“Because we never move it?”
“No, because…”
“Because I can’t see it,” Sam said, the same impatience starting to color his soft tones. “I can’t tell that it’s not in the same spot until I reach for it, or run into it. Why do you think I get mad when you move my stuff in the bathroom? It’s not like I can just look over and say, “Hey, there’s my soap that got moved because someone was in a hurry.” I won’t know until I reach for it and it’s not there.”
“I moved your soap?”
Sam’s palm rested square in the middle of his forehead. “I give up. It’s like talking to a wall.”
“Well, why are you talking to the walls?” Josh persisted. “It’s not like they can talk back.”
“Okay, enough. Keep arguing and there won’t be time for making cookies or tossing on that movie you’ve all been wanting to see,” Evan said, raising his hands in a cease-and-desist manner. “I swear, you guys go through more cookies…it’s a wonder you’re not as round as you are tall.” He grinned.
“Come on. The dough’s ready, thanks to Josh, and now Sam and Remy can get the cutters and the decorations,” Rachel said, putting an end to it. “Evan, you’re on for the frosting.”
“Oh, come on…”
“Remember what happened last year?” Rachel asked, nearly singing the last two words.
“Whoa. Wait. What happened last year?” Remy said, his ponytail snapping back as his head spun to face the pair.
“Yeah, what?” Josh chimed.
“Did you break things, Miss Rachel?” Sam asked.
“If you must know, there was this small incident with the milk. And food coloring.”
“The frosting was thinner than one of Maisie Brockard’s t-shirts,” Evan said finally. “And Rachel’s hands were an interesting shade of blue for about a week.”
“Ugh,” Remy grimaced. “Maisie Brockard. Really?”
“Really. Only just got the poor girl to realize that showing off the leopard print bra and the stretch marks was a turnoff to most guys.”
“Man, Maisie’s ugly,” Josh said. “And…and she hits on everything.”
“Hey, Maisie’s nice,” Sam said. “Little relationship crazy, but nice.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Maisie’s a nice girl,” Remy seconded. “Girl would give you her eye teeth if you needed ’em. But she’s…not…pretty. And her taste in clothes doesn’t help.”
“Anyway,” Rachel said, clearing her throat pointedly. “Those cookies aren’t going to cut themselves. Nor are the little silver balls or the cinnamon noses going to get onto Frosty or Rudolph without help.”
“I’ll get the cookie cutters,” Sam offered, heading in the direction of the built-in drawers.
“Sam, why don’t you get the decorations instead?” Rachel said. “The sugar tins are in the pantry, the candies and red hots are in a bag underneath the sugar tins, and the food coloring is in the cupboard with the bouillon cubes and onion soup mix.”
Sam sighed. “Making it difficult, huh?”
Rachel shrugged, though it was lost on Sam. “You need to learn how to find unfamiliar things in the house. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you tend to gravitate toward the few things you can find and never change them.”
“Change isn’t always a good thing, Miss Rachel.”
“Change is a part of life, Sam. People are going to move things. Things will get misplaced. Someone will probably move something from its usual place and make it a pain to find. Do you plan on living like a hermit and never interact with anyone else just so you can find things?”
An impish grin widened on Sam’s slightly round face. “There’s always the telephone and the Internet. All the fun of people without them moving things on me.”
“I suppose that means you don’t want to try the new pizza place next to Gio’s? It’d be a whole new layout, unfamiliar seating, and the counter might be at an odd angle.” Rachel’s twinkling green eyes were almost laughing, a sight lost on her tenant. “Even Gio himself says it’s a good place. Shame. Remy, Josh, we’ll just have to bring back a slice for Sam here to eat at home where he knows his way around. Olive pizza’s okay with you, right?”
The grin faded quickly on the nineteen-year-old. “You wouldn’t. I hate olives.”
“We could bring back some Hawaiian pizza,” Remy said with a chuckle. “You like ham.”
“No!” Sam scowled in defeat. “I wanna go for myself. I…I guess it wouldn’t be too bad to go and figure out the place.” He turned toward Remy. “Unless someone directs me into a wall, like the last time we went somewhere new.”
“Hey, I gave you great directions. You turned right instead of left.” Remy shrugged. “Not my fault.”
“Oh, fine.”
Rachel laughed. “Go, Sam. Everyone’s waiting for the decorations.”
The three young men set off to gather their parts of the cookie-making process as Rachel and Evan watched. “Are we making it too easy for these guys?” Rachel worried. “I mean, they’re supposed to be learning to do this on their own, not…”
“No, we’re not. It does seem like it, though. These three aren’t as…I think the polite term is “high-maintenance” as some we’ve had in the past.” Evan’s eye caught a flicker of something just outside the kitchen window, half hidden by the loosely hanging curtain. “Did you see something?” he asked, walking over and pulling the red fabric aside.
“See what?” Rachel asked, mindful not to be overheard by her tenants.
“I thought…” Evan shook his head. “I thought someone was out there. Guess I was mistaken.”
“Hey, Evan,” Josh called out. “So how do you make the frosting?”
“You don’t let Rachel do it, for one,” the man said, putting the worry out of his mind.
“Enough,” Rachel said, playfully hitting Evan upside the head. She picked up a bottle of food coloring and poured a few clear drops into a small bowl. She frowned. “Sam, I thought you were getting the food coloring.”
“I did. Small glass bottle near the onion soup mix. Why?”
“Well, food coloring isn’t usually clear. She read the label only to find it was badly aged and mostly peeled off. “What is this?”
Evan took the bottle from her hand and poured a drop onto his finger. “Ugh,” he said, wincing. “It’s almond flavoring.”
Three young faces grimaced. “Almond?” Josh said, his nose wrinkled badly. “That’s gross.”
“It’s not my fault,” Sam protested. “I went right where I was told. There wasn’t a Brailled label on it…”
“I’ve had that bottle for years, Sam,” Rachel soothed. “Long before you moved in. That’s why it wasn’t labeled in Braille.”
“Oh. Still, almond frosting?”
“Well, why not? I like it.”
“And you see, guys, this is why we don’t let Rachel make the frosting,” Evan said with a smile. “I’ll make up some vanilla stuff and we’ll get to frosting these cookies in no time.”
Chapter 9
“Pour me another.”
The bartender shook his head. “No. You’re done.”
“I said, gimme another scotch.” A twenty-dollar bill slid across the bar.
“Keep the money. Liquor license is worth more than that.” The beefy man expertly plucked the glass from his customer’s hand, tossing it in the back sink. “Now, you’re done. Either switch your drink choice to something softer or get lost.”
A murderous scowl crossed Cooper Lavelle’s face. He’d been thrown out of the last three establishments he’d frequented because of a little problem concerning bar tabs not being settled, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to get the service he expected as the quality of his watering holes declined. “Gimme a soda, then.”
The glass returned, thick brown syrupy liquid filling it. “Three bucks.”
“Horseshit,” he said. He reached for a cracked leather wallet, one that had been embossed with his initial
s in Old English Script when he’d bought it new. Thin fingers took out the last bills inside and tossed them carelessly across the bar. “And you’re not gettin’ a tip.”
The bartender shrugged, collected the money, and moved on to the next customer. Cooper took the too-sweet beverage and flopped into a booth, letting the drone of the jukebox act as a salve for his throbbing head. The clothes he wore were beginning to stand of their own accord, and it was beginning to grate on the man. An addled mind fished back to the days when he could have things dry cleaned at a moment’s notice, and delivered to the house for a modest but acceptable fee. Money hadn’t been an issue then. The world had been good.
Nearby, three men sat at a table, nursing their beers as though they were the last dregs of barley and hops on the planet. “So, you gotta plan, or what?” Charlie said, munching on the free chips and salsa provided by the establishment. “’Cause I’m gettin’ real sick of drivin’ around town freezin’ my balls off watchin’ some dude drivin’ around an’ fixin’ things.”
“Me too,” Riley seconded. “You promised us some action. It ain’t been forthcoming.”
“Those kids are the answer,” Dayton said, twiddling the glass between his palms. “He’d kill for the girl, but he’d move mountains, hell, he’d commit suicide if it meant saving those brats.”
Cooper’s muddled ears turned toward the conversation.
“Okay, so the kids, how we gonna get ’em? I mean, they’re not that stupid…”
“I dunno. That one short kid, he’s not all there, you know what I’m saying?” Riley countered. “He might be a handful, and that’s before he figures out what’s going on.”
“Yeah, but he looks up to the other two,” Charlie pointed out. “We just gotta convince them to cooperate and he’ll come ‘round.”
“And how do you plan to ‘convince’ them?” Dayton asked. “I highly doubt you’ll get a needle in their arm or ether in their systems.”
“Well, okay,” Charlie said. “You’re so smart, you figure it out!”
“Easy,” Dayton said, his pale face graying under the badly dimmed lights above them. “The one kid’s got a problem relative of some sort. We can use that.”
“For that one,” Riley emphasized. “That tall boy? I seen him messing around with that white stick of his. Kid’s pretty good with that thing, an’ I don’t mean just walking with it.”
“Easy enough to get around. Kid can’t see, and fear of the unknown is a powerful motivator,” Dayton reasoned. “Besides, I don’t think he’ll be that much of a problem.”
“And the ball of fun? Plannin’ on leavin’ him out?”
“Of course not. The trick will be getting all of them at the same time. We’ve gotta be on top of this. Any delay and one could get out a warning, make things difficult for us.” Dayton leaned back in his chair, stretching out his skinny frame.
“Could say the problem relative is threatening to press charges, or sue for guardianship over the kid or some such shit.”
“Still only gets us one,” Charlie said.
“No, but I’m sure families—and the cops—wouldn’t take well to finding out our bright upstanding citizen Liam has a dark and troubled past,” Dayton said. “Especially seeing as he liked his pills a bit too much.”
“That’s gonna take some setup,” Riley said. “Might be fun to mess with the guy’s head a little before we swoop in, though.”
A thoughtful smile graced Dayton’s lips. “I like it. Rattle his cage a bit, then take the prize. You’re right—he’ll do just about anything to get them back, and then try to salvage what’s left of his brand-new life.”
“It’s a plan, then.” Riley stood up. “I’m heading out for some more entertainment. Gotta figure out how to set the plan in motion. Charlie, you with?”
“Yeah.” The burly man drained his beer. “I’m drivin’.”
“Like hell you are.”
“I’ll make my own way back,” Dayton said. “I need another beer.” He raised his hand, flicking his wrist to signal another round.
From his booth, Cooper stared at the skinny man. The young man was obviously planning something, and if he played his cards right, it might just benefit Cooper himself in the process. He’d never been much of one for doing actual work—there were always others he could hire for that—but as the funds dried up he’d gotten more and more creative in finding ways to avoid lifting a finger for his keep. He was good at keeping secrets, though. His brother learned that the hard way.
I’ll have to keep tabs on this guy, he thought, his eyes never leaving the scraggly youth. Might be able to work my own angle; make a nice profit on his operation without him knowing about it…
Chapter 10
“Hey, wake up! Wake up!”
The sound of his housemate pounding down the stairs made Remy groan and turn over in his still-inviting bed. He closed his eyes, pressing the ends of his pillow against his ears to block out the noise.
“Josh, what the hell…” Sam called out, irritated. More footsteps made their way toward the stairs, these ones lighter than the first.
“There’s someone outside!”
Now Remy was motivated. He rubbed his tired eyes, pulled on a t-shirt, and made for the first floor of the old house. He turned toward the master bedroom underneath the staircase and found the room empty, dark and deserted. It was at that moment that he remembered Miss Rachel and Evan had gone into North Kingston for a weekend trip to a casino. “It’ll be three days,” Evan had said when Rachel fussed about leaving their tenants behind. “They’re adults. I’m sure the house will stay in one piece.”
Sam hissed, causing the three young men to fall silent. “Remy,” he whispered, “Josh isn’t wrong. There is someone out there.”
“How many?”
Sam’s ears perked up. “Sounds like two, maybe three people. Maybe.”
Crap, Remy thought. He made a mental tally of what could possibly be in the house that someone might want to steal, and was coming up blank. The unlit living room grew darker, and with a quick glance into the night he saw what looked like a figure creeping toward the living room window. “Josh!” he called out, as loud as he dared. “Get the hell away from the windows!”
“I just wanna see,” Josh hissed, minding the elder tenant’s warning. “Maybe we should call the cops?”
“On it,” Sam said, pulling out his smartphone. He made use of the voice activation features to open the line to emergency services when the creak of a floorboard in the back of the kitchen startled the group. Heavy footfalls resounded against the tired wood, and the sound of a door creaking put Remy on edge.
“Now what?” Sam asked, his voice barely a whisper. Beside him, Josh stood dumbstruck and thankfully silent.
“Get in Evan and Rachel’s room. Now.” Remy took Sam’s hand as he walked ever so slowly across the floorboards, willing them not to squeak and give away their position in the house. The idea of running out of the house had been the first one to come to mind, but the uncertainty of what might be waiting for them in the open had put that thought firmly to rest. He held his breath until they reached the safety of the master bedroom below the stairs, and with a soft click set the lock firmly in place. “Grab that chair, Josh,” he said in a low voice, pointing at a large armchair that sat in a corner of the room.
“What for?”
“To put up against the door.”
“Oh. Okay.” It took all three of them to move it, though Sam could do little more than lift and move in the direction he was told. Once it was placed, the young blind man reached out for his phone, which was still on hold with the authorities.
Remy stood near the door, his ear pressed against the wood. Above them, feet walked across the floors of their bedrooms, and the occasional thud and crash of objects falling rang out. Muted voices whispered in hushed tones, and Remy wished that he possessed hearing abilities like his friend next to him. “Sam,” he whispered, catching his best friend’s attention. “What
are they saying?”
The phone was quickly passed over to Josh. “You tell them there’s a break-in at Miss Rachel’s. You remember the address?”
Josh’s normally loud voice was very thin. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Then Sam turned his ears to the conversations above them. His face drew into a frown, and his breathing quickened. “They’re looking for something.”
“What?” Remy asked. “Maybe if we knew what it was…”
“I can’t tell. They’re in my room, which is the farthest point from here. I can hear them going through things, but not what they’re talking about.”
“How can you hear that but not the words?”
“My hearing’s sharp, but not that sharp. There are layers of wood and drywall and insulation to consider, plus the way the house is setup is not conducive to me hearing whispered conversations in my room upstairs from down here. Probably the reason Miss Rachel gave me that room in the first place.”
The sounds of the intruders grew louder, and the violent thuds and crashes were almost deafening. Each one sent chills down his spine, and Remy felt helpless to do anything about it. The idea that these people were going through his things, through his friends’ things, angered him. “Hey!” he shouted, certain he could be heard. “What the hell do you want?!”
“Are you crazy?” Sam hissed. “Do you want them to come after us?!”
“No, I want them gone,” Remy replied, his voice rising on the last word. “You hear me? Get the fuck out!”
Heavy footsteps echoed badly off the staircase above them, and soon the door Remy stood near began to shake. The old lock rattled with each movement. “Come out, come out,” a menacing voice with a Southern twang called out, laughing as it came out. “Three grown men, hiding like mice.”
No one in the room breathed. The door continued to shake, now echoing off the armchair in front of it. Remy backed toward the king-sized bed where Josh and Sam sat, standing between them as a line of defense. “Oh, shit,” he said softly, realizing the danger he’d put them in.
“Ain’t nothin’ here,” another man said to his accomplice.
In the House On Lakeside Drive Page 5
