Neighborly Complications (Stories of Serendipity #1) (14 page)

“Well, whatever. Just make a list to submit with your bid. I’ll take a look at it.” And then she’d tell him she wasn’t staying, so he could decide whether or not he still wanted to buy the house. If he wanted to buy it as is, he could do the exterior work the way he wanted it. Otherwise, it would only increase the resale value of the house.

“With pleasure. Have you decided on a color?”

“What?”

“For the house. If you want it in the County Historical Registry, there’s some guidelines you have to adhere to, as far as the exterior goes and the paint’s a little more expensive, but you might could charge a little more for a stay in a Historical home.” He shrugged. “It’s up to you, but I’ve got the Historical paint swatches in my house. I was going to bring them over after I finished with this.” He gestured to his paper.

“Uh…sure. Okay.” Feeling like she’d missed something, Claire went back inside to finish her coffee and start sanding the floors.

After picking up the mess the vandals had left in the room she planned to sand, Claire looked at the sander. She was little, but she considered herself strong for her size. Even so, this looked like a beast
. At least there is nobody here to laugh at me.

She understood the concept of the thing. You plug it in and move it over the floor in long, sweeping strokes, with the grain of the wood.
Piece of cake
. She tied a bandana over the bottom half of her face to keep the dust off and plugged the puppy in.

Then she chased it across the room.

After she finally grabbed the handle bars to stop it from careening out the window, Claire discovered that she could barely control the beast, much less steer it. It was heavy standing still, but when it was moving, it had a mind of its own. Well, never one to quit a project once it’s started, she planted her feet on the base and let it take her for a ride. She was not going with the grain, but Claire found out that she could sort of nudge it generally in the right direction by pushing off the floor with one foot like a skate board. Slowly, the paint began to come off the floor.

She was doing it! She let out a loud “whoop” that could barely be heard over the roar of the sander.

Her “I am woman, hear me roar” moment was interrupted when the sander stopped running and the roar died away. Claire guessed it had come unplugged. She looked over to the plug to see Frenchie and Skinhead standing by the wall, arms crossed, leering at her.

Oh Fuck.

“Well, that’s one way to get ‘er done.” Frenchie gave her a smarmy smile that made her gut clench.

Stomach in her throat, Claire gulped, dumbly. Her mouth wouldn’t work to tell them to get the hell out of her house. She was stunned by the audacity of these guys who just waltzed in here. Max’s continuous warnings flitted through her head as she tried to squelch the rising panic.

Skinhead uncrossed his arms and slowly walked towards her. “We stopped by to see if you needed help with the sander. But now we see you have a pretty good handle on things.” He leered at her, exposing blackened teeth and rotten holes in his gums.

Spinning around, she ran toward the back of the house, where there was another door leading outside. Loud footsteps followed.

“Get out of my house!” Claire yelled behind her, as she ran.

In the kitchen, Frenchie ran around and blocked the back door, while Skinhead grabbed her from behind and picked her up. She started kicking and trying to move her arms, but they were held tight by Skinhead. So she kept up the kicking. Since her feet weren’t touching the floor, she was kicking both feet in all directions, until Frenchie walked up and grabbed her ankles. She was overwhelmed by the smell of body odor, tinged with ammonia, making her gag.

“Tell us where the gold is.”

Claire freaked. She was in a bad situation, and she knew it. She couldn’t think of how she was going to get out of this one, so she went limp. Somewhere she remembered hearing that if you go limp, your body weighs more and an attacker won’t be able to carry you.

“Thatta a girl. Don’t fight, and we’ll make this easy on you.”
Well, there goes that idea. Got any others?
Skinhead tightened his grip around her arms, while Frenchie scooted his hands up her legs to get a better grip. Where the hell was Max when she actually needed him?

“Tell us where the gold is,” one of them said. She didn’t know which one, because she had squeezed her eyes shut. The grip around her arms was a vice, and Claire couldn’t breathe. Skinhead yelled in her ear, “Where’s the gold?”

Skinhead shook her arms violently, knocking her head back and forth. The room spun.

“Where’s the gold, bitch?”

“I—I don’t know.” Claire said, finally opening her eyes, to see the one at her feet grinning viciously, while the other shook her again, jarring her shoulders.

Somewhere else, she had heard that when you are attacked, the best thing to do is to scream. So she screamed as loud as she could. Frenchie and Skinhead dropped her to the floor, Frenchie crawling up her body to straddle her across her stomach. His fist flew at her face, and a nauseating pain set off black spots behind her eyes. She tried to scream again, but to her ears, it sounded like a ragged moan. A kick to her side sent the air whooshing out of her, and all her thoughts of making noise left with it. Another kick triggered a pain unlike any she had ever experienced, and bile rose in the back of her throat.

“This is your last chance, girlie. Tell us where it is.”

She heard a loud metallic thud, and Skinhead was laying on top of her, unconscious. A pan rolled onto the floor. Frenchie yelled, “What the fuck?” and got off her legs. Claire rolled Skinhead off the top of her and looked around.

Max was chasing Frenchie out the back door.

She got up and kicked Skinhead, before going to the sink to splash some water on her face in an effort to compose herself. Gasping uneven breaths, trying not to hyperventilate, her heart pounded like a jackhammer. Claire wondered what would have ended up happening if Max hadn’t come over? She shuddered and slid down on the floor, watching the unconscious slime ball on her kitchen floor.

Claire knew that she needed to tie him up. She was rummaging through boxes and bags in the front of the house when Max came back in the door.

“Where is he?” Max asked.

“Still on the floor in the kitchen. I’m looking for something to tie him up with.” Frantically.

“Well, he’s not there now. We need to call the police.” He pulled out his cell phone.

“What do you mean, he’s not there?” She went to the kitchen and looked. Yup. Skinhead was gone. Claire fainted.

Claire was generally not a fainter. In fact, she had never fainted before in her life, unless it was alcohol induced, and the jury’s out on whether one would actually call that fainting. But this time, she fainted smooth away. It was a lovely oblivion. In her faint, there was no Max, no punks, no gold, no old dumpy house, no nothing. Just oblivion. And then there was wetness.

She opened her eyes to find Max cradling her head in his lap. He was looking at the ceiling, with tears streaming down his face, spilling onto her.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not.” He looked at Claire while simultaneously wiping his face.

Whatever.

He hauled her into his lap. “I called 911. Did they hurt you? Did they…?”

“No, they just scared me really bad. I’m okay.” She lied because thoughts of Katherine kept her from telling Max how beaten she felt. She didn’t want him to freak out because he hadn’t been here. “Nothing actually happened. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come.” Claire shuddered.

“Claire.” He pulled her up and crushed her to his chest. “I’m sorry. I went back to get a fresh pencil. I shouldn’t have left you here.”

“Don’t worry about it, Max. How could you know they would do this in broad daylight?”

Somebody knocked on the door. Max answered it to the police, and instead of her usual indignation, Claire only felt relief. They were here to take a statement. Since Max knew the men’s names, Claire was able to formally press charges. The police were kind, looking through Claire’s house again and suggesting she install an alarm system she couldn’t afford. They spent an hour, going over details, and making sure she was okay. Before leaving, they promised to stop by with a photo line-up for her to look through later.

After they had left, Claire looked at Max. “Thanks.” She felt sheepish. She had been pushing him away and then pulling him back, and he’d been there for her every time.

As if reading her mind, Max drew her into a secure embrace, mumbling into her hair, “I’m just glad you’re okay, Claire.” His strong arms around her were a security blanket, making her feel safe, protected.

“They were after the gold. I feel like I have to find it now.” She trembled, trying to keep the tears at bay. Nothing made her feel weaker than crying, and he’d already seen her doing it a couple of times.

“Come home with me and we’ll talk about it. I don’t like you staying here.”

“This is my home Max. I’m not leaving.”

“You can’t stay here, not while they’re out there somewhere. This is probably the second time they’ve been in your home. They’ve attacked you. They’re high, Claire. They have no conception of right and wrong. You can’t stay here.”

“You don’t know they’ll come back.”

“You don’t know they won’t. Why risk it?”

“There’s no way they’re stupid enough to try again today.”

He raked his hand through his hair in frustration, causing it to stand in all directions. It would have been sexy if Claire wasn’t so mad right now. She wasn’t mad at him, but he was here and she had to let her frustration out somehow. She felt guilty that she was using him to vent.

“Fine. I’m going home to shower, but I’m coming back. And I’m bringing all my stuff. I’m going to stay with you until they’re taken care of.”

“No you’re not, Max!”

Between gritted teeth, he growled out, “Watch me.”

With that, he was gone.

Claire spent the next half-hour pacing through the rooms of her house, looking at the destruction that had yet to be cleaned up from the night before. She was too depressed to do anything about it.

It pretty much sealed the deal. She would be moving.

Now that there were people willing to attack her to get at this mythical gold, she didn’t see how risking her safety was worth it. She could have been killed, and then how would she run her bed and breakfast if she was dead?

Claire had almost decided to stay to see where things went with Max, but now she couldn’t see how staying to see where a
possible
relationship
might
go was worth her well-being. The only thing that might change her mind was finding the gold, if it was even here, and getting it into a safe deposit box or spending it or something.

Otherwise, she couldn’t afford to fix the destruction that the vandals had wreaked on her house. Or continue the renovations necessary to turn it into a bed and breakfast. No matter what sorts of deals Max was willing to make for his help.

Sifting through the rubble that was going to be a formal dining room, Claire made her decision. She was going to clean up the best she could, spend another week looking for the gold, and then she was putting the house on the market.

Once the decision was finalized in her mind, she felt a strange dichotomy of emotions. She was moving forward with her life, again, not getting sucked into the money pit that this house looked like it was turning into. She was getting herself out of danger. She would be starting fresh.

But she would be leaving Serendipity, with its trains, history, and its people. She really liked Summer, and she was beginning to really like Max. She felt horrible for venting her frustrations on him. Leaving would be best, as miserable as it would make her.

A knock at the door turned her sinking mood to anxiety. Her heart lodging itself in her throat was a vivid reminder of why she needed to leave this house. If she got scared every time somebody knocked at her door, she would be a rotten B and B hostess.

Her fear turned to trepidation of another sort when she looked out the window to see Max and Summer on her doorstep, both holding bedrolls and backpacks, Summer dressed in pajamas covered with balloons. She opened the door to see Summer also had a fuzzy pillow shaped like a unicorn.

“What’s going on?”

“Sleepover!” Summer exclaimed, before pushing past Claire and whistling at the holes in the walls and sheetrock dust. “Bastards. If I get my hands on them, I’m wringing their necks. We worked hard on these walls!”

“Don’t remind me.” Claire turned to Max with an eyebrow raised.

“She’s the chaperone.” He shuffled his feet sheepishly, then looked up at her. “I didn’t think you were in the mood to let me spend the night again, but you’re not staying here by yourself anymore. Not until those guys are in custody, anyway.”

Summer dropped her stuff to the ground and began rummaging through her belongings. “I brought us a couple of bottles of wine. I figured we could pitch in and help you get this mess cleaned up, and work like that goes best with Muscato.” She triumphantly held up two bottles of wine, and Claire nodded her approval.