In Plain Sight by Lorena McCourtney Read Free Book Online Page B

unnecessary.
    “But it isn’t heavy work,” she went on. “A cleaning company does the windows.”
    I stood there holding my broom like a grounded witch, rather astonished that I found myself actually considering accepting Leslie Marcone’s unlikely offer. The thought of looking for a job hadn’t even occurred to me. A retired librarian is not a hot item in the employment market. Also, given Sandy’s view of her and what I’d seen already, I wasn’t convinced Leslie Marcone would be an ideal employer.
    But there were several good reasons to seriously consider the job. The top one, of course, was the extra money. I am not on easy street with Social Security and a limited amount of CD interest. I did a quick calculation and came up with the fact that I could earn over three hundred per week for what I did all the time anyway. I had extra time on my hands, and if I didn’t do something I might find myself trapped into quilting.
    But I may as well admit the number one reason I was really considering the job. Plain old curiosity. Rampant curiosity, to be honest.
    This was, however, the woman who had argued with DeeAnn over a two-dollar charge on her bill. Did I want to put up with that nitpicking? I tossed out a challenge. “Fourteen dollars an hour.”
    She split the difference as if she were cutting a diamond. “Twelve-fifty.”
    At the moment I was making $00.00, and I saw visions of healthy donations to several missionary groups I try to help out occasionally, and maybe a trip to visit DeeAnn and Mike in Hawaii. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
    “I’ll be out of town tomorrow. Be at my place at 9:00 on Thursday. Wear quiet shoes. It’s that one.” She pointed to the white-columned mansion across the lake. “The address is 2742 Vintage Road. I’m Leslie Marcone.” She didn’t offer to shake hands.
    I noted that she also didn’t inquire about my transportation or how I planned to handle the matter of leaving my “employer” on such short notice. Not her problem.
    But I was, it seemed, now gainfully employed.

    With Sandy gone, I didn’t have anyone with whom to share my news. On impulse I dug out Dix and Haley’s email address and sent them a message through the computer. I doubted the Braxtons could hack into email, but I wasn’t sure, which was why I hadn’t emailed Dix and Haley before this. I also didn’t tell them where I was, just that I was fine and had taken a job. I asked them to pass the message along to my Madison Street neighbors, Magnolia and Geoff, who were computer-less.
    That night I had a scare. I woke from a sound sleep to hear a strange moaning, a rustle and whisper. If I believed in ghosts, I might think one had just moved in. I didn’t believe in ghosts, of course, but I did believe in Braxtons.
    A rasping or scraping. Perhaps even a grating. And there, wasn’t that a thud? Grating, scraping, thudding Braxtons? It occurred to me that I’d again forgotten to set the security system for the night.
    Sgt. Yates came to mind, but there was no phone on the second floor. I eased out of bed and grabbed the first item I came to on top of the chest of drawers to use for protection until I could reach the phone. I crept out the door and down the hallway toward the sounds, weapon in hand. Rasp. Whisper. Scrape. Then I bumped into one of the mattresses Sandy puts down in the hallway for gymnastics practice, and it fell with a gigantic whoosh .
    I held my breath, waiting for a reaction.
    Another scrape. A softer sound. Breathing? I could feel air coming under the closed door to an unused bedroom. An open window? It would take a long extension ladder, but the Braxtons were nothing if not inventive, so access to a second-story window wasn’t impossible. Cautiously I opened the door. Faint light filtered through the window from the yard light, revealing a tangle of discarded furniture. An old chimney from before the house was remodeled went through the wall here. The wind was blowing, I realized now.