A thrill of hope shot up my spine. “If we could find a list of her clientele, maybe we could begin ticking suspects off our list. Where do you suppose she kept something like that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I—”
“Ca-caw ca-caw!” Belfry made the call of a crow, our agreed-upon warning signal.
But rather than figure out how to get out of the store, or at least hide, I froze, my feet rooting to the spot. Oh, if Cagney and Lacey could see me now.
“Ca-caw ca-caaaaw!”
“Stevie!” Win urged. “Move it!”
“Where?” I whisper-yelled in my panic. “Where am I supposed to go?”
There were only two exits I knew of. The front door and the back. Oh, sweet Pete on a pogo stick, I was a goner.
“Ahem, people. I said ca-caw ca-caw!” Belfry’s cry, urgently annoyed, sang through my ears.
“The bathroom, Stevie! There’s a window. Go now!”
I made a break for it, hopping over the tarot cards and out to the front of the store, where I remembered seeing the door for the bathroom. Concentrating on not tripping over the candles and debris, I saw my target and made a break for it, throwing the door open and slipping inside.
My heart raced in my chest, so fast and furious, I was sure it would pop right out.
“Open the window above the sink,” Win ordered briskly.
I looked up at the window, just over the pedestal sink, and my stomach fell to my feet. “Do you see the size of that window? I appreciate the thought, but no way is this butt pushing its way through that sliver of a window!”
The rectangular window—framed by peeling wood and covered in rain spatter on its frosty pane—was too small. Any attempt to get out through it would be like trying to push sausage back into its casing.
As footsteps approached, Win yelled in my ear, “Move it or learn to love creamed corn, Mini-Spy!”
My arms and legs decided to move all at once, tangling up while they tried to figure out which set of limbs should go first—upper or lower extremities. I fell forward, jamming my hip on the edge of the sink and knocking the soap dispenser to the floor.
“Hello?” someone called.
Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the sink, my skin pale, my eyes wide, I was frozen in place again, my palms going clammy and sweaty.
But then Win was there, the warmth of his aura enveloping me. “Stevie, don’t panic. Use your hands on the windowsill to haul yourself up onto the edges of the sink, and your feet to brace yourself when you get on top of it. Go!”
Win’s instructions somehow soothed me, gave me focus, and I did exactly that. But there was still absolutely no way I was getting out of that window, no matter how much instruction he gave me.
As the rain pounded on the roof, making so much noise I almost couldn’t hear myself think, I took the opportunity to ask, “Got any tips on how to lose fifteen pounds in two seconds?” I quipped, a bead of sweat now forming on my brow.
But he ignored me. “Pop it open, Stevie, and listen carefully. Feet first, flatten and elongate your body out as you go. Do it!”
I did as I was told, my hands shaking. I didn’t even know where the window led. I just knew I had to get the heck out before whoever was in the store caught me and accused me of yet another crime, one I was definitely guilty of this time.
Jamming my legs out the window, I leaned back and fought a grunt as the top of the window sat on my stomach and the tracks dug into my butt, There wasn’t a spare inch either way. I filled the entire space.
“I can’t breathe!”
“Do you think breathing will be easier if the air comes from your prison cell?”
Fear spiked again. “You’re not helping!”
“And you’re not moving! Now slide out, Stevie. Spread your legs, use the heels of your boots to brace against the building, and your thigh muscles and arms and hands to inch you out and slide!”
“Did I mention I failed PE in school? Gravy, I was so bad. I couldn’t even climb a rope without secretly using a spell,” I said, on the verge of hysteria as I tried to feel for the side of the building with the heels of my work boots.
“Did I mention we’re putting you into a rigorous training program the moment we wake on the morrow? Stop gabbing and get moving!”
“Did you just call me fat?”
“Helllooo?” the voice called again. A male voice, to be precise.
I heard the handle to the bathroom door rattle, my legs and stomach aching while I tried to gather the courage to slide as Win suggested.
“Stevie! You’ve got tops, maybe five seconds before you’re caught. Yum-yum, creamed corn!”
I hate creamed corn. Hate it. Despise it. Wish it a thousand fiery deaths. Who knew it would be my catalyst to manage a death-defying leap from a window?
Engaging my last bit of strength, I stuffed my abundant backside through that tiny hole, using my hands to push as I gripped my purse, which still held the pen.
Just as I was about to launch myself forward, I vowed to hire a personal trainer with all that money Win gave me. A big, hunky muscly one who would help me downsize my butt while wearing Lycra bike shorts and a wife-beater.