The Laundry Hag's New Year's Clean-Up

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The Laundry Hag's New Year's Clean-Up Page 6

by Jennifer L. Hart


  In my current position, untying Neil’s knots was out of the question. Maybe I could wriggle out of the harness and let myself drop.

  I gripped the sheet above the knot tighter. Sans the harness, my grip on the sheet would be the only thing keeping me from falling.

  “Maggie,” Neil’s voice was filled with strain.

  “Hang on, I’m going to try something.” Surely, I had enough muscle built up from hauling our little butterball Lily around all day to hang on to the rope. There’d be no fancy overhand work, just me getting into position to drop into the bushes and hopefully use them to break my fall.

  I pulled up on the sheet, easing the tension on my harness. With my left foot braced against the wall. I wriggled and shifted until I could slip my left hip out of the harness. Once it was free, I shifted my weight to slide the right side out. My ass was now floating in space with the sheet nestled up along the backs of my thighs. In spite of the cold, perspiration dotted my forehead and even worse, the palms of my hands.

  I paused, letting the harness take all my weight again so I could wipe off first one hand and then the other.

  “Okay, halfway there,” I called up to Neil.

  There was a sound, a grunt which I took as a sign to hurry the hell up.

  My arms shook as I pulled up on the sheet again, trying to pull my body as vertical as possible. Again, working one side at a time, I slipped the harness farther down my legs. After a hearty jiggle, the left foot was free.

  Halle-freaking-lujah.

  Then, disaster struck. I must have grown overconfident, let the momentary success go to my head. My numb and slick fingers slipped off the knot even as my right leg was still trapped in the harness. I fell backward, my knee and lower right leg all that kept me from plummeting to the ground. I jerked to a stop in the harness’s tenuous grip. My skirt obeyed that sick bitch mistress gravity and fell toward the earth, baring my granny panties for all to see.

  “Maggie,” Neil called.

  Dangling as I was in front of the window, I didn’t dare make a sound. From my unique vantage point I could see the front door where we’d entered the house and the southern wall where the van had taken out two of the windows identical to the one before me.

  And there were people everywhere. Most of them lay face down on the floor though there were a few milling around. Not only did they move through the crowd as if in charge, they all wore ski masks and had some serious firepower at their fingertips.

  Heart hammering and swinging like a pendulum, I tried to catch my breath and think of my next possible move. I couldn’t stay this way for long. All it would take was one of the robbers to look up and see me, take aim and shoot. The joint in my knee ached from the jarring stop and I hoped I hadn’t done any permanent damage. All the blood was rushing to my head, but it wasn’t giving me any bright ideas.

  I looked up—er down. The bushes were even closer now, though they looked pricklier from this angle. So, it was wait around like a fly trapped on a piece of tape to get noticed and/or shot or ask Neil to break his promise.

  I covered my face with my hands so my eyes wouldn’t get poked out and called as loudly as I dared. “Drop me.”

  “Maggie?” I was fairly sure Neil had heard me, he did have superior senses to yours truly. The question in his voice wasn’t from lack of hearing but from incomprehension.

  “Drop me.” I grated, daring to peek into the ballroom.

  No one turned my way but it was only a matter of time. If not one of the inhabitants of the ballroom, then someone patrolling the grounds.

  “It’s the only way,” I insisted.

  There was an endless pause then he called. “On three.”

  I covered my face again, one hand over my mouth to keep from shrieking, the other protecting my eyes. Doing my best not to think of all the skin that was sure to get scratched at best, impaled at worst.

  “One, two...” Neil dropped me.

  Faaawump. I landed headfirst in the bushes.

  My already scarred hands took the worst of it, though the sharp sticks did a number on my exposed belly and thighs. The pain wasn’t bad though, at least not compared to the throbbing in my knee joint. Some serious damage had been done there.

  Great, I was gonna be the laundry hag with the limp. Only thing missing now was the dowager hump and a few warts on the end of my nose.

  “You okay?”

  I took stock for a moment. The bush had cradled me well, catching me at a mostly horizontal angle. Nothing bleeding or broken. The sheet was draped around me and the bush like a white shroud. No, not a shroud. Too morbid. A garland. I flexed my fingers and my toes, moved each arm in turn and then legs. Finally, I gave him the thumbs up signal.

  “Heads up,” Neil called.

  There was a clatter to my left and I saw the assault rifle he’d lifted off good old George in the bush beside me.

  Carefully, I picked my way out of the bush. Even with the frost coating the grass, it was good to have my feet on solid ground again. At least until I put weight on the damaged knee. Cheese and mother freaking crackers that hurt.

  But the pain was shoved out as I looked at the rifle. The sheet. Then up into my husband’s determined hazel gaze.

  “I’ll find another way down,” he promised me.

  I nodded even though I didn’t believe him.

  I was on my own.

  Chapter Six

  One hour and twenty-seven minutes ‘til midnight

  Neil

  She’s hurt. She had to be, after that dismount. Leave it to Maggie to turn a simple repelling operation into a three-ring circus complete with aerial acrobatics.

  “You okay?” I hissed down to her as loudly as I dared.

  She groaned, but gave me a thumbs up sign. Smartass.

  I took my first deep breath, then scanned the night from my higher vantage point, checking to make sure I hadn’t just sent my wife into more danger. But the hillside was free of unsubs. Whoever had literally crashed the Swenson’s party didn’t have the numbers to patrol the grounds as well.

  I ticked them off in my head, keeping a mental tally. Amber. Guy with the Long Island accent, guy trussed up in the storage closet. A fourth driving the van. Maybe more, though I doubted it. One vehicle, three armed men. They needed room to haul away whatever they planned on taking. Priceless art from the gallery? Hostages? I’d temporarily neutralized at least one of them.

  I looked down again at my wife, sprawled in the bushes. At least she was as safe as I could manage under the circumstances. She had the rifle and while she was no markswoman, she at least knew enough not to shoot herself.

  “Uncle Scrooge,” I ordered. “Get moving before you freeze.”

  “Getting right on that.” She didn’t move though.

  I stepped back from the window. I told her I’d find another way down and I would. Just not right this second. First, I would neutralize Mr. Long Island. And without Maggie as witness, I was free to make it permanent.

  And then I’d deal with Amber.

  I wouldn’t kill her, not unless it was absolutely necessary. No matter what else she’d done, she was Josh and Kenny’s mother. I couldn’t look my sons in the face if I ended her life. Even if they barely remembered her. But I was going to see to it that whatever her plan was, it fell through.

  I slipped from the third-floor room and hugged the wall, listening for any sounds of movement. I wished Maggie had relayed whatever she’d seen through the first-floor window. There were holes in my intel. I didn’t know for sure if there was a second vehicle. Or if others, like Amber, had already been planted at the party.

  One thing was for sure, I couldn’t let Amber recognize me.

  “What the hell happened to you?” It was L.I. accent.

  “Some guy,” Another male voice. “Came out of nowhere. Took my gun.”

  L.I. guy swore at the same time I mentally cursed. Good old George must have come to while I’d been lowering Maggie down the side of the building.
<
br />   I crept closer to overhear.

  “What guy?”

  “Don’t know. Security maybe.”

  “We dealt with security.” L.I. guy said. “They’re all trussed up at the gate house. Harrison is watching them.”

  I mentally added one more to the roster. It was also interesting to note that in spite of their assault rifles and dramatic entrance, they hadn’t killed the security team outright. Thieves then. Or possibly kidnappers. I doubted it though. Kidnappers wouldn’t be burning time up in the gallery. What were these bastards after?

  “Maggie, you better run for it,” I breathed.

  Maggie

  RUNNING FOR HELP WAS out of the question. Any pressure on my messed-up knee sent a jolt of pure agony up my leg. I was beyond inappropriately dressed for the freezing temperature. No shoes, thin material meant for Miami cold not New England cold. And I was down one badass protector.

  No, I couldn’t run, but I could get out of the damn bush. Hug the house and seek out cover the way Neil had advised.

  Gingerly, I twisted until my good leg came into contact with the ground. Then I shifted my weight to it while slowly extracting myself from the bush’s clutches. It didn’t want to let me go, sticks snagged my hair and dress in hungry pulls. I lurched too hard and came down hard on the bad knee. Stars floated in my peripheral vision. My stomach heaved and I was glad I hadn’t eaten anything.

  I reached for the rifle’s strap. The safety was on, which didn’t surprise me. Neil had taken me target shooting a time or two, but that had been mostly handguns. The rifle was longer, heavier and it scared me half to death. Why hadn’t he kept it?

  Because he thought I would need it? Doubtful, Neil knew I was a reluctant firearm carrier in a safely controlled environment, like a range. The thought of hurting him or an innocent froze me more quickly than the December air. More likely he was planning to snag another one, possibly from Long Island goon. Dread coiled in my guts at the thought of my husband taking on another villain unarmed. Big damn hero with his big damn hero complex. Better that the weapon be in my unexperienced, yet cautious hands than the villains.

  Okay so, my best bet was to get myself and this assault rifle safely away and call for help. Free at last from the shrubbery, I limped over to the side of the house, half carrying half dragging the weapon. The ground wasn’t any warmer but at least the house blocked the sharp wind.

  By the time I turned the corner I knew in my heart I wasn’t going to make it far. I was exhausted and shivering. A quick inspection of the knee joint revealed it had ballooned up and had turned an ugly blue-black color. The good news—relatively speaking—the sharp stinging pain in my feet was much, much worse.

  Joint damage and frostbite. Even without the threat of roving bands of masked villains, I wouldn’t make it a mile like this. So where could I go?

  My head swiveled to the treelined hill. The pool house was just on the other side of those evergreens. It had probably been closed for the season, but at least it would be shelter. It may even have a phone.

  I judged the distance, then remembered I sucked at judging distances and hobbled forward. It was tempting to use the rifle as a cane, but I didn’t dare, afraid it would go off or worse, I’d run into a patrol of evildoers and be unable to right it and get the safety off in time to save myself.

  Couldn’t think about that. One step at a time. One painful, aching foot in front of the other.

  My trek to the trees was slow and painful but mercifully uneventful. The incline slowed me down even more, taking my slow hobble down to a snail’s pace.

  No shouts of warning from the house, no hail of bullets raining down from villains bent on mayhem.

  That might change if Amber recognized Neil, Leo or me. I don’t know if she was the mastermind of the hostage taking, but if she recognized us, realized we could send her manipulative carcass back to jail, I had no doubt she’d do whatever it took to stop us.

  In her own way, Neil’s first wife was just as relentless as he was. Too bad for her that his second wife could teach the mountains a thing or two about being stubborn.

  My heart hurt to think about him on the third level where Amber’s buddy was doing God knew what in the gallery. I hoped Neil wouldn’t take any stupid chances trying to get to us, that he trusted I was smart enough to stay safe.

  I hoped I was smart enough to stay safe.

  I worried about Leo, too, because last I knew he was in that ballroom. I hadn’t spotted him while hanging upside down outside the window. I sincerely hoped he hadn’t continued to drink. A drunk Leo was a belligerent, mouthy Leo. As much as I enjoyed his sass, I didn’t want to see it get him killed.

  Finally, I crested the hill and wrapped my arms around a pine trunk to keep myself upright. The pool had steam rising from it. Was it heated? I’d love nothing more than to jump in fully dressed, thaw my toes and take the pressure off my throbbing knee. But I’d have to set the rifle aside to do it and then I’d be wet in the freezing air.

  If I’d thought uphill was difficult, the downhill hurt so much worse. I picked up a stick to use as a cane. It helped a bit, even though it was one more thing to carry.

  No lights were on in the pool house, which was actually more of a pool bungalow. The one-story structure sat dark beside the giant pool. I dropped my makeshift cane and hobbled over to the bricks surrounding the firepit. I picked one up, intending to use it to break a pane of glass in the French doors. The Swensons had bigger problems than a break in at the pool house, what with the van full of baddies in their parlor.

  My uneven gait grew more painful with each throbbing step. I gritted my teeth, tried to ignore the sensation that I was walking over needles instead of a level patio. Just a few more steps. Almost there, Maggie.

  I raised the brick, then thought better of it and tried the shiny silver handle that was shaped like a leaping dolphin. Unlocked. I depressed the dolphin until he dove down and the door swung inward. A blast of artificial heat hit me. It was so intense it was almost painful.

  The room was an open floorplan complete with a gas log fireplace, a galley kitchen and a monstrous television hanging on one wall. I moved to the gas log first. The remote for it sat on the driftwood mantel. I flicked and the gas fed flames leapt to life. More warmth. Anything to help me defrost. It was too dark to see what state my toes were in. Did I dare turn on a light?

  One thing was for sure, I had to get off my poor battered knee. Five more steps to the overstuffed chenille couch. Four. Three. Two...

  I flopped down face first, sobbing from pain and frustration. The rifle hit the cream carpet with a dull thump.

  “Whose there?” A male voice called.

  I clamped my lips together. No. Why had I assumed just because the lights were off that no one was here?

  I had the rifle up and pointed before the light clicked on in the bedroom. “Yo, dude? Is that you?”

  Didn’t sound like one of the bad guys. One of the bad guys would probably shoot first and yo, dude later.

  Another light came on and thank all that was holy that I had left the safety engaged or I would have shot him. The young man looked to be about twenty-two or twenty-three, had bloodshot eyes and a three-day growth of brown stubble on his face that matched his lank brown hair. His body was lean and wiry, built like a swimmer and his expression was utterly confused.

  “Dude.” He said in his California surfer accent. “Why are you dressed like an owl?”

  I answered his question with one of my own. “Who are you?”

  “Derek.” He bobbed his head a few times. Even in the bright light, his pupils were enormous, swallowing up most of his gray irises.

  “Do the Swensons know you’re staying here?”

  His gaze skittered away. “One of them does.”

  Probably Graham, the Swenson’s spoiled rotten man-child who’d trashed the pool house last spring. This guy looked like a college student, or perhaps a college drop out. Either way, he wasn’t a threat. I lowered th
e rifle.

  “You high, Derek?” I asked.

  He scratched his bare chest. “Seemed like the thing to do. You want a bong hit, owl lady?”

  Desperately, but I shook my head. “No. Do you have a phone? Is it working?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno.”

  “Go get it. And don’t get sidetracked by your bong.”

  “Righhhttt,” he waggled a finger at me. “You’re sharp, owl lady.”

  “Phone,” I snapped.

  He vanished back into the bedroom. I took advantage of his absence to study my feet. They were bright red, almost purple, but the toes weren’t black, thank god. The heat from the pool house had helped, but my knee looked even bigger than it had before and had taken on a mottled look. Otherwise. I had a few cuts and scrapes. I rested my head against the back of the couch and waited. And waited.

  “Derek?” I’d been ready to get back onto my pitiful feet when he appeared carrying both his cell and the aforementioned bong. It was the size of my forearm and made of multihued blown glass. It was a thing of beauty.

  “You sure you don’t want a hit?”

  I held up my hand. “Just the phone.”

  He handed it to me.

  I swiped at the screen. Nothing happened.

  Water bubbled as Derek took a hit off his bong. “It’s out of juice.”

  “You mean you forgot to charge it?”

  At his nod, it was everything I could do not to wing the phone at his head. “Is there a working phone here? Like a landline?”

  The pool house had power, which meant that maybe Amber’s crew hadn’t thought to cut the cord here. The same might be true for the landline.

  He shrugged. “Your feet look bad, dude.”

  “You think?” I snapped and instantly regretted it. It wasn’t his fault I was having such a shitty night. “Sorry. Listen, do you have a car?”

  “A car?” He asked as if he’d never heard of one before. Then the light snapped on and he grinned. “Riiiiiiggggghhht. Yeah, dude, I have a car.”

 

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