I had already started getting drowsy by the time I gave last call. With everything that had been going on the last few days, I was not only short on good sleep, I was short on any sleep at all. I managed to wash the glasses, and after I told Victor, Ginny, and Mark goodbye, I rang out the register, and locked the night’s take in my office safe.
I decided to let the bar and tables stay sticky. The cleaning crew—if you want to call two people a crew—were due in thirty minutes, and if I was lucky, they’d wipe the tables for me. Technically it was supposed to be part of their job anyway, but I usually did it and turned the chairs upside down on the tabletops to make it easy for them to do the floors. Ray and Mim Welch were a married couple in their fifties, and though they seemed to be in pretty good shape, I tried to cut them some slack. They had four places they cleaned five nights a week, and that couldn’t be easy. If Ray and Mim didn’t wipe the tables, I’d get them in the morning. Bed beckoned, and I was going to answer the call.
By the time I made it through the kitchen to the door leading to the hall, I was yawning nonstop, my lower jaw popping like a firecracker. I was just wondering if the pops were a sign of TMJ, when suddenly the kitchen lights went out. I typically left them on for Ray and Mim, so for a second, I thought the power must have gone out. The bar lights were out, too, but I could see a faint glow coming through the little window in the front door. The parking lot lights were still burning. My fatigue-addled brain was trying to figure out if it were possible for all the Shelf’s lights to be on one circuit when a crash and clang woke me up faster than a Starbucks espresso. Based on the sound, one of Victor’s pans had just hit the floor, and I doubted it had managed it by itself.
My cave woman ancestor had graciously passed down her flight-or-fight gene—with a heavy emphasis on the “flight” part. I turned back to the hall door and twisted the lock. I intended to run into the hall, screaming at the top of my lungs. With any luck, Adam in all his hugeness, would still be up and could make it down the stairs in record time. If he chose to cower under his covers—Adam wasn’t the bravest guy in spite of being built like a linebacker—I knew Libby would come to my rescue. She was a New Yorker, after all, and nothing scared them.
And there was Jasper. That cat had saved my butt before. I had no doubt he could do it again as long as someone opened the door for him. Unfortunately, before I could pull the kitchen door open and let loose with a bellow, someone hit me hard from behind, shoving me into the door, pushing it shut.
Before I could turn around, the person behind me grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back. I felt something sharp on my wrists, and panic set in. I brought my left foot back, trying to find a foot to stomp, but I hit nothing but floor. I tried to twist loose, but he—it had to be a he—was too strong. He slammed me hard against the door again, bouncing my head against it, and I saw bright lights flash in front of my eyes. No stars, just lights. Retinal detachment, I thought, starting to panic, and just as quickly decided going blind was the least of my worries.
By the time, I’d gotten my wits about me again, my hands were secured behind my back by something sharp. Based on the extensive education I’d gotten from TV cop shows, I was pretty sure I’d been cuffed with plastic restraints. For one hopeful second, I entertained the possibility that Gabe had decided to get kinky, but I just as quickly dismissed the idea. Gabe wasn’t foolish enough to try something like this because he knew he’d be a dead man once I got loose. Robbery was more like it. I was being robbed.
“The money’s in my office,” I said, surprised that my voice sounded strong. Funny, since my thoughts were shaking like leaves in a wind gust. “In my safe. I’ll give you the combination. Just don’t hurt me. Please.”
Dang! My voice broke on that last word. I’d sounded so strong up till then and hated to ruin it. I’d always heard vicious dogs could sense weakness and fear, increasing the likelihood of attack. I hoped robbers weren’t the same, but anyone who would do what this one was doing was definitely a dog.
“I don’t want your money.”
The words were said in a hoarse whisper, and the whisperer leaned his weight against me, pressing me against the door. Between fear and the weight against me, I was having trouble getting in a breath. But when a hand slipped around and squeezed my left boob hard enough to hurt, I gulped in a breath. He didn’t want money, which meant…
Like I said, I’ve gotten a good education over the years from my TV shows, so I put it to good use and slammed my head backward, hoping my aim was good. I hit something and heard a curse, so apparently it was. If my hands hadn’t been cuffed behind my back, I’d have given myself a high five. My success was short-lived, however. Just before he slammed me into the door harder than before, I heard him call me a witch. At least, I think it was “witch.” I might have heard wrong because those bright flashes of light distracted me again.
“You get one warning, missy.”
Missy? Seriously? What happened to “witch.” Seemed more in character than “missy.”
“Stop your snooping. If I have to come back, you won’t be sticking your nose into anything ever again.”
The world spun and not because he slammed my head into the door again. It was because of his words. He’d told me to stop snooping, the same thing my mystery caller had said. This wasn’t a robbery or a rape. It was about murder, and unless I was mistaken, he had just threatened me with mine.
Before I could think of a response, I felt myself propelled across the floor. With my hands behind my back, I couldn’t maintain my balance. I staggered three or four steps and felt myself going down, first onto my knees hard on the painted concrete floor of the kitchen, then forward onto my face, my nose breaking my fall. As I lay there groaning bubbles through the blood that pooled under my face, I heard footsteps running through the bar and the front door open. My last thought before I passed out was that he must have been born in a barn, as my mother liked to say, because he hadn’t shut the door.
I decided to let the bar and tables stay sticky. The cleaning crew—if you want to call two people a crew—were due in thirty minutes, and if I was lucky, they’d wipe the tables for me. Technically it was supposed to be part of their job anyway, but I usually did it and turned the chairs upside down on the tabletops to make it easy for them to do the floors. Ray and Mim Welch were a married couple in their fifties, and though they seemed to be in pretty good shape, I tried to cut them some slack. They had four places they cleaned five nights a week, and that couldn’t be easy. If Ray and Mim didn’t wipe the tables, I’d get them in the morning. Bed beckoned, and I was going to answer the call.
By the time I made it through the kitchen to the door leading to the hall, I was yawning nonstop, my lower jaw popping like a firecracker. I was just wondering if the pops were a sign of TMJ, when suddenly the kitchen lights went out. I typically left them on for Ray and Mim, so for a second, I thought the power must have gone out. The bar lights were out, too, but I could see a faint glow coming through the little window in the front door. The parking lot lights were still burning. My fatigue-addled brain was trying to figure out if it were possible for all the Shelf’s lights to be on one circuit when a crash and clang woke me up faster than a Starbucks espresso. Based on the sound, one of Victor’s pans had just hit the floor, and I doubted it had managed it by itself.
My cave woman ancestor had graciously passed down her flight-or-fight gene—with a heavy emphasis on the “flight” part. I turned back to the hall door and twisted the lock. I intended to run into the hall, screaming at the top of my lungs. With any luck, Adam in all his hugeness, would still be up and could make it down the stairs in record time. If he chose to cower under his covers—Adam wasn’t the bravest guy in spite of being built like a linebacker—I knew Libby would come to my rescue. She was a New Yorker, after all, and nothing scared them.
And there was Jasper. That cat had saved my butt before. I had no doubt he could do it again as long as someone opened the door for him. Unfortunately, before I could pull the kitchen door open and let loose with a bellow, someone hit me hard from behind, shoving me into the door, pushing it shut.
Before I could turn around, the person behind me grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back. I felt something sharp on my wrists, and panic set in. I brought my left foot back, trying to find a foot to stomp, but I hit nothing but floor. I tried to twist loose, but he—it had to be a he—was too strong. He slammed me hard against the door again, bouncing my head against it, and I saw bright lights flash in front of my eyes. No stars, just lights. Retinal detachment, I thought, starting to panic, and just as quickly decided going blind was the least of my worries.
By the time, I’d gotten my wits about me again, my hands were secured behind my back by something sharp. Based on the extensive education I’d gotten from TV cop shows, I was pretty sure I’d been cuffed with plastic restraints. For one hopeful second, I entertained the possibility that Gabe had decided to get kinky, but I just as quickly dismissed the idea. Gabe wasn’t foolish enough to try something like this because he knew he’d be a dead man once I got loose. Robbery was more like it. I was being robbed.
“The money’s in my office,” I said, surprised that my voice sounded strong. Funny, since my thoughts were shaking like leaves in a wind gust. “In my safe. I’ll give you the combination. Just don’t hurt me. Please.”
Dang! My voice broke on that last word. I’d sounded so strong up till then and hated to ruin it. I’d always heard vicious dogs could sense weakness and fear, increasing the likelihood of attack. I hoped robbers weren’t the same, but anyone who would do what this one was doing was definitely a dog.
“I don’t want your money.”
The words were said in a hoarse whisper, and the whisperer leaned his weight against me, pressing me against the door. Between fear and the weight against me, I was having trouble getting in a breath. But when a hand slipped around and squeezed my left boob hard enough to hurt, I gulped in a breath. He didn’t want money, which meant…
Like I said, I’ve gotten a good education over the years from my TV shows, so I put it to good use and slammed my head backward, hoping my aim was good. I hit something and heard a curse, so apparently it was. If my hands hadn’t been cuffed behind my back, I’d have given myself a high five. My success was short-lived, however. Just before he slammed me into the door harder than before, I heard him call me a witch. At least, I think it was “witch.” I might have heard wrong because those bright flashes of light distracted me again.
“You get one warning, missy.”
Missy? Seriously? What happened to “witch.” Seemed more in character than “missy.”
“Stop your snooping. If I have to come back, you won’t be sticking your nose into anything ever again.”
The world spun and not because he slammed my head into the door again. It was because of his words. He’d told me to stop snooping, the same thing my mystery caller had said. This wasn’t a robbery or a rape. It was about murder, and unless I was mistaken, he had just threatened me with mine.
Before I could think of a response, I felt myself propelled across the floor. With my hands behind my back, I couldn’t maintain my balance. I staggered three or four steps and felt myself going down, first onto my knees hard on the painted concrete floor of the kitchen, then forward onto my face, my nose breaking my fall. As I lay there groaning bubbles through the blood that pooled under my face, I heard footsteps running through the bar and the front door open. My last thought before I passed out was that he must have been born in a barn, as my mother liked to say, because he hadn’t shut the door.
