“Hannah and I need to check on Hector and see if he needs more water.” I leaped to my feet and gestured for Hannah to do the same. “We’ll be back in a minute.”
I took Hannah’s hand and pulled her toward the french doors that led to an expansive patio. Hector had spotted us through the glass and was pacing back and forth, clearly agitated.
“Bitch be crazy,” Hannah whispered once we were outside.
“Yeah. I’m starting to think so. If George and Lillian are taking care of the place, how come the flower beds are a mess and there are dust bunnies and cobwebs everywhere?”
“And why is she dishing up food for a husband who isn’t here and who probably died from the flu?”
Hector stood at the edge of the patio, whining and pawing at a blue tarp covering a section of ground.
“What is it, boy?” I lifted the tarp. The soil underneath had been disturbed. A dirty shovel leaned against the wall. A white artist’s canvas lay flat on the ground, the names George and Lillian scrawled across it in red paint.
A painter’s twist on the classic grave marker?
“Shit. George and Lillian must have died from the flu,” Hannah whispered.
“Poor George and Lillian.” Mimi stepped onto the patio. She’d refilled her glass of wine and raised it in a silent toast to her dead servants. “Such a tragedy. It’s sad to lose good staff, and I’m afraid that the place is too much for me to manage on my own.”
“We’re out of here.” Hannah stomped toward the house, then wavered, resting one hand on the patio table.
“Oh, no, dear. You won’t be going anywhere.” Mimi placed her wine glass on the table and took Hannah’s elbow to steady the girl.
“Led go of ur.” That wasn’t right. What was wrong with my tongue? I swallowed, saliva flooding my mouth. “Let...go...of...her.” It took a supreme effort to get the words out. I stumbled forward and batted at the hand Mimi had wrapped around Hannah’s arm.
“You’re both feeling it now, aren’t you? The pills I crushed into your strawberry lemonade?”
“Bitch,” Hannah murmured. She tried to wrench her arm from Mimi’s grasp, but succeeded only in losing her balance and falling down onto the concrete patio, her legs akimbo.
“Lego-of-ver,” I mumbled, my vision beginning to swim.
Hector lowered his head and growled, positioning himself between Mimi and Hannah.
“I can’t have a vicious dog on the property.” Mimi pulled a small pistol from her pants pocket and took aim at Hector.
“Hec-tor, run!” I slurred. “Ruuun.”
He cocked his head, then bolted.
My limbs were floppy and weak, still I managed to shamble forward and swing an arm against Mimi, just as she pulled the trigger.
In the distance, Hector yelped.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Kenzie
Hector.
I shook my head, my vision dimming. Staggering sideways, I caught myself on the wall. My legs couldn’t support my weight, and I began to slide down toward the concrete pad.
Mimi wrapped an arm around my waist and hauled me to my feet. “Let’s get you to your room, dear.” Weaving like a couple of drunks after a bender, we stumbled into the house and toward the staircase. I grabbed the banister.
“Up,” she ordered, in a voice that would brook no disobedience. I dragged a foot onto the bottom step and swayed, clinging to the railing. “Up.” We repeated the process, step by slow step, until we reached the top of the stairs.
Mimi supported much of my weight as we lurched toward the first guest room. She deposited me across the bed. I lay in a stupor, only vaguely aware when Hannah’s semi-conscious body plopped down next to me. Gritting my teeth, I tried to lift my head, but my muscles refused to cooperate.
Ripper.
I saw him in my mind’s eye, standing barechested with his hands on his hips, grinning down at me after a sparring session. You got this, darlin'.
I got this. Yeah. Nothing and no one was going to keep us from getting out of here, from getting back to the people we loved. I just...shit...I just had to...sleep...for a little while...first.
I came to in a pitch-black room. My throat was parched, my mouth gummy, and my head felt like it was clamped in a vise. Groaning, I pushed myself up on one elbow, then patted the bed.
My fingers found Hannah’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up.” She moaned, shrugging off my hand. I rolled closer, until we were nose to nose. “Hannah. Wake up,” I whispered, lightly slapping her cheek.
Hannah had downed more of the doctored lemonade than I had, and she was a good twenty-five pounds lighter than me. The pills had really knocked her for a loop.
“What?” she grumbled, batting at my hand.
“Shhh.” I pressed my fingers over her mouth to keep her quiet. “You have to wake up.” I tapped her cheek again.
“Kenzie?” She shook her head back and forth, as if trying to clear out the mental cobwebs. “Where are we? What’s going on?”
“Mimi drugged us. She shot at Hector. I think she intends to keep us here as replacements for George and Lillian.”
“Shit.” Hannah wobbled into a sitting position. “How’s Hector? Did she hit him?”
“I don’t know.” My voice broke, but I pushed back the worry. First we’d escape, then we’d think about Hector. “We’ll look for him after we get out of here.”
“Okay. What time is it?”
I tiptoed to the bedroom window, peeked behind the drawn blind, and saw a cloudless night sky. A battery-operated clock hung in the bathroom. I crept into the bathroom, gently shut the door, and switched on the overhead light. 2:57 a.m. We’d been out of it for almost twelve hours.
Mimi had been throwing back a lot of wine at lunch. Maybe she kept drinking and was passed out somewhere in a drunken stupor. Or maybe she was sitting up, waiting for a sign that we had regained consciousness. Since there was no way of knowing, we’d have to assume that she was awake and alert.
My gaze fell on Hannah’s sneakers and my boots, tossed into a corner of the bathroom. Thank God. Mimi hadn’t given us back our clothes, but at least we wouldn’t have to escape over miles of rough ground on bare feet. I glanced down at the white, fluffy, terrycloth robe I was wearing. It was preferable to fleeing butt naked, even though we’d look like refugees from some luxury spa resort.
I clicked off the light and padded quietly back to the bed.
“It’s 3 a.m.” I handed Hannah her sneakers. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to go into the bathroom and use the manicure scissors you found to cut the bedsheets into strips that we can use as a rope. We’ll open the window and tie one end of our rope to the bed frame. We’ll barricade the door in case Mimi comes to check on us. Then we’ll climb down the rope, retrieve our backpacks, and get the hell away from here.”
We removed the top sheet from the king-sized mattress and tiptoed into the bathroom. With the tiny manicure scissors, we cut slits into the top hem of the sheet, then slowly tore it into twelve-inch strips. Luckily, I’d learned how to tie knots in Girl Scouts. I secured the strips end to end, creating a rope of fabric long enough to reach the ground from the second-floor window. Knots along its length would provide handholds.