his arms loosened and Dani stepped back. She stood motionless while he closed her robe and adjusted the belt.
‘You have a nice way of saying good morning,’ she whispered.
‘When my hands are clean.’
‘Two eggs?’
He nodded.
‘Will you stay?’
‘Let’s see how well you cook.’
‘No, really. I . . . I mean, aside from just plain wanting you here, I . . . I guess I’m chicken. That guy worries me.’
‘I’ll stay. At least for a while. We’ll see how it goes.’
Jack swabbed up the last of his egg yellow with a chunk of toast. As he finished chewing, he rubbed his mouth and whiskers with a napkin. ‘Well, that was real good. I’d better get going, now. Want to come along?’
‘No, you go ahead. I’ll try to finish the machete work, and then we can have the rest of the day free.’
She gave him a key to the front door, and kissed him good-bye. When he was gone, she cleaned up the kitchen. Then she returned to her bedroom. Her chest tightened as she reached for the curtain cord. She hesitated, then pulled. The curtains skidded open, letting sunlight fill the room, and she quickly looked out.
Nobody there.
Of course not.
The back yard was deserted, the pool’s surface pale blue and motionless, nothing on the diving board. Breathing more easily, she made the bed. She hung her robe on the closet door, cleaned herself up in the master bathroom, then got dressed in cut-off jeans and a baggy, sleeveless sweatshirt. She slipped into thongs, and made her way through the silent house.
The aroma of bacon lingered in the kitchen. She glanced out the window. Her Rabbit stood alone on the driveway, as if abandoned. Other cars were parked on the street.
No hearse.
She stepped to the side door, entered her garage, and turned on the overhead light. Shutting the door, she wished for a way to lock it from this side.
If he broke into the house . . .
She realised that none of her doors locked from both sides. You could lock someone out of the house, but not inside. You might secure yourself within a bathroom or bedroom, but there was no way to seal the doors from the other side.
Dani saw the workings of a benevolent, misguided hand.
No, no, no, thou shalt not lock thy child in his bedroom.
And thou shalt not take refuge in thy garage.
Probably a goddamn law against it. Probably in the building code.
Screw it, she thought. I’m gonna put a bolt on that sucker.
She would have to buy one, first.
Today.
But not just now. The first priority was business. Dani stepped over to her workbench and picked up the foam latex face of Bill Washington. He was to be the second victim, nonchalantly drinking a beer when the maniac leaped from the porch roof and whacked him across the forehead with a machete.
Jack would be wielding the machete, swinging it with enough force to penetrate the forehead of the appliance. The catcher’s mask beneath would cushion the blow for Bill.
Dani pulled up a stool. The glass eyes seemed to watch her , as if mildly curious, as she fitted the face over the metal cage of the catcher’s mask. She determined where it needed more padding. With an Exacto knife, she cut pieces from a mat of foam rubber. She glued them inside the chin, the cheeks, behind the eyes. She pushed blood-bags behind the forehead, then glued a patch of rubber over them. When the face fit snug against the tubing of the mask, she glued it in place.
With calipers, she measured the width of the forehead at the angle they’d decided the machete would strike. She marked off the distance on a sheet of poster board, and snipped out a crescent. She tried the cut-away cardboard on the face. The cut was too shallow. She took off another quarter inch, and again pressed it to Bill’s brow.
Fine.
Stretching over the workbench, she picked up the two machetes. They looked identical, vicious weapons with worn wooden handles. But one weighed only a few ounces while the other dragged her arm down. Except for the handle, taken
‘You have a nice way of saying good morning,’ she whispered.
‘When my hands are clean.’
‘Two eggs?’
He nodded.
‘Will you stay?’
‘Let’s see how well you cook.’
‘No, really. I . . . I mean, aside from just plain wanting you here, I . . . I guess I’m chicken. That guy worries me.’
‘I’ll stay. At least for a while. We’ll see how it goes.’
Jack swabbed up the last of his egg yellow with a chunk of toast. As he finished chewing, he rubbed his mouth and whiskers with a napkin. ‘Well, that was real good. I’d better get going, now. Want to come along?’
‘No, you go ahead. I’ll try to finish the machete work, and then we can have the rest of the day free.’
She gave him a key to the front door, and kissed him good-bye. When he was gone, she cleaned up the kitchen. Then she returned to her bedroom. Her chest tightened as she reached for the curtain cord. She hesitated, then pulled. The curtains skidded open, letting sunlight fill the room, and she quickly looked out.
Nobody there.
Of course not.
The back yard was deserted, the pool’s surface pale blue and motionless, nothing on the diving board. Breathing more easily, she made the bed. She hung her robe on the closet door, cleaned herself up in the master bathroom, then got dressed in cut-off jeans and a baggy, sleeveless sweatshirt. She slipped into thongs, and made her way through the silent house.
The aroma of bacon lingered in the kitchen. She glanced out the window. Her Rabbit stood alone on the driveway, as if abandoned. Other cars were parked on the street.
No hearse.
She stepped to the side door, entered her garage, and turned on the overhead light. Shutting the door, she wished for a way to lock it from this side.
If he broke into the house . . .
She realised that none of her doors locked from both sides. You could lock someone out of the house, but not inside. You might secure yourself within a bathroom or bedroom, but there was no way to seal the doors from the other side.
Dani saw the workings of a benevolent, misguided hand.
No, no, no, thou shalt not lock thy child in his bedroom.
And thou shalt not take refuge in thy garage.
Probably a goddamn law against it. Probably in the building code.
Screw it, she thought. I’m gonna put a bolt on that sucker.
She would have to buy one, first.
Today.
But not just now. The first priority was business. Dani stepped over to her workbench and picked up the foam latex face of Bill Washington. He was to be the second victim, nonchalantly drinking a beer when the maniac leaped from the porch roof and whacked him across the forehead with a machete.
Jack would be wielding the machete, swinging it with enough force to penetrate the forehead of the appliance. The catcher’s mask beneath would cushion the blow for Bill.
Dani pulled up a stool. The glass eyes seemed to watch her , as if mildly curious, as she fitted the face over the metal cage of the catcher’s mask. She determined where it needed more padding. With an Exacto knife, she cut pieces from a mat of foam rubber. She glued them inside the chin, the cheeks, behind the eyes. She pushed blood-bags behind the forehead, then glued a patch of rubber over them. When the face fit snug against the tubing of the mask, she glued it in place.
With calipers, she measured the width of the forehead at the angle they’d decided the machete would strike. She marked off the distance on a sheet of poster board, and snipped out a crescent. She tried the cut-away cardboard on the face. The cut was too shallow. She took off another quarter inch, and again pressed it to Bill’s brow.
Fine.
Stretching over the workbench, she picked up the two machetes. They looked identical, vicious weapons with worn wooden handles. But one weighed only a few ounces while the other dragged her arm down. Except for the handle, taken
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