IN FOR A PENNY (The Granny Series) (22 page)

Abby Ruth sighed and kept lookout. “I thought you knew what you were doing.”

Maggie stuck her tongue out at Abby Ruth’s back. “I do. I didn’t go out and buy a professional set of tools without some research, but I just want to be sure.” She shoved her phone in Sera’s direction. “Hold this while I get the lock.”

She peered into the lock, poked it a couple of times with one of her new tools. Not worth her time to pick it. She flipped open the knife and ran it between the door and jamb, and with a quick flip of her wrist, the door opened.

Abby Ruth looked utterly amazed, and that made Maggie’s day. She gestured inside. “After you, ladies.”

“Good work,
Mags.” Abby Ruth stepped inside, then turned to Maggie. “Since you know where the ledger is, why don’t you get that while Sera and I poke around for anything we might’ve missed?”

Maggie nodded and raced back to get the ledger. She hunkered down on hands and knees under Nash’s desk. Fumbling around for the magic spot on the kick plate, she froze at the sound of a car pulling up in front of the house.

A litany of those words her momma had always said a lady never used scrolled through Maggie’s brain. Some even popped out of her mouth.

“Everybody hit the deck,” Abby Ruth called from somewhere else in the house.

She couldn’t get any closer to the deck. She was a sitting duck under Nash’s desk, and there was very little other furniture in the room. Dang the man for being a minimalist. She crawled as fast as she could and scrambled to her feet with her heart sitting on the back of her tongue.
Where, where, where?

There.

She ran to the corner of the room and wedged herself behind a funky black leather chaise and crouched low.
God help Sera and Abby Ruth.

The footsteps were slow and cautious and echoed off the white tile Nash had floored his entire house in.

“I called 9-1-1 as soon as I saw the truck with the Texas plates outside,” Nash called out. “The sheriff is on his way.”

If he thought he was going to flush them out with that lie, he was off his rocker. He wasn’t stupid enough to put himself in Teague’s sights.

Maggie held herself like a freeze-tag victim and prayed her butt wasn’t hanging out in plain sight. So help her God, if she got out of this, she was never again going to touch another cupcake.

The footsteps drew closer.

When they turned into the room where she was hiding, Maggie held her breath.

Nash walked to the center of the room.

She could see him standing there.
If I can see him, he probably can see me. Please don’t look over here.

He cocked his head, listening.

Apparently satisfied, he headed for his desk, kicked his foot underneath, then reached under and withdrew the ledger. He tucked it under his arm and hurried out.

Maggie almost collapsed but held herself upright because they weren’t out of the woods yet. He could still find Sera or Abby Ruth.

The minutes stretched out until Maggie was sure she would scream from the tension.

Finally, the door closed and an engine turned over outside. By that time, Maggie’s knees were like custard filling, and the best she could do was crawl across the room and out the door. The headlights swept across the window and she didn’t move until the sound of the car had disappeared, then she raced into the hallway.

Abby Ruth stepped out of the bathroom. “Thank God he didn’t have to take a piss because I’m taller than his damn shower curtain.”

“
Where’s Sera?”

“Sera!” they both called.

They searched the house, even their own hiding places, but Sera was in none of them.

“The carport,” Abby Ruth said. They rushed out, but apparently Nash wasn’t the handyman type because there was nothing out there, not even a grease stain on the concrete.

Sera was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Serendipity?
Where are you?” Maggie prayed, “Please be here.”

“Maybe she’s just gone Zen-moment on us in a deep state of meditation. Or he scared the bejeebies out of her and she’s hiding. Just call her,” Abby Ruth pointed out.

“She doesn’t have a cell phone.” Misery sloshed in Maggie’s stomach. Why hadn’t she insisted Sera get a phone before they started all this craziness? Not having a cell was like going swimming in the ocean without a buddy.

Abby Ruth scrunched up her face. “Who doesn’t have a cell phone in this day and age?”

“Remember, this is Sera we’re talking about.”

“Dammit.”

A little light bulb flashed inside Maggie’s head. “Wait a minute! She had mine.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Abby Ruth pulled out her phone and stared at Maggie expectantly. “Give me your number.”

Shoot.
She didn’t ever call herself. She closed her eyes and recited a number.

Abby Ruth stabbed at her phone and it blared out that
da-da-da
tone. “Not a working number.”

“Try a six instead of an eight.”

They both heard the call connect and the phone rang.

“I don’t hear it in the house,” Maggie said.

Abby Ruth held the phone to her ear. “Sera, if you get this message, call us back immediately at 281-555-9797.”

“She was just here. What could’ve possibly happened to her?” As soon as the words passed Maggie’s lips, she regretted asking the question.

“Sugar, I think there’s only one answer to that question.” Abby Ruth’s shoulders slumped. “Nash Talley has her.”

Lillian paced back and forth up and down the dormitory hallway, waiting on her turn at the telephone. Although she’d gotten in line two hours ago, three inmates were still in front of her and with only fifteen minutes allowed per phone call, most people used every precious second.

She wasn’t going to make it on time for her check-in phone call to Maggie at nine-thirty at this rate. What if they’d run in to trouble at Nash’s? Why had she helped them prepare to break in? Maybe she shouldn’t have given in to them. Nash sure had put himself on the line for her when she needed his help. What if he was innocent?

Lillian would’ve chewed her nails if she had any left after her former job cleaning toilets. When she finally got out of this place, her manicurist was going to pitch a fit.

She looked up to see Big Martha ambling down the hall like she had nowhere to go and had no plans to get there quickly. But as she passed Lillian, she pitched her voice low and said, “Come with me.”

“But I’ve been waiting on the phone for—”

“I said c’mon, Miss H&M.” She strolled on by and headed toward the bathrooms.

Lillian glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention and slipped out of line to follow. When she opened the restroom door, Big Martha yanked her inside and wedged something under the door to keep it secure from anyone else entering.

Oh, Lordy. Maybe she’d been wrong and Big Martha’s help with the B&E plans wasn’t a proclamation of undying friendship. What if she’d lured her in here to—

“Here.” She shoved something into Lil’s hand.

Her heart clenched. “Oh.” Lillian looked down to find a cell phone. It was the one she’d recently found in her bed. Lordy, Martha hadn’t been trying to set her up. She’d been trying to help. Shame burned the thin skin on Lillian’s cheeks. She reached out to hug the other woman, but Martha did a quick shuffle step out of reach. “I’m sorr—”

“Just call ’em.”

“How did you know—”

“Because you damn near paced a hole in that floor out there.
You make a crappy criminal, you know that?”

Lil’s lips twitched. Coming from
Martha, that could be either a compliment or an insult. Lillian punched in Maggie’s number on the contraband phone and held her breath. The call went through, but only gave a half ring before it went live and she heard nothing. Her stomach dropped.

Then shuffling came from the line, like Maggie was trying to work the phone from her pocket.

“Mags?”

More rustling and a strange moan.
Then the line went dead.

“What is it?” Big Martha asked.

“I don’t know, but it didn’t sound good.” She immediately tried to call back, but got one of those
The caller you are trying to reach
messages.

The tuna casserole the dining hall had served for dinner swam in Lillian’s stomach and she clicked the off button on the cheap phone.
Held it out to Martha. “They’re not answering.”

“You already lost your place in line. There’s no way you’re gonna get another call out on the community line before phone privileges are done for the night, so keep that one.”

Lillian’s throat closed so tight she couldn’t force out a thank-you, but Big Martha seemed to understand. She just nodded and walked out.

Lillian had never felt so helpless—and grateful—before in her life.

Leaving his Summer Shoals house for the final time, Nash drove directly to Dogwood Ridge. The staff wouldn’t be overjoyed at him showing up—unplanned—to remove his dad at this late hour of the night. But tough cookies, because although Nash had found his ledger untouched, something had been
off
about his house.

Worry bubbled up, forcing him to burp.
Disgusting.

He inhaled and exhaled a few calming breaths. Maybe he would just bypass the staff altogether, tell them he was taking Dad out for ice cream or something. The fewer questions, the better because something told him he needed to put this town in his rearview mirror as quickly as possible.

It was time. Time to move forward with the plan. Dad would never be Dad again, and Nash wasn’t getting any younger.

He parked his sedan perfectly between the lines two spaces down from the door. He climbed out, feeling somewhat relieved to have finally made the decision. He had a blanket and travel pillow in the trunk that would make Dad’s ride out to the island more comfortable. With a quick press of the key fob, the taillights flashed and the trunk popped.

As he lifted the trunk, that bubbling feeling stormed back as though he’d chugged a case of Perrier.

The parking security light illuminated a heap lying in the middle of his bottles of all-purpose cleaner, four-ply toilet paper and wet wipes. It was the strawberry blonde hippy-girl he’d seen at Lillian’s on the Fourth of July.

She lifted her head, but her hair was a mess and her skin was the green color of a body delivered from the coroner’s office into the care of Talley Funeral Home.

In a reflex response, he grabbed the trunk to slam it closed again. But she must have been fresh enough to sense his motivation because she rose like a cobra, then tumbled from the trunk to the ground in a swirl of black fabric.

She leaped to her bare feet, gulping in air.

“Why the
hell were you in my trunk?”

She held up a finger and then, as elegant as a princess might curtsy, she leaned over and heaved on his best dock shoes.

The stench rose and filled his nose. He tried not to look at the fluorescent green-colored goop splattered on his clothes, but the sight and smell got the best of him and he dry-heaved. Bile crawled up his throat and burned his nose. He gagged again.

“I’m so sorry.” She swept at the chunks on her dress and wrung out her hem. “I get carsick if I don’t…have…enough a…air.” She hunched over and vomited again.

This time he had the presence of mind to jump back. “Stop it. You’re spewing toxic waste.”

She wiped her mouth with a clean patch of her dress and leaned on his car for support. “I haven’t had a toxic thing in my body in over thirty years, unless you count Mike & Ike or my college boyfriend.”

She staggered a few steps from the car.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Nash grabbed her arm, but his hand slid from her elbow to wrist thanks to the puke coating her skin. “Where do you think you’re going?” Panic and bile rushed up his throat. This wasn’t the way this is supposed to happen.

“My friend, I’m leaving. I got the ride I needed. I’m going to find a place to get my chakras back in good order and meditate for a while.”

If he let her walk away, he might never make it out of this town.
What am I supposed to do? Let her go and take Dad as planned? Or leave Dad here and run like hell?

This nut job had left him no choice. He yanked on her arm, swinging around the rear of the car. Before she could regain her balance or her chakras, he toppled her back into his trunk and slammed it shut.

Nash stood there in the lot, his chest heaving. His head pivoted like an owl. No one was around.
Thank God.
Only, with every puke-tainted breath he took in, his desperation ratcheted up another notch. He could not, under any circumstances, drive the entire way back to the island like
this.
He’d never get the smell out of his car if he did. Hell, he’d have to stop every five miles to vomit himself. He glanced toward Dogwood Ridge’s front door but saw no movement inside either.

Thank God for small favors.

He trotted around to the driver’s side to shield himself from the view of the door and the road. Shoot, he should’ve retrieved that blanket. Couldn’t be helped now, though.

Nash worked his smooth cotton polo over his head, all the while holding his breath and trying to keep the woman’s bodily fluids away from his skin. He flung it to the pavement and went to work on his belt. Thirty seconds later, he was standing there in nothing but his boxer shorts. Even his coveted shoes had to go. He picked his clothes up with his fingertips and quickly dropped them into an outside trashcan.

In that split second, he knew how a person could lose all control and kill someone.