Tall, Silent & Lethal Read online

Page 6

  “Christofer, is that you?” Marta’s scratchy voice called out from the living room.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” he said as he closed the door behind him. Not that it mattered since he could still hear everything Marta said or did perfectly and she knew it. Well, as long as he was paying attention, which he did at least forty percent of the time.

  “I forgot to tell you that-”

  “Tell me later, I’m going to get some sleep!” he yelled loud enough so that she could hear him as he walked across the large finished basement to the refrigerator. He yanked the door open and grabbed two bags of blood and headed over to his bed where he flopped down on his back. He closed his eyes as he drank, imagining that it was Cloe’s blood, but it didn’t work.

  His stomach knew that it was getting a cold substitution. Disgusted, he tossed the empty bags aside and picked up a book, hoping that a little distraction would get his thoughts away from where they didn’t belong. When reading didn't help he tossed the book aside and closed his eyes, hoping that a nap would help ease the tension in his body.

  As he drifted off, he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to deserve such a f**ked up existence.

  Chapter 3

  Twenty minutes later Cloe was pulling into the wide driveway of what appeared to be an old farm. It was actually very pretty even if the large white farmhouse looked like it could use some work. She looked around, noting the dirt road that continued ahead of her, winding past an old shed for a few hundred yards until it ended in front of a large white barn. The property was large and had a homey look to it that put a smile on her face. She’d always loved old houses.

  After taking a moment to check to make sure that her hair and clothes looked decent, she made her way up to the front door and knocked. A moment later an old woman with a slight curve to her back opened the door and greeted her with a welcoming smile.

  “Hello, Ms. Petersen?” Cloe asked, returning the smile.

  “You must be Cloe. Please, come in,” Ms. Petersen said as she slowly moved to the side. With a murmured, “Thank you,” Cloe stepped inside.

  “Let’s have a seat in the living room,” Ms. Petersen suggested as she slowly walked towards a small sitting room.

  All of the furniture was small, elegant with small patches of worn brown leather covering the barely-there padding on the back of the chairs and seats. In short, none of it looked comfortable. No wonder Ms. Petersen was hunched over. She would be too if she had to sit on this rigid furniture every day. Lace doilies covered all the tables as well as the backs of each chair, making the room look very old fashioned.

  Upon further inspection, she noted the layer of dust, stacks of newspapers, junk mail and dull floors. If the rest of the house was anything like this then it was going to need a good cleaning, which of course was one of the reasons that she was here.

  “Have a seat, dear,” Ms. Petersen said, smiling warmly. Cloe picked up a slight accent, but couldn’t quite place it. She sat down, but only after Ms. Petersen had.

  “I was hoping that my brother would join us for this, but it seems that he needed a nap,” Ms. Petersen said with an amused smile.

  If the man was as old as the woman sitting in front of her then Cloe could understand his need for a nap. Heck, she was only twenty-eight and she really could use a nap after driving up from Florida on only two hours of sleep.

  Ms. Petersen looked her over before giving her an approving nod. “You’ll do just fine,” she said softly.

  “Ah, thank you,” Cloe said, not really sure what the correct response to being perused over like a car for sale was.

  Ms. Petersen clasped her hands together. “Now let’s see, your room is on the second floor. You may have whichever room you want. My brother turned the dining room into my room several years ago, because I have such a difficult time climbing stairs,” Ms. Peterson explained as Cloe nodded in understanding.

  “My brother has the basement as his bedroom. That is the first rule actually now that I think of it. Please do not go down there. My brother likes his privacy and if he discovered that anyone was down there he would become very upset. ”

  “I understand. I won’t intrude on his privacy,” she quickly agreed since she had no desire to walk in on a ninety-year-old man in his birthday suit. Not her thing. Seriously.

  “I should probably also mention that he would be very upset if anyone went in the barn,” Ms. Petersen added with an apologetic smile. “That’s where he keeps all his artwork. ”

  “I understand,” Cloe said with a reassuring smile and a nod.

  “Let’s see,” Ms. Petersen said as she took out a folded piece of paper. “My friend Gladyce told me that I should write down the rules and what I expect so that there won't be any misunderstandings. ”

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,” Cloe said encouragingly. The other woman nodded and smiled again, pleased that Cloe was so agreeable. From her experience as a live-in caregiver, Cloe knew all too well that a great deal of the elderly were treated little better than children and their opinions were often ignored. It was something that always bothered her and something that she strove not to do.

  “Hmm, where to start…oh! Okay, no smoking or drinking in the house. ” She looked up to gage Cloe’s response. When Cloe simply nodded, she continued. “No men in your room. ” That rule was more than fine with Cloe since men were the last thing she felt like dealing with at the moment.

  “Anything else?” Cloe asked encouragingly.

  Ms. Petersen frowned at her list. “That seems to be it for rules. Do you have a problem with any of them?”

  “Absolutely none. ”

  “Good, good, okay now the chores…. . the house needs a deep cleaning and then daily cleaning. Then there’s the lawn and you put down on your resume that you can do work as a handyman?” she asked, looking up at Cloe.

  “Yes,” Cloe hesitantly answered.

  She almost lied, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. More times than she could count, her employers or their family tried to squeeze as much work out of her for her base salary as they possibly could. That sucked, because if that happened she was out of here. She was done with being used.

  “Good! There’s plenty of things around here that could use some attention. Oh, especially the house. It needs to be scraped and painted,” Ms. Petersen rambled on about all of the things that could use some attention, oblivious to Cloe’s lack of enthusiasm.

  Somehow Cloe stopped herself from groaning her frustration. Well, it looked like she was going to have to accept that live-in position in Pennsylvania after all. “Ms. Petersen-”

  “Now, according to Bernice, that’s my friend, handymen make about fifteen to twenty dollars an hour. So, let’s just say twenty dollars an hour for every hour that you work as a handyman. Is that sufficient?”

  Cloe blinked. Then blinked again. “You want to pay me extra for doing handyman work?”

  Ms. Petersen’s smile slipped as her expression turned confused. “Of course, why would I expect you to do that for free when I hired you to be my helper? No,” she shook her head firmly, “if you’re going to do extra work then you’ll get paid for it. My brother will be more than happy to pay you for it, especially since he was supposed to do it himself for the past ten years. ”