Sink Trap

by Evans, Christy

  We turned off the light and moved into the dining room, where there was a built-in china cabinet with glass-fronted cupboards and deep drawers, filling one entire wall.

  There was an uncovered window in the dining room, so we worked by the light of keychain flashlights, shielding the narrow beam of light with our bodies.

  The glass-fronted cupboards were easy. They contained Martha Tepper’s prized teacup collection, each cup and saucer displayed on a small metal stand. Other than the teacups, the shelves were empty.

  I crouched down, pulling open the bottom drawer as Sue peered into the top one. “Table linens,” she whispered. She scrabbled through the drawer, checking beneath the top layer. “Tablecloths, hot pads, napkins. That’s it.” She slid the drawer closed and reached for the next one.

  The sound of tires on gravel froze our movements. I released my flashlight, extinguishing the tiny beam of light. A car door closed, the noise like an explosion in the silence.

  Footsteps crunched in the gravel, then scuffed along the concrete walkway.

  Someone was walking up to the front door!

  My heart raced, and I felt the jolt of adrenaline surge through me.

  I slid the drawer shut with a trembling hand, praying the scrape of the wooden runners didn’t carry outside.

  If we were caught in the house, I had planned to say I was looking for a jacket I’d left there while I was working.

  It sounded pretty lame, even to me, when I had tried it out on Sue, but it was all we had. And it didn’t explain why we were skulking around in the dark, dressed like a pair of overaged ninja wannabes.

  Fight or flight? Flight definitely won this time.

  A second car pulled up, and we heard another door, and then a voice. We couldn’t hear the words or recognize the voice, just the tone, a friendly greeting to the person at the door.

  “Come on!” I hissed, grabbing Sue’s sleeve.

  I pulled her out of the dining room and back into the kitchen. The kitchen door was closed, but we had left the light on in the hallway.

  Too late now.

  I took a deep breath, and tugged on Sue’s sleeve to guide her.

  I stepped into the kitchen, reaching out with my left hand to touch the counter. For a moment, all I felt was empty space, and my stomach did a flip, landing somewhere high in my throat.

  Then I found the counter’s edge, felt the thin metal railing that edged the aging vinyl countertop.

  I kept hold of Sue’s sleeve with my right hand. I had been in the house several times in the last couple weeks, and Sue was depending on me to get her out safely.

  I had to get this right.

  The voices outside were fainter through the closed kitchen door, but loud enough for us to know they were still there.

  We crept silently across the kitchen. I stuck my foot out with each tiny step, testing the floor ahead of me for any obstruction.

  At last we reached the entrance to the service porch.

  I twisted the knob slowly as I eased the door open and pulled Sue onto the porch. I turned back and carefully closed the door. The latch slid silently into place.

  The moon had risen, its pale light seeping through the screened walls of the service porch. It had probably once been an actual porch, judging from what I had seen of it before. The walls were simple framing, exposed on the inside, with a sheathing of planks covering the outside.

  A screen door with a hook led to a set of rough wooden steps down into the backyard.

  We made it to the door, and I fumbled with the hook. It finally unlatched, and I pushed the door open, the steps below little more than vague shapes in the faint moonlight.

  From inside the house, I heard another door open, and the voices were suddenly louder. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought at least one voice was male, maybe both.

  I pulled Sue in front of me, and gave her a tiny push toward the stairs. This was my idea, and if anyone was going to be caught, it was me.

  I heard one of the voices, irritation plain in his tone, say something about leaving the lights on.

  Sue was down the steps, and I didn’t hang around to hear any more. Whatever was going on inside, I wanted badly to be outside, and away from whoever was in there.

  I hung on to the door as I descended the three steps, then carefully closed it. The hook was unfastened, but I could only hope no one would notice, or if they did, they would blame it on careless workmen.

  Which would be me. But I’d rather be in trouble for leaving the door unlatched on the job than get caught breaking and entering.

  Sue and I faded into the shadows at the side of the yard, slipping between the arbor vitae that formed a gap-toothed hedge between Martha Tepper’s house and her neighbors.

  We crouched there, barely daring to breathe. Lights went on and off in the kitchen and dining room, and I heard the porch door open and close. But no one checked the screen on the porch, and nobody came out into the yard.

  We waited for what seemed like several hours, not daring to move, until we heard a car engine start up and the crunch of tires on gravel as it pulled away.

  One down, one to go.

  My heart was pounding so hard, I was sure whoever was in the house could hear it.

  A block over, a dog barked and another answered, then fell silent. Panic shot through me.

  Did Miss Tepper’s neighbors have a dog? What if he came out and found us lurking just outside his yard? Would he bark, and give us away?

  And why didn’t I think about that before I started on my burglary career? Clearly, I wasn’t suited for a life of crime.

  Minutes dragged by. My legs cramped from crouching, but I was afraid to move.

  Finally, just when I thought my legs would give out, I heard a car door slam and an engine roar to life.

  Tires crunched on the gravel driveway, and headlights swept across the front of the house, but didn’t pierce the deep shadows in the backyard.

  I listened to the dwindling sound of the engine until it faded away, and the neighborhood was quiet once more.

  “I think he’s gone.” Sue’s whisper sent my heart racing again, and I bit back a scream.

  I waited a moment, quelling the panic that threatened to overwhelm me. “Yeah,” I finally managed. “I think so.”

  I took a deep breath and swallowed again, willing my voice to work properly. “Let’s go home.”

  I took the hint of movement next to me to be a nod of agreement.

  Stepping out of the deep shadows took all my resolve. All I wanted to do was cower in the dark. But eventually the sun would come up, and then someone was sure to see us. Waiting didn’t seem like a good long-term solution.

  I clutched the sleeve of Sue’s dark sweatshirt, and we inched our way out into the yard. No dogs barked, no one yelled, and we walked quickly across the open lawn to the far side of the house.

  A concrete path led down the side of the house to the street. Tree roots had grown up under the concrete, making the footing dangerous. Sue tripped over a break in the path, but she grabbed my arm and managed to keep her balance.

  We reached the front of the house and hurried through the ankle-high grass to the road.

  Sue’s SUV had never looked so good. The familiar shape loomed darkly in the faint moonlight, its bulk a reassuring presence.

  We were a few feet from the car when Sue thumbed the remote, unlocking the doors and lighting the interior.

  A man leaned against the car, waiting for us, his silhouette revealed against the interior lights.

  This time, I did scream.

  He chuckled, and pushed himself away from the car.

  “Burglars,” Wade said drily, “shouldn’t scream. It attracts attention.”

  I tried to speak, but my vocal cords seemed to have shorted out after that single scream. I opened my mouth. My tongue wouldn’t budge, and no sound came out.

  Sue recovered first.

  “What burglars?” she demanded. She believed the best defen
se was a good offense, and she was on the offensive.

  “Well, what are you two doing here, slinking around in the dark, dressed all in black?”

  He had a point, though I wasn’t going to admit it.

  “Are you the fashion police now?” Sue challenged. “Is there some law against dressing in black?”

  Wade chuckled again. He was amused at our predicament. “No fashion crime, ladies. A little trespassing, possibly. But I am sure Georgie has a good explanation, don’t you?”

  I was grateful that the car lights had faded, so Wade couldn’t see me. I could feel a flush of embarrassment rising to my face, hot enough I thought I might glow in the dark.

  “Georgie?” Wade’s voice turned serious, and he reached out to touch my arm. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but you really could get arrested, you know.”

  I stiffened, and he gripped my arm tighter. “I’m not going to turn you in or anything,” he said. “But you’re taking some pretty big chances, and for what?”

  “It’s a long story,” Sue blurted out, “and you won’t believe it anyway.”

  “Try me.”

  “It’s late, Wade.” The adrenaline rush had faded and I was suddenly exhausted. I moved past Wade, his hand still gripping my arm, and sagged against the car. “Can’t this wait until the morning?”

  Wade released my arm, pushed up his sleeve, and punched a button on his watch. A green glow momentarily lit his features, and I saw a flicker of surprise before the light winked out.

  “It is late,” he conceded. “Later than I realized.

  “Okay. Tomorrow then. I’ll pick you up for dinner at six, and I want to hear the whole, long story.”

  Sue moved to the driver’s side of the SUV and opened the door.

  “That goes for you, too, Gibbons,” Wade added. “I’d love to hear your side of this.”

  Sue glared at him. “Just what the hell are you doing out here at this hour of the night anyway, Wade?”

  “I live here,” he answered. “Bought a house right down the street, just last year.

  “Martha Tepper and I are neighbors.”

  chapter 14

  “Did you know he’d bought a house?” I asked Sue as we pulled into my driveway.

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “Told you he moped.”

  “What?”

  She shut off the engine, and turned to face me. “Look, we both need some sleep, but we better figure out what we are going to tell your boyfriend tomorrow night. And I don’t think we ought to try that lame story about a missing jacket.”

  “He is not my boyfriend,” I said.

  “He didn’t rat you out, did he? He acted like he knew you were in that house, and said he wasn’t going to turn you in. You don’t do that for just anybody, Georgie. He’s still carrying that torch, I swear.”

  “Old friends.” It didn’t sound convincing, even to me, but I let it drop. “I say we tell him the truth, more or less. I had a key, we were suspicious about Martha Tepper’s disappearance, and we went out there to look for clues as to where she went.”

  Sue shrugged. “A little sugarcoated, but close enough for me.” She started the engine. “Go get some sleep. I’ll meet you here as soon as I close up the shop tomorrow.” I nodded and opened the door. “Let’s plan to eat here, so we don’t have to have this conversation in public. I’ll figure something out, and we’ll just tell Wade when he gets here.”

  At twenty minutes to six I stood in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator. Staring was about all I could do. It was still a bachelor refrigerator: a few microbrews, some leftover faux-Chinese takeout from the supermarket, butter, mayonnaise, and a brick of cheddar cheese, the edges hard and dry from exposure to the air. Should have wrapped that cheese a little better.

  The cupboards weren’t much better. The sourdough from Katie’s had turned dry and hard as a brick. I knew better than to buy two loaves. I hadn’t even cut into it.

  I was about to surrender to the temptation of Gari baldi’s when Sue knocked on the front door.

  “Come in,” I called. “And help me figure out dinner.”

  The tapping of stiletto heels on the living room floor told me it wasn’t Sue. Not by a long shot.

  “I thought you said to come in,” my mother said from the kitchen doorway.

  I stifled a groan.

  “Mom, I have to go to the grocery store. Now. Wade is due for dinner in twenty minutes, and there is nothing here to cook.”

  “Nonsense,” Mom said. She tap-tap-tapped her way across the linoleum to peer into the refrigerator. I tried not to think about the damage those spikes might be doing to my already-worn-out floor. It was Mom’s turn to groan. “This isn’t a refrigerator, it’s a . . . a beer cooler.” She pulled out the empty vegetable bins and peered at the egg trays that held only a few individual mustard packets from some long-forgotten fast-food meal.

  “Is this how you eat, Georgiana? I taught you better nutrition than this.”

  She moved away from the refrigerator and began pawing through the cupboards. It took only about ninety seconds to inventory the meager supplies.

  She turned back to look at me, her eyes narrowed in thought. “You have an electric skillet, don’t you?”

  I nodded and opened the bottom cupboard near the sink. The electric frying pan had been a housewarming gift from my mother. I had never used it, but at least I had washed it and removed the tags before I put it away.

  “Get a big saucepan out, too,” she said. “And a baking sheet.” She pulled my meager spice supply from the cupboard. “Where are your knives?”

  I gestured to a drawer next to the stove. She tsk-tsked as she looked in the drawer. “You know knives should be stored in a block, Georgiana. They will keep a better edge.”

  As little as I used my knives—the pizza cutter was my usual tool—it likely didn’t make much difference.

  Following Mom’s direction, I put the skillet on the table.

  “Don’t turn it on yet, though. You’re just going to use it to keep the fondue warm.”

  “Fondue? Doesn’t that take wine and fancy cheese and a special pot and things?”

  Mom shook her head. She was already working on cutting up the stale loaf of sourdough, making uniform cubes. “I haven’t cooked fondue since your father was in grad school,” she said, “but I think I remember how to do it. It won’t be the most elegant company meal”—there was a trace of disapproval in her tone, but she didn’t bela bor the point—“but it should do nicely.”

  She pointed at the brick of cheddar sitting on the counter next to her. “You need to grate that.”

  While I grated the cheese, she toasted the bread cubes in the oven and emptied a bottle of microbrew into the saucepan. As the beer heated, she added some garlic powder—“It’s better with fresh, but you use what you have”—and a pinch of salt. By the time I’d finished with the cheese, the beer was hot.

  Mom handed me a clean plastic trash can bag, with a little flour, salt, and pepper in it. “Put the cheese in there, and shake it, so it gets covered with flour.” She gave the bag one last look and stifled a sigh. Obviously I didn’t have a proper bag, though she didn’t say so.

  Soon I was stirring the cheese into the beer, while Mom arranged the bread cubes on plates and heated the electric skillet. She dug around in my junk drawer and dragged out a bag of bamboo skewers. “Use these instead of fondue forks,” she said, placing them next to the plates of bread cubes.

  She stood back and admired her handiwork. I had to admit, the kitchen smelled pretty darn good. There were placemats on the table, and my good dishes, along with glasses for the iced tea Mom had just made.

  “How did you do all that so fast?” I asked. It had been a long time since I’d seen Mom in action, and I had forgotten how good she was at this kind of thing.

  “Practice. You just keep doing it, and it comes faster, like any skill. Besides”—she smiled at me—“I couldn’t have Wade thinkin
g the only thing you knew how to cook was take-and-bake pizza.”

  A guilty flush spread over my face and Mom laughed.

  “Well, thanks. I guess I owe you one for this.”

  “It’s what any mother would do for her only daughter, and her only daughter’s beau.” She glanced at her watch, a delicate gold and diamond number. “Speaking of Wade, I better skedaddle before he gets here. Three’s a crowd, don’t you know?”

  I glanced at the gently bubbling pot, and back at Mom.

  “Don’t walk me to the door,” she said. “You need to keep stirring that until it’s completely melted. Then put it in the skillet at two hundred degrees to keep it warm while you eat.”

  “Mom,” I said as she headed for the front door, “what did you stop by for, anyway?”

  “Nothing important,” she called back. “It can wait. You have more important things to worry about tonight.”

  Fortunately, she was gone before Sue showed up. I don’t think her version of my evening included my best friend.

  When Sue arrived, I put her to work adding a third setting to the table. She nodded her approval, and waved a grocery bag in front of me.

  “I took a chance that you might figure out something, but I was willing to bet it wouldn’t include a salad.” She took out a packaged Caesar salad, found a bowl in the cupboard, and added the dressing and croutons. She was sprinkling the cellophane envelope of grated parmesan on top when Wade knocked.

  “I thought this might be a little more comfortable if we ate here,” I said, leading him into the kitchen.

  Wade gave a low whistle of appreciation when he saw the table. He sniffed the aromas of cheese, toasted bread, and an undertone of dark ale, and shot me a look of surprise.

  “You cooked?”

  “I had a little help,” I admitted. “But yeah. Didn’t you think I knew how?”

  The fondue was delicious, and the crisp salad and cold tea were nice contrasts to the hot, gooey cheese.

  We made small talk as we ate, but I could feel the tension knotting in my stomach. Soon, Wade would want an explanation for what Sue and I were doing the night before.