiar voice said.

  I looked up into the face and breathed one word which was more of a question. “You?”

  “That’s right.” The person cooed a second before my best skillet was brought down across my head and the world went black.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pain guided me out of the darkness. Guided is actually much too gentle a word. The agony ripped me from unconsciousness like a steam locomotive tearing through a paper mache dollhouse. It wasn’t pain in my head either, but a crippling intensity seizing my midsection as though a massive vice had clamped onto me, slowly squeezing me in two.

  There was no feigning unconsciousness. I woke with a gasp, a horse cry escaping my throat as I half sat up from the curled position. It was a mistake I regretted instantly as I hit my head on something hard. The pain was bad enough but the wetness between my legs was really what had my heart rate kicking into high gear.

  That plus the fact that I couldn’t see a damn thing.

  I tried to piece together what had happened. One minute I’d been headed home to tell Sylvia the good news, that I’d found Eric’s secret stash, and the next I’d been on the floor. I tripped over Atlas, who hadn’t so much as twitched.

  So how had I gotten here? Wherever here was.

  Gradually the pain eased, making room for out and out panic. Tentatively, I reached down and touched the wetness between my legs. Without light, there was no way to tell what it was but the three possibilities were that my water had broken, that I’d wet my pants or that something had hurt Baby X when I fell and that my hand was coated in blood.

  The last possibility had me shaking from head to toe. No, no, I hadn’t landed on my stomach when I’d fallen over poor Atlas, who I didn’t have panic left to think about. It wasn’t blood, Baby X was fine. She had to be, any other possibility was unacceptable.

  Okay, time for the old sniff test. I brought my quivering hand up and inhaled. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I’d lied to Neil about wetting my pants only to go and do just that? Unfortunately, I didn’t smell pee. So, I didn’t pee my pants. Never thought that would prove to be an upsetting fact.

  That left one possibility. Baby X had finally, finally decided she was ready to be born. Poor thing already had her mother’s crummy timing.

  As if to underscore my conclusion, the contraction hit again, starting in my back and sending a tight pressure around to my swollen midsection. I gasped at the agony, gritting my teeth.

  Breathe, Maggie. It was as though Grace was right there beside me, reminding me that I could do this. That I’d practiced for this, was more than ready to give birth. Just not here, in the dark, all alone.

  You need to breathe through the pain.

  It was a tall order, fighting the terror and the contractions and part of me remembered that I wasn’t supposed to fight the contractions, that baby X needed them to help her find the exit.

  It went on and on and on, but gradually, the pressure eased. I took a full breath and then another. Sweat had gathered on my forehead, between my breasts. It was hot, wherever I was and the space cramped. At least I hadn’t been stuffed in a freezer. Or shot in the head.

  For a horrified moment I worried I’d been buried alive again. But no, there was no time for that, I hadn’t been drugged, could smell no dirt. I felt around the cramped space, searching for textures and shapes that would give me a clue where I was. There was a scent, sort of like gasoline and the fabric under my cheek was scratchy. I couldn’t uncurl fully from the fetal position. The top of my prison felt like metal.

  So, the trunk of a car then. A stopped car, because there was no sense of movement. Either I hadn’t been out for very long or we hadn’t traveled far. Judging by the identity of the person who had hit me over the head, I was banking on the latter.

  I pictured the face and my anger grew. Rage was much more useful than terror. Rage could help me. So I imagined finding a tire iron and whacking the slag who’d hurt my dog and come on to my husband. Who I’d actually thought was my friend right up until she stuffed me into the trunk of a car.

  Freaking Roberta Schmitt.

  My hands fumbled around, hunting for the tire iron. The vision was so vivid I felt like I’d already whacked her. But there was no tire iron within my grasp. And even if I had located a tire iron or anything else to use as a weapon, it wouldn’t solve the more immediate problem. Another contraction could happen at any moment.

  Think, Maggie, think.

  Most cars had automatic trunk releases. I had no idea what sort of car Roberta drove. Something midsize and blue. A sedan. No idea what year. Vehicles weren’t my forte. But it didn’t matter, I was already searching, feeling with my fingers across the warm metal lid. There was an indent and then something that felt a little different, like plastic. That had to be what I was looking for. Wrapping my fingers around it, I prepared to pull it with all my strength, when another contraction hit.

  “Just wait,” I whisper-hissed to Baby X as the pressure built. “You are not going to be born in the trunk of some slag’s car. Hang on there, babe. Just give mama a few.”

  My hair was sticking to my face in great sweaty strands. Though I wanted to push them out of my eyes, there was no way I would let go of that trunk release latch and lose precious seconds in between each contraction hunting for it again.

  An eon later, the pain subsided and I pulled the lever before I could think about what waited for me outside the trunk. Fresh air, well at least less stifling air, rushed in. I sat up, praying I wouldn’t get a bullet to the head. The brightness was relatively dim, except compared to the blackness of the trunk’s interior.

  The first thing I checked when my pupils had dilated, was the spot between my legs. There were traces of what might have been blood but I was relieved to see I wasn’t hemorrhaging. The car had been parked in Roberta’s garage, I recognized the little bench with clay pots and fertilizer from when she left the door open. Not smart if she was actually hoping to get away with kidnapping me. And most likely Sylvia and Astrid too.

  I glanced around but heard no one, no voices or gunshots. That must me
an Roberta had taken them inside. My gaze flicked to the garage door. I could open it, try to run out into the street for help. Even with Sylvia and Astrid held at gunpoint inside, I was sorely tempted to run without trying to help them. But garage doors tended to be loud and I doubted it would go up fast enough for me to escape before Roberta appeared, sidearm in hand.

  And then there was the whole leaving Sylvia and Astrid behind thing. I couldn’t abandon them. Even though I was pretty sure there was no way Roberta could have loaded me into her trunk without Sylvia’s assistance, I was ninety nine point nine percent sure Sylvia had been coerced, possibly because Roberta had threatened the life of her child.

  I hadn’t been idle while debating what my next move should be. Slowly, carefully I’d been adjusting my position in the trunk so I could back out of the thing. It wasn’t the smoothest maneuver I’d ever executed, but elegance didn’t factor in my current circumstances. And I’d had plenty of practice with my couch dismount and crawl to know what maneuvers my heavily pregnant body could manage, and which ones were beyond impossible.

  One sneakered foot hit the ground and then the other, just in time. Bracing my hands on the trunk I grunted and puffed my way through the latest spine crushing wave. The pressure on my mid-section was excruciating, and it was moving south. I could feel Baby X in position, imagined her asking What’s the hold up, here?

  I’d scrunched my eyes shut tight against the pain and when I opened them my gaze landed on my salvation. Slowly, gingerly, I made my way over to the shovel propped against the wall. There were a boatload of flaws with my plan to sneak up on Roberta. One, I wasn’t the most stealthy creature in the world at the best of times, and mid labor was certainly not the best of times. Two, though I had no one timing my contractions I judged that they had been happening pretty close together. All that added up to I didn’t have time to lie in wait. Roberta could come back out to her garage to check on me at any minute but then again, it could be hours. Maybe she’d wanted me to suffocate in the trunk or slip into a coma after that crack to the head. The fact that she’d bothered to take me at all instead of killing me outright meant she wanted something from me but leaving me unconscious in the trunk didn’t point to her envisioning me to have a long and happy life.

  But if I walked into the house, I’d give away the only thing I had going for me, the element of surprise. So I couldn’t wait and I couldn’t sneak up on her. What option did that leave me with?

  Like Sylvia’s garage, the light switches were on the wall by the door. This time I prayed someone was looking my way. I flicked both sets a few times in the three short, three long, three short standard SOS pattern that Neil had taught me. After three rounds, I gave up, mostly because what were the chances someone was staring at Roberta’s house, making the pattern out at the very moment I needed them to? Slim to none. My earlier plan of bolting through the garage door resurfaced, but the noise and rate of the door rising were still a factor. Maybe I could use it to my advantage. Hefting the shovel over one shoulder, I slammed the garage door button and then hid behind the door jam.

  The door started its upward climb in a groaning of gears. I sucked in air and waited. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three.

  The kitchen door was yanked open and the shovel was already in motion when I saw it was Sylvia, not Roberta who came out. I tried to halt the momentum, but another contraction hit at the same time the shovel struck her in the face.

  “Oh no, Sylvie. I’m so sorry.” I collapsed to hands and knees beside her as the contraction hit full force.

  “Shit,” I heard from behind me and looked up to see Roberta cradling Astrid to her with one hand, the other slapped at the garage door button, making it retrace its path to the concrete slab. She gave me a pissy look. “You’re in labor, aren’t you? And here I was going to cut the baby from you while you were still out.”

  “Wwwwhy...are you doing this?” I had to force the words out between clenched teeth, my heart sinking along with the garage door.

  “Because, you ungrateful cow. You have what I want. Both of you. And I’m tired of waiting for my turn. Get up, come with me.”

  “But Sylvia?” I checked to see if she was bleeding. Her nose looked a little crooked and there was a goose egg on her forehead that probably matched my own, but no blood.

  “Leave her.” Roberta knew as long as she held on to Astrid, she held all the cards. My great escape attempt was over.

  ROBERTA TOOK ME TO one of the smaller bedrooms in her house. It was plain, white walls, bare mattress, blinds on the windows but no curtains. Astrid’s carrier sat alongside the bed.

  Roberta set the baby down in her carrier and then drew her gun on me. “How far apart are your contractions?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Fairly close I think. Did you kill Eric?”

  “Eric was pond scum. Sylvia should thank me.”

  “Why?” I panted. It wasn’t just my imagination, the contractions were one right on top of the other now. “What did he do to you?”

  “He didn’t get me pregnant, for a start.”

  Her terrifying words about cutting Baby X from me clicked into place. “And that’s what you wanted, a baby?”

  “We tried for months.” While she spoke, Roberta moved around the room, collecting clean sheets and towels. “But it was just like with my husband, every month, nothing. I’ve had all the tests, spent a small fortune on invitro all for nothing. I killed the sorry sack of crap when he suggested we stop trying.”

  So cold, her words were so cold that I shivered despite being overheated. “And let me guess, Eric found out?”

  “He found Bill’s body in my garden. Snuck in in the middle of the night and took pictures. Then he decided to blackmail me.”

  “The pictures,” I gasped.

  She nodded. “Bastard snuck over here when I was at work, dug up my yard, took the photo and put every flower back in place. I gave him the money the first time he asked. Of course I did. He needed money, I needed sperm. Why not make it a transaction?”

  I could think of a hell of a lot of reasons but another wave hit and I cried out instead.

  Roberta cast me a dirty look as though I’d interrupted her on purpose. “But then, when the little one was born, he came here asking for more, threatening to go to the police with his evidence. I wasn’t the one screwing around on my wife. I’ll give your man props, Maggie. Your man kept his pants zipped. More the pity.” She spoke like we were chatting over Appletinis at happy hour.

  “Slag,” I grumbled, too far gone in anguish and dread to watch my mouth.

  Luckily, she didn’t appear to hear me. “So after I killed Eric, I decided I’d been going about this baby thing the wrong way. I mean why try to make a baby when you can just steal one? And with one parent down, Sylvia was the only obstacle between me and my dream.”

  The text. You have what I want. Sylvia had thought they were about the photos Eric had been hiding but Roberta hadn’t even mentioned them. No, what she wanted was Astrid and poor little unsuspecting Baby X.

  “You can’t just take our children.” I ground out. The thought of this cold awful woman raising my baby, Sylvia’s baby made me feel faint. “The police will find out what you did.” I wanted to say that my husband would never let it go either, but I didn’t want this madwoman to target Neil.

  “The police think Sylvia had Eric whacked. That’s why I was always careful that no one found Bill’s body. Better to tell any lie, like that he ran off with a twenty year old barista and is living the high life in the Keys.”

  “But what about me?” I gasped, throwing my head back and squeezing my eyes shut. “Isn’t one baby enough?”

  Roberta shook her head. “No, see it’s better this way. Everyone in town knows what a snoop you are, including your precious police detective. I’m going to pin the whole thing on Sylvia.”

  “But how? You can’t keep living here with two babies and expect no one will notice.”

  “You’re righ
t, I can’t. But what I can do is burn the house down and skip town in Eric’s Lexus with both babies. Three sets of remains, yours, Sylvia’s and dear old Bill standing in for me. I took the precaution of knocking all his teeth out so they won’t be able to identify him through dental records. Didn’t you see all the gas cans lined up in the garage?”

  “It’s not that simple. They can tell male from female remains. They’ll know you didn’t die.”

  Roberta leaned in close as another contraction stole my breath. “It doesn’t have to be a perfect getaway, just one long enough to give me a head start. Now, I suggest you focus on delivering my new son or daughter before I get impatient and cut it out of you.”

  The urge to bear down was growing. The baby must be in the birth canal. For the first time in my life I wanted to be in the hospital, wanted the doctors and the nurses. I wanted Grace at my side whispering reassuring things. And I wanted Neil’s hand to squeeze and hold onto for dear life.

  But I had none of that. I just had me and Baby X and however many heartbeats were left before she came into the world and Roberta put a bullet between my eyes and took me forever out of it.

  There was a sound then, the sound of breaking glass. I whipped my head over to the window, where glass had rained in from something. Roberta whirled, her gun coming up, but there was no one there.

  She bent down, picked something up off the ground. “A baseball?”

  I blinked, the sweat pouring off of me in buckets, getting in my eyes, my ears, soaking the mattress beneath me. Or maybe that was something else. The pressure had built until it was worse than the pains, was the only thing I could focus on. But somewhere, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that the baseball was a message.

  “Stay here.” Roberta said as though I was going to get up and take a casual stroll.