by Wylie Kinson
“Well good for you for not sticking around and taking Cynthia’s crap. Personally, I love your work and have enjoyed our little project together.”
Ellis smiled as her friend left the room. At least she had one ally besides Remi in this house.
Chapter Five
Tired from another long day racing between the show house, her office and various suppliers, Ellis decided that hanging the prints was her last job of the day. She centered the landscapes on the wall beside the hearth and stepped back to admire the effect. She—and Simon—had chosen well. Ellis was sure that even RGK herself would approve.
The mosaic, complete but for grout sealer, turned out even better than she’d envisioned. It could be a sunset or a sunrise, she supposed, depending on who was admiring it. Maybe the frequent and distracting fantasies of Simon were actually enhancing her creativity.
It was after five and she hadn’t seen him all day. Not that she’d been looking for him. Not really. But when a movement in the doorway caught her eye, her heart beat a little two-step before she realized it wasn’t Simon but Jeb, ladder in one hand, roller in the other, standing in her doorway.
“Hey Miss Strathmore, okay if I get in here now?”
“Jeb! Thank you so much for finding the time to squeeze me in.” Her delight at getting the paint job redone quickly melted to guilt when she saw how tired he looked. “Are you sure? It’s so late and you’ve been at it all day.”
“It only needs one coat and I’d just as soon git it done now,” he said, consulting his watch. “But I’ll leave the cutting ’til the morn, when the sun’s on it.”
“Thanks Jeb,” Ellis said. “You’re a sweetheart for putting up with me.”
“Yes ma’am, I am,” he said, giving her a flirtatious wink as he dropped his tools.
“I’ll just get out of your way then,” Ellis said, smiling at the old man’s verve.
* * * * *
Sandwiched between him and the couch, Ellis ran the pad of her thumb across Simon’s lower lip. It was full and oh-so sensual. She reached up around the back of his neck, slid her hand under his dark wavy hair and pulled his mouth toward hers. Her tongue swept across his partially open lips, following the trail her thumb had made. He tasted like apples, the kind baked in the oven with a sprinkle of cinnamon—warm, delicious and spicy-sweet. She tugged on his lower lip with her teeth, lightly, playfully teasing him.
She squirmed under the weight of his body, his naked flesh against hers. He took one of her hands and guided it between their bodies so she could feel his solid arousal. He was bigger than she’d anticipated, than she’d hoped, but in perfect proportion with his large, muscular physique. His hand lingered over hers as she slid her fingers along the length of his thick shaft, gently kneading until he groaned with pleasure against her mouth.
He let go of her to do his own exploring, caressing her inner thigh, trailing his fingers down to the sensitive hollow behind her knee and back up her satiny flesh until his fingers rested at her apex. She pressed her sex into his palm, encouraging him. Simon slipped two fingers inside her and her hips bucked, silently begging him for more. He explored her slick wet folds, torpidly moving his fingers up and down as she writhed under him.
The couch was too narrow to do this, she realized. She needed to get them onto the floor where there was room for a night of sexual gymnastics. She wiggled and shifted under him so he could roll beside her but something went wrong. They lost their grip on one another and Ellis watched in dismay as Simon tumbled to the floor, out of sight. Ellis felt a flash of cold air hit her naked skin like a pail of ice water. She looked over the edge of the sofa but instead of seeing Simon in his naked glory, she found Jeb, eyes open in a dead stare and lying in a pool of blood. Only it wasn’t blood, it was red paint, and in one of his outstretched hands he held a red-tipped brush in a death grip…
Ellis’ eyes flew open as she jerked awake. She was aroused, disturbed, disoriented. Dressed only in a T-shirt and panties, she shivered and reached for the worn, multi-hued afghan that had fallen to the floor. Her senses struggled into full consciousness. In the dim emptiness of her own home, Ellis felt a blush of awareness wash over her. Her panties were soaking wet. She’d never had a dream so deliciously erotic or so frightening. How would she be able to face Simon in the light of day without picturing him naked on her sofa? Could she find the strength not to look at his long, tapered fingers and not imagine them pressed deeply into her sex?
She got up, stretched the kinks out of her long legs and shivered again. The glow from the tiny muted television set across the room offered just enough light for her to clear the remnants of her dinner—microwaved leftovers and an apple-cinnamon granola bar. She took a swig from the can of warm soda to clear her mouth and checked her watch. She must have fallen asleep during Jeopardy and now, nearly midnight, Ellis was wide awake and shaken.
Guilt. The perfect sex dream ended horribly because she felt bad about poor old Jeb having to repaint. Again. She should have done it herself. Ellis decided to go back to the show house and do the tedious cutting to save Jeb the trouble in the morning. With any luck, she’d be home in a couple hours to get some guilt-free sleep. Maybe her dream would pick up where it left off. Wishful thinking.
She took a quick shower, colder than usual, threw on an old Black Sabbath T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Trying desperately to get her mind away from lascivious visions of Simon, Ellis tried to remember where in the house she’d seen the portable construction spotlights. She would need extra lighting to do a decent paint job around the window frames, ceiling and other tight spots.
“Damn,” she said to no one as she pulled out of the driveway. “I don’t know who won Final Jeopardy.”
* * * * *
Instead of parking in the driveway of the show house like she usually did, Ellis drove around the western side of the house and positioned her car so it faced the office windows. If she didn’t find the portable lights, she could shine her headlights in.
She walked over the muddy un-landscaped yard to the front entrance, master key in hand, prepared to dash in and punch the alarm code. Ellis did so much work after hours that Marco, tired of his pager going off after five o’clock, finally gave in and told her the system code. He’d also given her the key to open the padlocked chain meant to warn off trespassers at the entrance to the Oak Ridges Development.
She made her way down the darkened hallway to the office, hoping that Jeb left the paint, drop cloths and brushes. The enormous house was isolated on acres and acres of empty land, but Ellis wasn’t spooked. She loved being alone with the creaks and groans of the structure settling on its foundation, the smell of wood shavings and fresh paint, and the play of light and shadows created by the moonlight that streamed in through untreated windows.
She switched on the office lights, both the pots and sconces, and confirmed her suspicion. The insufficient lighting would make her task difficult. She definitely needed the portable spots.
Ellis scanned the common areas, looking for the bright yellow cage-headed poles, but suspected that the crew had probably put them outside under the tent where most of their equipment was moved when not in use. She made her way to the backyard via the kitchen, stopping only for a moment to admire the work in progress. The cabinets looked like hickory but it was hard to tell in the dark. Stainless steel appliances, still wrapped in protective plastic, lined the wall, waiting patiently for placement. The butcher-block topped island, complete with vegetable sink, was practically the size of Ellis’ entire kitchen…a chef’s dream.
Once past the covered back porch, she entered Callon Construction’s onsite work zone. It was covered in a colossal white canopy that practically engulfed the entire backyard. The transparent plastic sides of the canopy could be tied down and secured, making the structure water and windproof if needed. Tonight, some panels were rolled up and others were left down to flap and sway in the evening wind. Ellis ducked in and by the light of the moon, could make out sever
al neat work tables, a pile of saw horses and a circular table saw, its vicious jagged teeth barely visible in the shadows.
Ellis froze. She heard a noise—a shuffle. Was someone there? A gust of warm breeze lifted her hair, causing a shiver to run down her spine.
“Hello?” she called, just above a whisper.
She strained to listen but could hear nothing but the wind through the forest of tall pines that surrounded the estate. She scanned the moon-washed grounds but could see only construction stuff—piles of lumber and brick, boxes of tile, large drums of who-knows-what, extension ladders and two trailers sitting end to end—one was the site office, the other full of supplies.
“Nobody here but me,” she said, dropping her shoulders. Here eyes darted back to the trailers.
“Lovely,” Ellis said. “I’ll bet the spotlights are in the trailer and it would be just my luck that it’s locked.”
Her nerves forgotten, Ellis crossed her fingers and headed for the trailers about thirty feet away from the tented area. The storage trailer was the farthest of the two. Ellis was crossing the gap between the trailers when she felt a hand clamp over her mouth and a vice-like arm encircle her body, pinning her arms to her side. Cold fear drenched her. She was dragged back, into the darkness between the trailers where the moonlight didn’t penetrate. She felt smothered. Ellis started to panic, her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she struggled for a deep breath. She tried to scream but it was nothing more than a muffled whimper against the rough hand.
“Shhh, it’s me!” a gravelly voice hissed in her ear.
She froze at the sound of the familiar voice. She knew his smell. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek. Simon Callon. Her terror dissolved into fury.
“What the hell are you doing?” came out as “Mm mm MMMM mm mm mm-mm?”
“Shhh! Do not make a sound. I’m going to move my hand but do not move and do not make a sound,” he said, emphasizing every word.
She felt his grip loosen but before he released her, he said quietly in her ear, “We’ve got company.”
Ellis, about to berate him for scaring the living daylights out of her, saw a vehicle swing into the backyard. She’d been so frightened that she hadn’t heard its approach. Windows open, headlights off, the dark-colored pickup swung around and reversed into position between the trailer and the tent. Simon, who still had his arm around Ellis’ middle, pulled her back deeper into the shadows.
“What’s going—” Ellis began to ask in a whisper, but Simon’s tightened grip warning her to be silent.
They watched two men get out of the truck. Ellis noticed that the larger man, a flat-nosed goon in a muscle shirt, had a visible bulge in the small of his back. He would be perfectly cast as Thug Number One in a mob movie. Thug’s buddy, the driver, was a short, wiry man. They looked familiar…
She knew the little guy. It was Jim! Why was Simon hiding and shushing her when one of his employees was here? She’d run into Jim a number of times in the house, most recently when he stopped by one evening to pick up some tools he’d left behind.
Ellis’ Spidey sense finally kicked in. She needed to tell Simon. Her back was still firmly held against him so she stood on her tiptoes and turned her head, motioning for his ear.
“It’s Jim,” she said in the quietest possible whisper.
She felt Simon’s nod against her hair.
“Here last night too,” she breathed against his ear.
He pulled his head back for a moment, as if in thought, before he dropped his ear back to her lips.
“Came after midnight. Surprised I was here. Said he forgot tools.” After each phrase, Simon gave her a little squeeze indicating that he understood. “Came in alone—Thug stayed in car. I recognize his silhouette.” She could feel Simon nodding his head. “He’s got a gun.”
“What was that?” Jim said, stopping in mid-stride. While Ellis was talking, the trespassers had dropped the tailgate and laid out some sheets of blue tarp.
“I didn’t hear nothin’. You’re being paranoid,” Thug said.
Jim looked around, squinting into the moonlit yard. He scanned the grounds, passing right over Ellis and Simon huddled in the shadows.
“Probably just the wind.”
“What am I looking for?” Thug asked, shining his flashlight over the stacked boxes of tiles resting on pallets.
“M7,” Jim replied.
Ellis stiffened, knowing exactly what the code meant. The “M” indicated main floor and “7” was the number assigned to her bathroom. What did they want with her stuff?
Simon, reading her mind, squeezed her lightly and whispered, “Just watch and try to remember everything we’re seeing.”
“You got the hammer?” Jim asked.
“Nah, don’t need one.”
They watched in silence as Thug and Jim lifted three cardboard boxes of her precious Tuscan Sun tiles and threw them hard onto the ground, one after the other. She could hear the muffled shatter of the ceramic tiles. They picked up each box and put them back randomly among the other untouched boxes.
“Any more?”
“No. She said no more than three.”
Ellis knew exactly what “she” was up to. One box of shattered tiles wouldn’t hinder the job. They always ordered about ten percent more tiles than needed to make up for waste, off-cuts, etc. But three boxes meant that there was no way the installers could finish the job without a reorder. Why would someone want to sabotage her bathroom?
“What a waste, man,” Thug said. “Why couldn’t we just take them?”
“She said we could take other stuff, but she wanted the M7s smashed.”
“Yeah, but we could have sold these dude.”
“Don’t be greedy,” Jim said and they both burst out laughing at some private joke.
Ellis and Simon watched as the truck was loaded with odd boxes of supplies. Thug and Jim were careful not to take much of any one item. The morning crew wouldn’t even be aware that there was a theft. They took lumber, a ladder and a selection of miscellaneous hardware, just enough to cause delays and have a few folks scratching their heads thinking “now where did I leave that” or “I must have miscalculated the order”.
“Let’s do the inside,” Jim said, standing back and surveying their hoard.
They hopped in the truck and drove around to the front.
As soon as the tail lights rounded the eastern corner of the house, Simon grabbed her by the hand. “Come on. We’ve got to get in the back door before they get in the front.”
They took off at a run toward the back door. Ellis struggled to keep pace with Simon’s long-legged stride. He flung the back door open, pausing only for a split second to listen for the position of the two men, who had not yet entered the house.
“Stay here,” Simon instructed.
Like hell, thought Ellis, following closely behind Simon as he ran toward the foyer. He needed to turn on the alarm so the thieves wouldn’t be tipped off to their presence. He got to the numbered pad just as the thugs were slamming the doors of the truck outside.
Four, eight, fifteen, sixteen, twenty-three, forty-five—
“Two!” Ellis hissed. “Forty-two!”
“Damn it!” He stole a glance through the sidelights and saw them coming up the porch steps.
Four, eight, fifteen, sixteen, twenty-three, forty-two, ON. The digital display read “alarm enabled”.
The key slid into the lock, trapping Simon and Ellis in the foyer. They had no time to run across the endless front hall back to the kitchen. As Simon was judging the distance to the west hall, Ellis pulled him toward the coat closet near to the front door. It was a risky move, going toward the entrance instead of away from it, and they ducked in just as Jim swung the front door open. The alarm beeped in two-second intervals, warning the entrants to punch in the alarm code within thirty seconds. Simon heard them fumbling at the keypad inches away from the closet.
“Where to, man?” Thug asked.
“Jus
t gimme a sec. I gotta think,” Jim said as the keypad continued to beep. “Four, eight…” He continued until the beeping stopped.
They could hear Thug’s heavy footsteps retreat across the hall then back again.
“Jim, there’s a light on down there,” he said quietly.
Ellis froze. Thug must have looked down the west wing hall and seen the office lights on. They would know she was here. She found Simon’s hand in the empty darkness of the cramped two-by-four enclosure and squeezed, communicating both apology for leaving the light on and fear.
“You stay here,” Jim ordered. “It’s probably just Goldilocks.”
Who? Simon squeezed her hand reassuringly while they waited. If the situation wasn’t so horrible, Ellis might have enjoyed the closeness. His strong callused hand spread warmth through her every fiber. She could hear his low shallow breaths and it somehow calmed her frantically beating heart.
