2 Days 'Til Sundae (2 'Til Series Book 1)

by Heather Muzik

  “What’s up with you?” Georgia asked, her face screwed up in a mix of concern and humor.

  “I’m allergic to her clothes,” Catherine answered nastily.

  Georgia shook her head sadly at the unnecessary slam. “So you ran into this guy out at the lake and he told you to call off your lawyer?” she asked, continuing the pre-hissy-fit conversation.

  “His dog ran into me at the lake, and he knows damn well she isn’t a lawyer,” Catherine said accusingly. “And he knows exactly what’s going on under here.” She mumbled the last part, taking a moment from scratching to motion at herself.

  “What are you talking about?” Georgia asked. Tara even turned to look, her mouth propped open with Cheetos, suddenly interested if it involved nudity.

  Catherine was unable to say it, so instead she used her old charades skills and pantomimed flashing someone.

  “You showed him the goods?” Georgia asked, startled.

  “Your ta-tas and hoo-ha?” Tara sounded impressed.

  “Not on purpose. And I was wearing underwear,” she pointed out, trying to minimize the episode.

  “You flashed him in her underwear?” Georgia pointed as she stressed each word, piecing together the litany of horrors, all while a smirk played on her face. “Maybe the genes are passed through the clothes,” she said in wonder.

  Tara looked over at her, bobbing her head in pride at what was actually an insult.

  “The dog yanked my towel off,” Catherine said, rolling her eyes like it was obvious.

  “And why were you in a towel out at the lake?” Georgia asked.

  “I was trying to talk to my mother on the phone. It was the only way to get reception.”

  “In a towel?” Georgia noted.

  “I’ve never heard of that before,” Tara said, crunching away.

  “Not the towel, bitch,” Catherine spat. “The lake. That’s where reception is best. I had just gotten out of the shower when she called and—”

  “You know, you could have just called her back,” Georgia said simply.

  “If I had been thinking, maybe I would have.”

  “If you had been thinking, we wouldn’t be here right now in this mess,” Tara pointed out.

  “Thank you, voice of reason,” Catherine said snarkily as she rubbed her feet on the industrial carpet that felt like sandpaper to her aggravated skin—pure heaven.

  “So he’s seen you in your underwear. No biggie.” Georgia brushed it off, trying to make light of it.

  “And in my union suit… or falling out of it,” she practically whispered.

  “So he was here with you!” Georgia almost jumped off the bed, her eyes wild with excitement.

  “I knew it!” Tara crowed in triumph, crumbs blowing out of her mouth with the words.

  “No!” Catherine tried to stop the spiraling conversation. “He’s working on the cabin. It was a mistake… an accident. He stumbled in on me.”

  “He fell on you?” Tara grinned like the Cheshire cat.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. He is a sleazy married guy who got an eyeful—twice—and hasn’t bothered to have the decency to look away yet. It’s totally skeevy. I feel violated.” She hugged herself and shivered to prove her point.

  “You want to talk about being violated, I’m pretty sure I got waterboarded at the dentist last week,” Tara said, suddenly completely serious. “Supposedly they were ‘scaling and planing’ my teeth, but it’s got to be against the law. I swear I was ready to give up my whole family… and you guys—anything to make that chick stop. Worst part, I paid out the ass for it—more like taking it in the ass. I can assure you that four out of five dentists would not approve,” she added definitively.

  Georgia shot her a warning glance for the tangent and then turned back to Catherine and the actual conversation at hand. “Can you really blame him, Cat? You’re hot—face it. If a chick bares her bod to any guy—single, married, the Pope—he’s going to look.”

  “Sounds like you’re some kind of walking porn for him… that he doesn’t have to pay for,” Tara pointed out. “He probably takes the mental images home and screws—”

  “You are not helping,” Georgia interrupted sternly.

  Tara turned back toward the TV; put in her place.

  “This doesn’t change anything, Cat,” Georgia said soothingly. “We’ll just follow through with the plan exactly the way we intended. I got some black beanies to cover our heads, and some black leggings and tops. It’ll be a little cold at night, but we can be in and out in no time.”

  “What if he’s home? Now he’s seen Tara, too. She can be identified,” Catherine almost whined, wondering how the best plan they’d come up with in putting their three heads together was just a more completely fleshed-out version of what she had already been considering doing using her own limited mental capacity. This last-ditch mission was now fully cocked, whole-assed, and completely baked. God help us all.

  “He won’t be,” Tara chimed in.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because while I was pissing you off by going over there today, I was actually rooting around to find out what was up tonight. I heard him talking on the phone about going to a spring concert at school for the boys.”

  “His kids…. That means they should all be gone,” Catherine said, her voice spacey, for the first time seeing the benefit of dealing with a family man.

  “Yup.”

  “So you aren’t a total idiot,” Georgia said, giving Tara a smile of gratitude.

  “How else were we going to know? And if he hadn’t been there this afternoon, I would have swooped in and done it alone… ‘cuz that’s how much I love ya, kid,” she said, chucking a fist in the air in solidarity.

  But Catherine was busy clawing at her feet and ribs.

  “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?” Tara demanded; her lips, covered in fake cheese powder, were curled in distaste.

  “Poison ivy,” she growled through gritted teeth. “I got fucking poison ivy at the lake today.”

  “Those are your clothes now,” Tara said, shrinking away from her.

  “I took a shower to wash off the stuff from the leaves, just like Fynn told me, and now I got it anyway—the ass.”

  -29-

  “Stop stepping on the backs of my shoes. One more flat tire and I’ll turn around and kick your ass!” Tara growled at Georgia.

  “So I’m clumsy. They say it happens to pregnant women.”

  “You’re hardly pregnant, bitch, so step off.”

  “Shhh!” Catherine hissed through the dark. She’d already crossed the road and reached Trager’s property line, and her so-called friends hadn’t even taken two steps away from the car before they started at each other. Georgia at Tara for wearing loud jewelry that jangled and clanked; Tara at Georgia for bringing snacks to a break-in. And now this. Catherine made up her mind that if they did get caught she would leave the two of them to take any and all blame—and she wouldn’t even visit them in prison once.

  On the way over they’d passed the same school Catherine had passed on every trip to and from Joel Trager’s place. It was all lit up and parked cars had overflowed onto the street, making her pretty certain that that was where the Trager family was. If so they could be home within minutes after the concert was over, barring a traffic jam in the lot. The proximity unnerved her. She was beginning to wonder if maybe they should have taken the “crow flies” route through the woods around the lake instead of driving, just in case they had to make a run for it. Ultimately that choice had depended on what they had been most scared of, and the unknown beasts in the woods trumped the law by a mile—which was probably more than the walking distance between the cabin and his house.

  Catherine stopped at the gate to the driveway and waited for Georgia and Tara to catch up. They were still sniping back and forth at each other in their normal cadence that was much easier to take on a busy city street or in a club or bar where the music would drown it out. Her
e it seemed to fill the air around them and echo for miles—or maybe that would be her guilty conscience.

  “Behave,” she said sternly, looking from one to the other to spread the message that they were both being problem children.

  They were in identical black outfits, looking the part of a hot crime ring but falling woefully short in abilities, as evidenced by the rocky start that included a grandmotherly drive over in Georgia’s careful hands. But it wasn’t like Catherine could have crammed them all in her car, and as of this point Georgia’s car had not been made so no one would question it being here. If anyone did happen by, they’d figure it for a breakdown rather than a conduit for a gang that was up to no good.

  All told, their toughness was definitely in question. A car had passed within moments of them parking just off the edge of the road and instead of banding together in strength—Georgia had said a prayer, Tara had prepared to mace the driver if he got out to investigate, and Catherine’s first instinct was to pull down the backseat and crawl into the trunk in shame and fear. Hardly promising.

  They hopped the gate onto the Trager property—trespassing, he called it—and were halfway down the driveway before Magnus sniffed them out and joined their operation, a welcome companion of sorts.

  “If it’s elementary school, those things don’t run too long,” Georgia whispered, like she was an expert on children and their schedules and schooling, seeing as how she was Mother to a peanut now. “I’d say we have a half hour—give or take—to get in and out. Maybe less now that I see the size of this place.”

  “No prob,” Tara said, ducking off the drive and into the rough grasses at the edge of the actual lawn. She crawled on her belly, peering through the binoculars that Georgia had picked up at Walmart earlier along with a set of black walkie-talkies.

  Catherine and Georgia followed the scent of something that vaguely resembled meat, but Magnus beat them to the punch, whimpering and frothing at the mouth a mere foot from Tara’s face, hoping for a taste.

  “The jerky is for the dog,” Georgia squealed when she reached Tara. “It’s to keep him quiet.”

  “A bribe?” Tara chuckled.

  “Funny,” Georgia said grimly. “You know, the snacks you insisted I shouldn’t bring were in the snack bag. You’re eating our diversion plan.”

  “It was the only good thing you brought,” she pointed out.

  “I had to bring quiet food,” Georgia whispered with authority.

  “You didn’t have to bring crap food though. Twinkies are silent.”

  “Bananas are as silent as it gets… and good for you.”

  “You’re not my mother, Georgia; although you are a mother—”

  “Stop!” Catherine spat, rubbing at her temples, certain that her head would explode before the night was out. How these two had made it here on the same plane together without a referee was beyond her.

  She could hear Magnus messily licking his chops and Tara grumbling to him about Georgia, the mother hen. He maintained keen focus, but he only had eyes for jerky.

  “If Thomas knew what I was up to he would kill me,” Georgia whispered. “It’s kind of fun though. Reminds me of when we were part of the crew that stole that frat’s flag off their pole that night.”

  “I guess it was training us for our future. Who says frat parties are all booze and sex?” Catherine snorted nervously.

  “Well, we were bombed that night,” Georgia reminded her.

  “I could use a drink right now,” Tara said. Then she started hacking and coughing loudly. “No, seriously… I have jerky in my throat.”

  Catherine dropped down to the ground and clapped her on the back, the only aid she could offer since they hadn’t thought to bring water… or vodka along for the mission.

  “Okay, let’s move out,” Tara said, recovering quickly and tossing the last of the jerky to Magnus.

  “How are we getting in? We stopped our plans at getting close,” Georgia pointed out, joining them, belly to the ground. “I’m not going to be able to do this much longer,” she clucked.

  “Let’s check the garage door and first floor windows. If we’re lucky we’ll find something unlocked,” Tara said professionally.

  “I don’t want to be a buzzkill, but before we commit to this—it is an arrestable offense, girls. You know that, right?” Catherine asked. She just wanted to put it out there, a last cry of sanity.

  “Of course we know that,” Tara snapped.

  “You sure you want to do it?”

  “Well… we aren’t actually stealing it,” Georgia reasoned. “You said you were going to leave a pile of money.”

  “I am. More than he paid for it. But it’s still breaking and entering.”

  “Thanks for killing the moment, Cat,” Georgia said.

  “I just don’t want us to end up at Rikers Island and have you guys hating me for it.”

  “It’s all of us or none of us,” Tara said, musketeer-like.

  If they’d been armed, Catherine had no illusions that Tara would have been first in with guns blazing.

  “Georgia, you stay on the outside with one walkie and be lookout,” Catherine said, noticing her friend’s hesitation when the law came into question—the hazards of having a lawyer husband on the fast-track to partner, maybe even politics. This type of thing would not bode well on Thomas Love’s resume.

  “Got it,” she said gratefully—the relief was evident.

  “It’s you and me, Tara.”

  “Let me go in,” she said. “We don’t all have to die.”

  “Don’t be such a drama queen. Besides, you don’t even know what you’re looking for. We’ll both go in.”

  They crouch-walked to the house like they were under fire, peering in the windows to check for signs of life and then pushing on them to see if any were unlocked. Magnus, who was done with his snack in one quick gulp, followed behind, looking in each one too. The third window gave under pressure and they climbed inside, falling in a heap on the wood floor of the dining room and leaving Magnus to wonder why he’d been left behind. Every move they made sounded so incredibly loud—even Catherine’s scratching at the blaring rash on her skin that hadn’t given her a moment’s rest since it appeared. And there was the pounding of her heart in her ears—a rush of blood so loud she was afraid she might not even hear the chirp of the two-way radio.

  They crept up the stairs with a flashlight to guide the way, another of Georgia’s acquisitions. At the landing for the second floor there was a closed door straight ahead that said “Cara” on the outside in pink script. Already named a baby who isn’t even a bump in her mom’s belly yet? They opened the door and inside there was a perfect little girl’s room with a canopy bed and toys and books—no crib or bassinet or baby swing. What kind of nursery is this? She scanned the space for the sundae house but didn’t see it.

  “Maybe it’s in the closet,” she whispered to Tara.

  The radio chirped from its station at Catherine’s side where it was clipped to her waistband. “Your goose is cooked. Get out now.”

  So much for speaking in codes. They had discussed a code—Georgia had demanded they have one—but obviously in real time panic had set in and the code was forgotten, so they didn’t know if it was cops or the Tragers or a militia-style neighborhood watch that they were being warned to evade.

  Catherine looked longingly at the closet, debating what was worse—being caught with the toy in her hand or leaving without ever knowing if it had been within her grasp.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Tara exclaimed, her cool completely lost.

  Catherine grabbed the flashlight and switched it off before shoving it back in Tara’s hand.

  “I can’t see anything,” Tara whined.

  “They’ll see us through the windows with the light on,” she whispered, heading for the closet. But Tara grabbed her and dragged her away with freakish strength, pulling her out of the room.

  They bumped into each other and the walls, giggling in
the heightened nervous strain of the moment. When they reached the steps, they practically fell down the entire flight, slipping and stumbling in the unfamiliar dark. Catherine started for the front window, but Tara pulled her up short and pointed toward the back door. It was a normal knob lock, no dead bolt, so they got out and locked the door behind them, sneaking through the yard in the same crouch they’d rode in on. They did a large loop back to Georgia, using the perimeter of the property as their guide.

  “Who’s here?” Catherine whispered when they reached her. She hadn’t seen any flashing blue lights, so she assumed that was good.

  The binoculars looked glued to Georgia’s face. “They just pulled into the garage. Actually, it was two separate cars. Wow, this is awesome! What a rush!”

  “We had plenty of time to get out,” Tara giggled triumphantly, dropping to the ground to catch her breath from the adrenaline surge.

  “I let you know as soon as I heard the gate,” Georgia said, peeling the binoculars away from her eyes to look at them. “Wait, where’s Caramellie?” she asked, taking in Catherine’s empty hands.

  “We didn’t find her,” she moaned. They had failed miserably. And somehow the fact that they hadn’t been caught didn’t make up for it.

  “What do you mean you didn’t find her?”

  “We went to the room that I saw last night…. It isn’t a nursery. It’s a little girl’s room. There was all kinds of stuff in there, but we didn’t see the little house. It was probably in the clos—”

  “Shit!” Georgia said, pointing toward the driveway and then ducking her head.

  Magnus had run toward the cars and escorted them down the driveway, wagging his tail and waiting for love from his owners, but now he remembered his friends were here and was loping up the lawn toward where they cowered in the dark.

  At this point Catherine was seriously second-guessing Georgia’s black shoe polish on their faces that seemed like a much better idea when they weren’t about to be caught. Looking like this, there was no way to claim that they’d been on a simple walk and accidentally stumbled onto private property. Shoe polish as a beauty secret? Nobody would be buying that.