Glass House by Wiltz Chris

Author:Wiltz, Chris [Wiltz, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

“And if Burgess and his carpenter never get any work, how will they ever have anything to show?”

“That's their problem, not yours. You should hire the best you can get.”

“And what if they're as good as the best?”

Sandy made a face as if Thea were talking utter nonsense. “You won't know, will you, until the job is done and paid for.”

“So far, Burgess has gone out of his way to make sure I've been satisfied,” Thea said. Sandy indicated with a shrug that this cut nothing with her, so before she could argue anymore Thea told her, “I'm already committed to Burgess anyway.”

“Yes, I can see that. Well, just be careful and—”

Thea held up one hand. “Please. You don't need to tell me. Lyle comes over at least twice a week to tell me to be careful.”

Sandy's voice rose with exasperation. “I was going to say, don't let them take advantage of you; don't front them any money—it causes them to disappear, like magic. Until they need more.”

Thea thought about the saw she'd told Burgess she'd front the money for, not exactly what Sandy was talking about but close enough that she was sure Sandy wouldn't approve. She frowned, annoyed that Sandy and Lyle's approval always seemed to be an issue these days.

Sandy didn't notice her frown; she was frowning herself, staring off toward the gazebo. “Lyle comes over here that much?” she asked.

For a moment Thea feared some sort of accusation of an illicit relationship. “He's just trying to get me to install a burglar alarm,” she said. When Sandy didn't react, she added lightly, “Are you sure he's not moonlighting for one of those security companies?”

It was as if Sandy had not heard her. “Has he told you that if you don't get an alarm, Burgess is likely to break in one night and slit your throat, or better, shoot you in the head—execution-style—before he takes everything of value in your house?”

She shot this out rapid-fire. Thea, thrown back into her confusion about Burgess, didn't answer.

The heat in Sandy's eyes died down in the silence, and she suddenly looked horrified. “Oh, Thea, I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . . your parents . . .”

Thea, distracted still, touched Sandy's forearm. “No, no, it's not my parents, not that. It's . . . I can't explain it.” It was not her parents’ death but something bigger. She did not know how anything could be bigger, but she knew that she was being compelled to look at something and to look hard, and that looking frightened her.

Sandy was crying softly. “I'm becoming as morbid as Lyle is, saying things to you that are terrible to say, the same way he talks in front of the children about terrible things.” She stopped to wipe her tears away before her words were rushing again. “He talks in front of the children about the murders he's seen until they can't sleep anymore, then he takes off in his police car, Mr. Tough Policeman,” she spat, “and leaves me to deal with their nightmares.

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