James Grippando - Last to die

The third book in the Jack Swyteck series

At last, the old house was quiet. Sally Fenning sat alone at her kitchen table, three stacks of bills before her-due, overdue, and hopeless.

She didnt know where to start. Tonights tips had been pathetic, hardly worth the aggravation of being a waitress. Waitress actually dignified what she did, slogging pitchers of beer and platters of spicy chicken wings to drunk tourists who grabbed an eyeful of T amp;A with every move she made. In her flimsy nylon jogging shorts and skintight tank top with the plunging neckline, she sometimes felt as though she might as well be dancing naked on tables. At least the pay wouldnt suck.

She pitched the telephone cancellation notice into the trash. They always sent two before actually cutting off service.

Things hadnt always been this bad. She and her husband once owned a little Italian restaurant in Miami Shores, found success, expanded, and promptly fell on their faces. Dont mess with a good thing, was her take on expansion. But Mike was hell-bent on growth, dead-certain that theyd be selling franchises in five years. They used personal credit cards to finance the build-out, suckered by those low introductory rates that lasted six months, followed by a rate so high that your calculator overheats when you compute what youre paying over the life of the loan. The paint on the walls was barely dry when a no-name tropical storm slammed into their shopping strip and sent their red-and-white-checkered tablecloths floating into the parking lot. No flood insurance. The restaurant never reopened. Three years later her husband was working two jobs and she was a Hooters Girl, hardly a dent made in the principal balance on their restaurant debt.

Some people said she had no pride. But she had too much pride-too much to just throw in the towel and file for bankruptcy.

Mommeeeeee, came the little voice from the bedroom at the end of the hall. Their four-year-old daughter was not a great sleeper, and calling out for Mommy at midnight was becoming routine.

She looked up from her check ledger but didnt move from her chair. Katherine, go to sleep, please.

But I want a story.

She hesitated. It was late, but working till eleven oclock, five nights a week, didnt allow her the luxury of putting her child to bed. That was Mikes job, before he headed out for the eight-to-midnight shift as a security guard, or his mothers, who was good enough to come over every night and watch television while Katherine slept, filling the gap between the time Mike left for his second job and Sally came home from hers. The thought of reading to her daughter made Sallys heart melt. She rose from the table and went to the bedroom.

All right. One story.

Yeah!

But then you have to go to sleep. Promise?

Promise.

She slid into the bed beside Katherine, her back against the head-board. Her daughter nuzzled close to her. What story do you want?

This one, the little girl said as she took the book from the nightstand.

Where the Wild Things Are, said Sally, reading the title. She knew it well, the story of a little boy whose imagination transforms his bedroom into a scary place where he must confront an island filled with monsters and become their ruler. Sally remembered how her own mother used to read the same story to her when she was going through her nightmare stage as a little girl. Twenty years later, the message was the same: Fear is all in your head.

Are you still having nightmares, sweetheart?

Mmmm hmmm.

Why?

Scared.

What are you scared of?

Monster.

There are no monsters.

Yes, over there, she said, pointing toward the drapes that covered the sliding glass door.

No, honey. There are no monsters out there.

Uh-huh, for real.

Come on. Lets read the story.

Sally felt her daughters face press against her heart as she read aloud. She gave each monster its own voice, not too scary, so as not to frighten Katherine. She was asleep before the little boy named Max made it back from the faraway island to the safety of his own room. Sally quietly slid out of bed, kissed Katherine on the forehead, and tiptoed out of the room.

Back to the bills. Greenleaf Financing. That was a beauty. Two thousand dollars worth of computer equipment and restaurant software that theyd leased over a five-year period for total payments of twenty-eight thousand dollars. What a deal.

Mommy. It was another call from the bedroom.

What is it, honey?

Scared. Theres monsters.

She pushed away from the kitchen table and went to the bedroom, but she stopped short in the doorway, refusing to let herself be manipulated into coming inside. Theres no such thing as monsters.

But, Mommy-

Its time to go to sleep.

Can you leave the light on?

Ill leave the hall light on.

Thank you, Mommy. You the best.

It was hard to be firm with someone who told you youre the best and truly believed it. She smiled and said, Good night. I love you.

I love you, too.

She returned to the kitchen, but she didnt have the stomach to go back to those stacks of bills. The rent was due, and Lord only knew where that was going to come from. Renting a house instead of an apartment was an extravagance in their financial straits, even if it was a dumpy old two-bedroom/one-bath that any builder would have considered a tear-down. But Sally had grown up in an apartment, no yard, no privacy, no chimney for Santa to climb down on Christmas Eve. Katherine deserved better, even if it meant forcing the landlord to throw them out on the street.

She opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

Mommy, I want something to drink.

Sally turned, but Katherine wasnt there. She was still in bed. That girl has ESP. Go to sleep, baby.

But, Mommy, please. I didnt see you all day.

That got to her, tapping straight into a working mothers guilt. One last time, she went to her daughter and sat on the edge of the bed. The light from the hallway was just enough to reveal the fear in her eyes.

Are you still scared?

Katherine nodded.

Sally felt her forehead. It was clammy with sweat but not from fever. She was just overheated from lying in bed with the covers pulled over her head. Why are you so afraid?

The monster.

If I lie down with you for a little while, will you go to sleep?

I want to sleep in your room. Just till Daddy comes home.

Honey, youre a big girl now. This is your room.

But the monster.

There is no monster.

You sure?

Im positive.

You look, please?

She sighed, exasperated. Yes, Ill look. She got down and checked under the bed. Nothing under here.

No, no. Over there. She was pointing toward the drapes again, the ones that covered the sliding glass door.

Sally hesitated. Even in the dim lighting she could make out the playful pink images of birds, rabbits, and other nursery-rhyme animals that danced across the balloon draperies. Hardly the stuff of a monsters cloak, but her heart still fluttered. The fear in her daughters eyes seemed so genuine.

Theres no monster.

Go check, Mommy. Please.

She looked harder this time. Strange, but she found herself wondering if the rabbit was in the same place it had been a minute ago, or if it had moved. It seemed that it was no longer lined up with the little yellow duck on the other panel. She thought her eyes were playing tricks, until she saw it again.

That rabbit moved. Ever so slightly, it had definitely moved.

The air conditioner clicked off, and the knot in her belly loosened as the draperies settled back into place. The cool draft from the air conditioner had evidently caught the pleats, causing the subtle shift. No monsters.