By Sarah Graves
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Additional info for Crawlspace (Home Repair Is Homicide Series #13)
Going down into the cellar after nightfall had become a trial, because the string used to pull the light on was located several paces from the foot of the cellar stairs. Paces that had to be taken blind, with no idea what horror might be reaching stealthily out of the darkness at her … Bella shuddered just thinking about it, at the same time as she made scornful fun of the thought. She was turning into a scaredy-cat, an idea she would have pooh-poohed vigorously only a few years ago. Still, right now there was work to be done.
They never had. The trouble was, now Jake didn’t think it was enough. At her insistence the third-floor studio apartment had been put in for the newlyweds; Jake thought that alone must signal to Bella her happiness at her father’s choice. But Bella had gone on behaving after the wedding just as before: kindly, even affectionately, yet with the faintest touch of distant formality. And surely, sooner or later, a person’s stepmother should begin treating a person more as a daughter and less as an employer?
And then while she ran the hose, Ellie could just go down there and put the dropped insulation bale where it belonged, into the compressor’s maw. “Jake,” Ellie said even more warningly, but Jake just waved her off, experimentally hefting a bale. It was a foot square, three feet long, and surprisingly heavy. Solid as a brick, too, in its blue plastic wrapper, almost pressurized-feeling, as if the contents were trying hard to burst out at her. Downstairs, the phone began ringing. Jake ignored it as, with the bale in her arms, she staggered over to the window and raised the sash with her elbow, and gave the bale a shove.