Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
I glanced to the far-right corner of the kitchen and the dark hall that led to the tiny apartment Savannah shared with her young son, Nicky. I was used to being quiet in the kitchens late at night. It was one thing to sneak in and not get caught, another to wake either Savannah or Nicky. They both needed their sleep, and I had no doubt Savannah would make me pay if I woke her up.
That meant the kind of reorganization I wanted to do was out of the question. I couldn’t move heavy copper and cast iron cookware quietly enough to ensure Savannah’s sleep wasn’t disturbed. I’d have time for that later. When the kitchens were mine. For now, I’d have to settle for driving Mrs. Bailey slowly, subtly crazy.
I started by sliding open the drawer that held her small kitchen tools and emptying it as silently as possible, setting everything on a dish towel so the metal didn’t clank. I swapped the contents of that drawer with another, this one filled with pot holders and other kitchen linens.
Next, I moved her basic spices, the ones she used so often she didn’t put them away. They went under the sink, replaced by random, more exotic flavors from the pantry. Coriander seed, turmeric, star anise. Nothing Mrs. Bailey had used since she’d been at Heartstone. She was a salt and pepper cook. With liberal use of shortening. Don’t get me started on her obsession with shortening.
I made my way around the kitchen, striking where she’d feel it most, moving and hiding the things she used every day. Basics. Her sponge was in the huge commercial fridge. Her favorite cooking knife secreted among the measuring cups.
I had to be creative. I couldn’t sabotage the food at every meal.
I was long past hating my siblings. None of us were close, might never be, and I didn’t know them well enough to like them, exactly, but I didn’t hate them. And Hope was a million months pregnant. We all knew she’d had morning sickness for most of her pregnancy.
I’d sat through enough meals watching Griffen coax her to take one more bite, worry creasing his forehead as she tried to swallow, her face drawn and a little green. Now that she could eat, I wouldn’t be the one to ruin it for her. The soup had been bad enough.
The looks on their faces had been priceless. Damn, that soup was disgusting. I’d make it up to all of them. Later. After I got rid of Mrs. Bailey.
Deep in the night, I snuck from the dark kitchen, falling asleep only after setting my alarm to go off before sunrise. Mrs. Bailey got in early. I wasn’t planning to miss the show when she realized what I’d done.
I slept better than I expected, waking minutes before my alarm went off. Showing up to the gym before dawn wasn’t overtly suspicious. I didn’t hit the gym every day, and not often in the early morning. I’d been a night owl for years, used to closing down the restaurant kitchen late and heading out with my staff to hit a bar before tumbling into bed hours after midnight.
Since returning to Heartstone Manor, I’d had trouble sleeping. Too much on my mind, too much unsettled in my heart, and not enough to do. I had five years to sit around and wait. Not a great situation for a guy like me. I need work to keep my brain busy. I needed the kitchen, the demands of time and chemistry and everything happening at once.
Despite how I’d spent my teen years, I didn’t enjoy sitting around sulking. I’d done enough of that since I’d been home.
I needed action.
Once I got rid of Mrs. Bailey, I’d have all the action I could handle.
For now, I woke in the night far too often and ended up either invading the kitchens or here, in Heartstone’s ancient gym, running on the treadmill until the demons keeping me awake shut the fuck up.
At the moment, I was walking instead of running. Boring, so boring, but at a run, the treadmill was too loud to overhear anything from the kitchen. I didn’t have to put up with it for long. Fifteen minutes into my walk, I heard the first rumble of sound. I checked my watch. Six thirty. Took longer than I’d thought it would. Or I’d missed the early grumbles as Mrs. Bailey realized, drawer by drawer, that something was very wrong in her kitchen.
The rumble of sound was followed by a shriek. And another. I shut off the treadmill and paced to the gym door, close enough to listen, but out of sight from the door to the main kitchen. I wanted to hear, but I didn’t want to get caught.
“Savannah!” Mrs. Bailey howled. “Savannah!”