Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(75)

“Yes, of course,” said Emily, reaching down to pull her handbag beneath her chair so Holly could get out.

Leaving the Village Outreach clipboard with Emily, a moment later, Holly was out the door.

From the head of the table, “Oh. Em. Gee,” said Mary-Margaret, hands on hips. “She’s at it again, isn’t she. You’re not getting away with this, Lavender!”





29


Rushing



Holly left the PTA meeting, hurrying through the Topiary Park to get to the Buick. Butt dragging, camera and mic still recording, Holly drove through Primm, eager to get home, determined to get through as many boxes as she could before Ella’s bus arrived and Jack got home. Nesting instincts in full swing, she wanted some semblance of control in her life.

Once there, she heard Struggle out back, barking. Holly knew she should let her in, but instead, she rushed upstairs and started to unpack. Jack might lose his job? That didn’t make sense. We just got here. We can’t lose this house—not if it’s unpacked, picked up, and prim, right? They can’t do that to us, can they? Of course they can. Employers can do whatever they want.

It wasn’t five o’clock yet, so announcements hadn’t been made at Jack’s work. They were still a Primm family. Still lived on Petunia. Ella still attended kindergarten at Primm Academy. And Holly? At the moment, by virtue of living in Petunia enclave, it was assumed she was a Foodie Mom. Holly was also a Pie Mom, possibly the K-9 Room Mom, probably the secretary of the Primm Academy PTA, and maybe the Village Outreach coordinator, too, if that clipboard was any indication. Not so bad for her first week in Primm. With a résumé like that, it could be said Holly’s volunteer work helped make Primm Academy what it was today: one of the finest schools in the country—the school Holly’s daughter attended to learn, to grow, to make new friends. And by golly, even if it killed her, Holly would soon bake the first of many pies for that school. And you know what? It’s my pleasure to do so.

Unloading a box of Ella’s toys onto a shelf in Ella’s room, Holly heard something. From downstairs. “Hello?” She set a tiara and magic wand on Ella’s bed. “Jack? Is that you?”

No response. She knew she’d heard something.

“Jack?”

Struggle was out back. Barking intensified. Holly walked to the top of the steps. Something inside her felt strange—like every instinct she had told her something was wrong. The camera and mic . . . she reached into her neckline and flipped the switch to on.

Holly slipped out of her shoes to make her way downstairs, moving carefully to avoid the step that creaked. Struggle’s barking stopped. Maybe she’d seen a squirrel. Maybe Holly had imagined this whole thing. She heard a bang—nope. Not imagining it.

Holly froze, pressing her back against the wall at the bottom of the steps, wishing Struggle were inside with her. The noise came from the kitchen. Like someone was trying to get in the window above the sink. Holly dipped around the corner into the living room, scurrying to crouch behind a chair, waiting. Praying.

Bang!

The sound came from the kitchen. Holly was certain. She’d watched many horror films, told herself, I’m not the dumb blonde who gets killed in the opening scene. I’m not.

Bang!

I’m the dumb brunette who gets killed in the opening scene.

“My name is Holly Banks, and I’m so scared,” she whispered into the mic. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

Bang!

Someone is breaking into my house!

Holly crawled across the living room floor toward the couch, snatching from the table the metal rooster she’d unpacked when Caleb was over. She hid, shaking.

She didn’t hear glass breaking but did hear someone hoisting the kitchen window open; then she swore—she swore she heard him jump from her kitchen counter onto her kitchen floor.

Whoever it was, he was now walking through her kitchen. Footsteps—on her hardwood floors. Those weren’t Jack’s footsteps. She knew Jack’s footsteps. And they couldn’t be Ella’s. And they didn’t know anyone in the Village of Primm who would attempt to gain access to their house like that. No one else had a key, so a window entry because of a lost key was out of the question.

Holly stayed crouched behind the sofa, wishing she had run out the front door when she had the chance. She steadied herself in case she had to leap out and defend herself. I can do this. I can do this. She clutched the rooster, hoping today wasn’t the day she’d have to prove she wasn’t a chicken.

Whoever it was walked through the foyer and past the steps to stand in Holly’s living room—a mere six feet from where she hid behind the couch. He must have heard her because he wasn’t moving. He just stood there, breathing heavily, probably messing with her like Hannibal Lector in Silence of the Lambs.

Holly couldn’t take it any longer. She had no choice: kill or be killed!

She strengthened her grip on the rooster, decided she’d mount her attack with the rooster’s feet sticking out. If she was lucky, maybe she’d stab her attacker in the face a few times, gouging his eyes out until his face fell like Plume’s.

She’d attack on three. One, two, THREE!

“Ahhhhhhhh!” Holly charged, hoisting the rooster above her head, rushing as fast as she could toward the attacker. “Ahhhhhhhh!”