A Million Little Things (Mischief Bay, #3)

A Million Little Things (Mischief Bay, #3)

Susan Mallery




Chapter One

“My name is Zoe Saldivar and I just had stupid sex with my ex-boyfriend.”

As Zoe spoke, she carefully pulled on the rope dangling from the attic door in her ceiling. The mechanism was very stiff and if it snapped back in place too hard, the door would be stuck forever. Or so the building inspector had told her when she’d been in escrow for her house.

“Not that the sex was stupid,” she continued. “It was okay. I want to say I was drunk, but I wasn’t. I even knew better. And I do know better. I was weak. There. I’ve said it. I had stupid ex-boyfriend sex in a moment of weakness.”

The ladder lowered into place in the small hallway of her house. Zoe put her foot on the first step and then looked at Mason, her oversize marmalade cat.

“Nothing?” she asked. “You don’t want to offer any advice at all?”

Mason blinked.

“Is that disinterest or are you giving me a pass?”

Mason yawned.

“I can’t decide which is worse,” Zoe admitted. “The stupid sex or the fact that you’re the only one I have to talk to about it.”

She climbed the narrow, rickety steps up to the surprisingly spacious attic. So far she hadn’t put much up there—mostly because hauling anything large or heavy on those stairs was nearly impossible. But she had found a home for her luggage and the new seasonal flag collection she’d bought at a recent beach craft fair. Her mom had always loved celebrating every holiday and season. Now that Zoe had her own house, she wanted to follow suit.

She turned on the light and ignored the innate creepiness of being in an attic. This one was open and didn’t smell too musty. But hello, it was still an attic.

She moved the four-foot flagpole to the attic opening, then returned to pick out the “spring” flag she would hang. She held it up and smiled at the beautiful woven bouquet of brightly colored flowers.

“Perfect.”

Something creaked.

Zoe turned in time to see Mason heading up the stairs.

“No!”

The last thing she needed was to have her cat disappear into some dusty corner for several hours while she tried to coax him out.

Mason gave her his best green-eyed “who me?” stare before jumping into the attic.

He was a big boy. Eighteen pounds of muscle, and okay, maybe too many cat treats. Regardless, when he bounced, the stairs bounced, too. Then they rose with astonishing speed before snapping into place. The final thunk of the attic stairs coming to rest shook the house. Silence followed.

Zoe and Mason stared at each other before the cat strolled off to begin exploring, his tail held high. As if everything was fine. But she knew better.

Don’t close the attic door hard. It’s warped from age and humidity and needs to be replaced. If you let it snap shut, it’s going to get stuck.

The inspector’s words came back to her. Words she’d duly noted but hadn’t done anything about. She’d had her mind on things like painting and new window coverings. I mean seriously, they were attic stairs. How much could they matter?

Only they mattered now. A lot.

Zoe let the seasonal flag slip from her fingers. She crossed to the attic door and gave a little push. Nothing happened. She pushed harder, with the same result.

She was not a mechanical person. She could change a lightbulb and tell her computer to update with the best of them, but anything more complicated was challenging. She understood the concept of the attic stairs. She pulled a rope and the trap door opened. Stairs unfolded. When she was done, she pushed the stairs back into their folded position and they gracefully closed.

What she didn’t know was how to make that happen from the inside of the attic rather than the hallway. If she stood on the stairs and they opened, she would find herself tumbling down to the hallway below. That was unlikely to have a happy ending.

She knelt in front of the opening and put her hands on both sides of the stairs, then pushed down as hard as she could. There wasn’t even a hint of movement. She was well and truly stuck.

She shifted until she was sitting on the attic floor and tried to figure out what to do. Calling out for help was pretty useless. There was no one home—mostly because she lived alone. Sure she had friends, but they wouldn’t miss her for days. The same with her father. Her cell was downstairs and flagging down a neighbor would be challenging, what with the attic not having any windows.

She swallowed and told herself it wasn’t getting any hotter up here. That she was fine, and yes, she could breathe. Everything was okay. Something moved in the corner and she jumped, then pressed her hand against her suddenly thundering heart. Mason appeared. Was it just her or was he eyeing her in a somewhat predatory way?

“You are so not eating my liver,” she told him.

He smiled.

Zoe forced herself to her feet. If there was a problem, there was also a solution. She would find it. If worse came to worst, she would simply throw herself on the attic door and take her chances with the fall. Better that than dying a slow, painful death alone up here.

As she prowled the large space, she tried to think positively. She would be fine. This would be a great anecdote for later. But her brain kept supplying her with awful stories she’d read about people dying and not being found until they were mummified. Because no one noticed they were missing.

Which could very well happen to her, she thought, horrified at the realization. She lived alone. She worked from home. Her best friend was obsessed with her eighteen-month-old son and rarely called. Zoe could very easily end up liverless and mummified. She’d seen the pictures in science class. Mummified was not a good look on anyone.