Almost Dead. Lisa Jackson
Читать онлайн книгу.
to convince Marla to get off her ass and break out the Lysol and a mop. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done just that kind of work in the big house, but Marla was still paranoid, afraid someone might see her.
“I’m never going back,” she’d confided in Elyse. “Not ever. They’ll have to kill me.”
And Elyse believed her.
She locked the door behind her, pulled a white sack out of her purse, and dropped the leather bag on the landing. Up half a flight of stairs was the kitchen, where the leaky faucet dripped and an old-fashioned wall clock ticked off the seconds of its life. But she wasn’t interested in what lay upstairs. Instead she double-checked to make certain both locks were latched, then followed the creaking stairs downward into a musty basement that seemed forever damp. The ceilings were low enough that a tall man would have to duck beneath some of the beams, and she’d found more than one nest of spiders hiding in the dark corners of the joists for the floor above.
Her skin crawled despite the fact that the place was perfect for their purposes.
Walking past a rusted washer and dryer, she approached what appeared to be the far wall of the dank room. However, it was not as it seemed. During the course of the last half century, one of the bungalow’s owners had made a false wall in one corner of the basement, creating a space for a hidden wine cellar. All of which was odd, as the basement was too damp to create the right atmosphere for anything worth drinking.
But then, she wasn’t using the space to hide her special bottles of Pinot Gris or Chardonnay or Merlot.
The fake wall with its dusty shelves and hidden door was a perfect hiding spot, if not for cases of wine, then at least for an escapee from a minimum-security prison.
Careful not to make too much noise, just in case Marla was sleeping, she softly rapped on the back of the shelf. Marla was probably exhausted from the tension of planning and executing the escape.
Elyse waited a second, then pulled on a hidden lever. With a click, the latch unhooked, and she was able to push one section of the shelving into the small room.
She whispered, “Hey, I’m here,” as she let herself into the windowless room currently lit only by the flickering bluish light of the television and a small bedside lamp. The compact area was stark: walls devoid of pictures; the only furniture a chair, bed, night table, and dresser to support the television.
Marla barely looked up to greet her.
Oh God, she was in a bad mood.
Great.
The euphoria of the escape had obviously seeped away. “Are you really watching this?” Elyse demanded, recognizing a popular reality show on the screen of the muted television.
Silently, Marla gave her a look that said it all. Somehow, in prison, Marla had gotten hooked on all kinds of weird TV. “I like it. It’s escapism,” she said and offered a hint of a smile, the old cagey Marla surfacing for a second.
“Okay, whatever. But I thought you’d like to get out of here.”
“And go where?”
“Upstairs.”
“Someone might see me,” she said in a tone that suggested Elyse was an imbecile.
“You can keep the blinds shut, but at least, at least it wouldn’t be like…”
“A cell?” Marla said, scarcely moving her lips.
“Yeah. Like a cell. Tomorrow, I’ll bring cleaning supplies and we’ll fix it up. It’s already furnished.”
Marla snorted in disgust, her eyes wandering back to a group of people locked inside a windowless house together. Well, at least Marla could relate.
“Look, I brought you something to eat.” Elyse held out the white paper sack. “A hamburger I picked up before I went to the house. Sorry it’s a little cold, but I didn’t want to stop afterward.”
“The house?” Marla’s interest was suddenly sharp, though she didn’t seem the least bit interested in the food.
“Yeah, the house. On Mt. Sutro.” She stepped closer to the chair and leaned down, whispering in Marla’s ear. “I killed Eugenia tonight. Just like we planned. Oh God…it was…perfect. She recognized me, too, the old bitch.”
“You killed Eugenia? First?” Marla ignored the bag on her lap and glared at Elyse. “That wasn’t the way we planned it.”
“Hey! Opportunity knocked, okay? And I got rid of her. I don’t see what difference it makes when they die or how they die, just as long as they die!”
“You little—”
“Don’t,” Elyse warned. “I risked my damned neck for you, so the least you could do is be interested or say ‘thank you’ or ‘good job,’ but do not, do you hear me, do not belittle me. I won’t stand for it.”
“Testy, aren’t we?” Marla muttered.
“Yes, we are. Both of us!”
Marla composed herself. “All right,” she said slowly. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just so damned tired of being cooped up.”
“That’ll change soon.”
“Not soon enough.”
Elyse scraped her hair away from her face in frustration. That was the problem with Marla, she was so damned moody. “Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you, but I had to work fast when I learned that Eugenia would be home alone. Crap, it’s not easy, you know.”
“It’s not easy for me either. I’m the one who’s been in prison, and now…now this.”
“You knew you’d have to keep a low profile for a while.”
Marla frowned, but didn’t argue, thank God. “I think I just need some time to adjust.”
“Yeah, well, me too. Go on, eat and watch…” she glanced at the television. “Whatever it is.”
“House Arrest.”
“Perfect.”
Marla laughed then at the irony of it all.
“I’ll be back. Tomorrow or the next day, whenever I can be free, and I’ll bring things we can use as your disguise. Then you can chance getting out again. How’s that?”
“Better,” Marla agreed as the show on the television broke for a commercial for some kind of light beer. “Next time you come, make sure the food’s at least tepid.”
“Right.”
As Elyse left she wondered why she even bothered with the bitch.
For the money, remember? The Cahill fortune? Just put up with her for a little while longer. She’s your ticket to wealth.
But you’re right: she’s a first-class bitch.
Live with it.
Heart in her throat, Cissy hunted for her eighteen-month-old son. Please let him be okay. Please!
“Beej! Honey? Where are you?” Fear pounding through her brain, a dozen horrid scenarios flashing behind her eyes, Cissy jogged the grounds of her grandmother’s house. Her gaze scraped the undergrowth, searching in the darkness. Her heart pounded a horrifying tattoo as the rain began to fall in earnest.
What if she couldn’t find him?
What if he somehow slipped through the bars of the gate?
He was so small…so innocent.
Oh God, please let him be safe!
“B.J.?”
Where were the damned cops? They could help!
For the last two days they’d been hanging out and…thank God! She saw the first set of flashing lights,