Fatal Fixer Upper by Maggie Shayne

Author:Maggie Shayne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oliver-Heber Books

CHAPTER EIGHT

The sound of her scream split his mind wide open and let a slew of nightmarish images flow in, each more horrific than the one before. Even though he was running before the sound died, he couldn’t seem to get to her fast enough.

And then he did.

She was backed into the farthest corner of the downstairs bathroom, with one hand fisted near her mouth and the other one pointing, trembling, at the tub.

He looked at the bathtub, half afraid to. But there was nothing there.

“Kiley?” He moved closer to her. “What, what is it?” When he stood right in front of her, blocking her view of the tub, her glazed eyes focused on him. “It was there. Jack, it was there, in the tub, she was—”

“Wait, wait, hold up a sec.” The tempo, pitch and decibel levels of her voice had been rising steadily, and he sensed she was close to panic, so he closed his hands on her shoulders, intending to lead her out of the bathroom, into something more nearly resembling safe ground. As soon as he touched her, she fell against him, sliding her arms around his back, burying her face in his chest and holding on so tight he thought she might crack his ribs.

He buried a hand in her hair, snapped the other around her waist and tried to keep holding her that way while maneuvering them both out of the bathroom. He took her all the way through the house, and outside, to her car—she in her nightgown, and he in his jeans. He paused only long enough to snag her key ring from the hook by the door.

“What are we...?”

“Screw this. You need to get the hell out of that house. For now, just for now.”

“I haven’t even showered.”

“You can shower at my place.”

“But my clothes—”

“I’ll come back and get you some.”

“Alone?”

“Not on your life.” He put her in her car, shut the door, went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. Only when they were heading down the road did he turn to face her, to ask her, “What did you see in the bathtub, Kiley?”

She sat a little straighter in the seat. “I think I know how Mrs. Miller killed herself,” she said softly.

He lifted his brows. “How?”

“Drowning. In the bathtub, I think.”

“And you think this because?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“Because I saw her. The tub was full of water. Overflowing, even, and she was there, lying there on the bottom. Her eyes were open and she was looking right at me.” The last few words came out in a whisper.

He ached for her, literally felt pangs in his belly for her pain.

She sent him a searching look. “She was there. She was really there.”

“I believe you.”

“She was young, beautiful, when she died. Long honey-blond hair. Green eyes. She could’ve been a model.”

“We’re here,” he said, pulling her car into his driveway. He lived in a modest-size log home, one story with a loft. Just big enough for him.

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