Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
After I woke up, which was past noon, I called for a dumpster to be put at the end of the driveway. I know it will attract attention, but I plan to have the thing filled up and gone within a day. That means I should fill the garage with all that needs to go in the dumpster so I can just fill it up and make the call to get it removed.
Since my house is overflowing with demolition materials, it also means I should get the car out of the garage. I really don’t want to park it in the driveway as everyone will know it’s mine (yes, I know I’m getting extremely paranoid), so I decide to drive it down the block and park it in between others for the night. The dumpster will be here late this afternoon. I can fill it up and have it gone by tomorrow morning, and then I’ll get my car.
I quickly throw on my hoodie and hat and enter the garage through the house. I have no idea how it can be so hot out already. It’s a not so subtle reminder for me to get out my tools and take a look at the damn central air unit in the house. It’s clearly not working right.
I drive my car a good distance away and make the walk back. It takes me a good twenty minutes to get back to the house, and by then, my plans to start dragging shit into the garage have to be put on hold. I’m soaked underneath the heavy hoodie and desperately need a cold shower to stave off heatstroke.
I strip down in the bathroom, crank the cold water, and step under the spray. It’s an instant relief. I let the cold water revive me and wash away the sticky wetness clinging to my skin from the blanketing humidity outside. After a few minutes, when I feel human again, I turn the hot tap on and enjoy a half warm shower. The spray feels so good. I lather up and start scrubbing the sweat and grime away.
It’s probably the best shower I’ve had in a while, and I stay longer than I normally do. I’m just rinsing the conditioner out of my hair when I hear something in the house—something that sounds like a scratch and a bang.
I yank my head out from under the spray and listen. I’m starting to think I’m going crazy, or maybe I didn’t shut the door fully, and it swung open, but then I hear something again—something like a drawer opening and a distinct rattle.
Okay, I know I’m not going crazy. There is definitely someone in my house.
I kill the shower and step out. I let out a low curse when I scan the towel bar and find it empty. Of course, I didn’t check for a towel before I jumped in. There is a hand towel sitting on the edge of the sink, and I don’t think twice before I grab it. It covers absolutely nothing, but I figure whoever is out there is someone who got a lead on me. Maybe some horrible journalists. If they think they can just walk right into my house uninvited, they deserve to get a full-on preview of something also very uninvited.
Okay, a mostly full-on view, but I’m going to keep that hand towel in place. Thank you very much. I don’t need my junk to be out for the whole world to see.
Making my way out of the bathroom, I’m also kind of hoping to find a rabid squirrel or something harmless in my kitchen, but what I find is no squirrel, though I’m starting to think she might indeed be rabid. She’s not a journalist either, at least I don’t think so.
Nope.
What I find in the kitchen, rummaging through the things I’ve set on the table in boxes while I dismantled the cupboards, is my neighbor—the very same three in the morning spider alarm lady.
I clear my throat loudly, and she nearly jumps through the ceiling. She whirls, her eyes huge with fear. It only takes a second for guilt to filter into those big brown depths.
“Oh!” She claps a hand over her mouth in astonishment. Her eyes take me in. And that would be almost all of me because I’m just holding the hand towel over my nether parts. She gapes at me, and I honestly find it amusing to see the small gleam of appreciation edging in on the astonishment and guilt glistening in her eyes.
“You know, if you wanted to borrow a cup of sugar or a spatula, you could have just asked. Normally. By knocking on the door.”
“I—er—uh—I…”
“You what?” To my surprise, I’m actually enjoying this. If I thought the spider was amusing, this is a whole different animal. “Thought I wasn’t home? Wanted to do some snooping? Seriously really did want to borrow a spatula? Decided to look for an instrument of death for the spider you still haven’t killed?”