Free Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job by Kendel Lynn Page A

back to get a better look, but I only made it to the side door. It stood open. I casually looked over my shoulder, but no one was around. The house directly next door was as dark as the Goodsen’s. Not even a stray dog bark to warn the neighborhood of my presence.
    I stepped inside. Might as well check out the damage, since I was pretty sure I’d be the one who’d have to mediate the clean up. Nothing looked broken, just strewn haphazardly everywhere. Dishtowels, pots, pans, silverware. I tiptoed through the kitchen to the living room. Same scene. Cabinet doors open, CDs and DVDs on the carpet, knick knacks thrown on the upturned sofa cushions. Did Gilbert think she hid the egg beneath a cushion?
    “Come on, Gilbert. Seriously? It’d break if you sat on it,” I yelled to the empty room. No one answered. Thank God or I would’ve totally freaked out.
    I eyeballed the staircase, then the door to the master bedroom. Which I deduced using my exemplary detective skills. A massive four-poster bed was visible through the open doorway. The linens dumped in a heap, the mattress tilted caddywhompus.
    I edged inside, hoping he didn’t do anything drastic to escalate their contention. A quick peek to the bathroom revealed the same as the rest of the house: open drawers, the contents scattered on the floor. The vanity top looked untouched. Guess you can’t hide a Fabergé in a tiny pot of eye cream. And really nice eye cream, too. The thousand-dollar-a-jar kind. Actually, she had a fine array of face products. A twang of jealousy hit me. Ever since the doctor used the phrase “a woman of a certain age” when discussing my vitamin situation, I’ve been studying wrinkle creams like a law student studying for the bar.
    I flipped on the closet light. I expected it to be pristine, nearly empty, since Gilbert’s entire wardrobe decorated the streets of Sea Pine. But I was wrong. Jaime had kept the best pieces for herself. Decent suits, with coordinating dress shirts, destroyed. And it looked like she took great pleasure in it. Each shirt sliced to threads, almost literally. Threads dangled by the hundred dozen. Colorful stickers decorated boxes, some sized to fit shirts, others looked to fit ties, were smashed in the corner. A wastebasket overflowed with burned shirtsleeves and what were probably once silk ties. A can of spray paint lay on its side next to a crumpled suit on the floor. The suit was a cringe-inducing shade of blue/green, somewhere between the Miami Vice logo and a Furby.
    If their separation were arson, I’m guessing this was the flashpoint. The place where Jaime exploded, sending flames racing across their marriage.
    It was as if they wanted a War of the Roses . She kicked him out and dumped his clothes all over town. He ripped apart her house, she stole his boat. I did not want to know what came next. If the egg meant that much to Gilbert, it would not be pleasant.
    “Oh, Gilbert, you’re not getting it back,” I said. “Not in one piece, anyway.”
    The lights blinked out.
    Someone slammed into me.
    I crashed into the wall, face first, then collapsed to my knees.
    “ Where is she ?” a man screamed. He was behind me. On top of me. Pulling my hair back.
    I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I bit back panic in large gulps. It was dark and he was heavy. He wrenched my shoulder until I laid flat on my back. His knees pinned my arms to the carpet.
    I flailed my hands, but they barely moved. They started to feel tingly.
    “ Where is she ?” he repeated with hot breath. Rage radiated from his everything. His fingers dug deep into my neck. Real panic finally sank in.
    “Off…you…” I choked. I coughed and whispered as he screamed into my face.
    I started to buck, desperately trying to knock him off. His fingers only dug deeper.
    “No…stop…”
    And he did.
    He grabbed my hair by the handful and whispered directly into my ear. “You get her back here or you’ll pay.”
    Then he was gone. I