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Jodie’s gratitude lasted until two o’clock in the morning. None of the younger women in the house would let the older ones sleep on airbeds, so they’d given up their comfy beds for their unwanted houseguests. That’s how Jodie found herself lying on a blow-up mattress on the floor of Brenda’s old room, while she stared up at the ceiling and tried not to murder Shona for snoring like a foghorn.
Shona and Jean were currently sharing the double bed, and how Jean could sleep through the noise, Jodie did not know. It was hell. Utter hell. The room was shaking from the sound. Jodie had tried to ignore it. Then she’d tried to block it out. Lastly she’d just lain there, barely tolerating it. She was counting off the minutes with each loud snore. She felt like the sound had penetrated deep inside her brain and would never, ever leave. By half past two, she knew she would have to find somewhere else to sleep. She knew this because she’d begun to fantasise about smothering Shona.
Taking the sleeping bag Shona had brought with her and her own pillow, Jodie headed downstairs to claim the couch—only to find Robin was already asleep on it. Too tired to look for a soft spot anywhere else, Jodie pulled the cushions off the chairs and lined them up on the floor. They were long enough to support her body and head, but her legs trailed on the carpet. She didn’t care. She climbed into her bag, lay on the cushions and went to sleep.
Jodie woke to loud banging and a cramp in the small of her back. “What the hell?” she demanded.
“Make it stop,” Robin whined from the couch.
Jodie didn’t know why Robin was complaining; she looked nice and snug and comfortable.
The banging started again and Jodie’s sluggish brain realised it was coming from the front door. She became instantly alert.
“Robin, wake up. Someone’s at the door.”
Just like that, Robin was awake and on her feet. “Is the alarm set?”
“I did it after the women came in.”
“Good.” Robin tiptoed to the window and peeked through the blinds to see who was out there.
Jodie watched as her shoulders slumped with relief. “It’s your apprentice,” she said and then made a beeline straight for the sofa, where she snuggled back under her duvet.
Rubbing her eyes, Jodie disarmed the alarm and opened the door to find a blue-headed Betty on the stoop. She had a red tartan shopping bag on wheels behind her.
“What are you doing still asleep?” Betty demanded as she stomped into the house, dragging the trolley with her. “There’s work to be done.”
“It’s Saturday. The spa isn’t open until this afternoon.” In fact, it was staying open into the evening as a special promotional event. They had clients booked right up until eight o’clock. It was going to be a long day, especially on so little sleep.
“I’m not talking about the spa,” Betty said. “I’m talking about self-defence. I’ve come to get you lot up to scratch.”
Jodie groaned, just as Margaret and Heather came down the stairs. Both of them were dressed and awake. Jodie headed for the kitchen, where the clock told her it was barely eight in the morning. There was a full pot of coffee, which she helped herself to.
“What are you doing here?” Margaret demanded as she followed Betty into the kitchen. “And why is your head blue?”
“Tea,” Betty barked at Jodie.
“Go to hell,” Jodie snapped back, which made Betty cackle.
Shona and Jean came into the kitchen. They too had obviously been up for hours. They looked bright and well rested. Jodie hated them on sight.
“Thanks for the bed,” Shona said. “I had a great sleep.”
“I didn’t even notice Shona was in it,” Jean said. “That’s a sign of a good mattress.”
Jodie tried hard not to glare at them. It amazed her that neither woman seemed to notice that Betty’s head was blue.
Robin staggered into the room and headed straight for the coffee. She was wearing Wonder Woman pyjamas and bunny slippers, and yet, strangely, she seemed far more normal than Betty in her tartan mu-mu. Carly and Patricia arrived next, both looking wide awake and ready for the day. They stopped in their tracks when they spotted Betty’s head. With a shared look of horror, they entered the room.
“Where are the kids?” Margaret asked.
“They’re watching cartoons in their room.” Patricia filled the kettle as she looked out of the kitchen window. “Grunt is on duty. I’ll see if he wants some coffee.” She grabbed her walking stick and headed for the back door.
“Why are you here, again?” Shona asked Betty.
“I heard all about the trouble coming after Brenda,” Betty said.
“Does everybody know?” Jodie asked Margaret. “Did you take out an ad in the Invertary Standard?”
Margaret gave Jodie what could only be described as a mum look. It worked, because Jodie’s sarcasm dried up instantly.
“I know because I was listening at the door to the massage room.” Betty was obviously proud of this, as she grinned widely after she’d told everyone.
Margaret opened her mouth, ready to tell Betty off, when the old woman held up her hand to stop her. “Before you start,” she said, “you should know that I came with weapons. You need to arm yourselves.” Betty opened her tartan bag and bent over it. She came up with what looked like a set of hair clippers.
“You came to arm us with hair clippers?” Jodie asked.
Betty gave her a look of disgust. “I expect more from my prodigy. This is a stun gun. I dropped by Lake’s security shop on the way here and picked up a few. I wanted to bring guns, but he locks the armoury and he never gave me a key.”
“I wonder why?” Shona muttered.
“When you say picked up a few,” Heather said, “do you mean bought some, or helped yourself to the stock?”
Betty stared at Heather until she shook her head. Jodie took that to mean she’d helped herself.
“I don’t see the point of having stun guns,” Jean said. “You need to get up close to use them. It’s not like a real gun or one of those Taser things that shoot out cables with arrows on the end that let you electrocute people from a distance. The chances are if you have to use a stun gun, you’d be fighting for your life. It’d be better not to get into that situation in the first place, or to shoot the bastard from a distance before he got near you.”
“When have you ever used a real gun?” Shona said.
“That’s not the point,” Jean said. “The point is we need real guns, not toys.”
“This isn’t a toy.” Betty held up the black object. “You hold this against a man and it will knock him out in less than five seconds. Then once he’s down, you can tie him up, or kick him, or something.”
“That wee thing?” Jean mocked.
Patricia walked in with Grunt following her. They had all gotten to know the taciturn giant over the past few days, and he no longer caused any tension in the house full of women. In fact, the women found his presence to be reassuring. It was generally accepted that any guy daft enough to attack the manse would take one look at Grunt and run.
Grunt nodded to the women, then came to a stop in front of Betty. He frowned. “Does Lake know you have that?”
Betty reached out, pressed the stun gun to his stomach and switched it on. It all happened so fast that Jodie hardly had time to process it. One minute Grunt was glaring at Betty, the next thing he was unconscious on the floor in front of her. There was a stunned silence as all of the women stared at the downed man. Then Betty grinned.
“See?” she said. “That’s why you need a stun gun.”
Nobody spoke, but shock rippled through the room. Betty reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny digital camera. She tottered around Grunt, handed the camera to Carly, then sat on the man’s belly. She beamed at Carly.
“Take a picture for me,” she demanded.
Carly seemed to be on autopilot, because she did as she was told.
Betty was thrilled. She took the camera back from Carly then looked down at Grunt. She had a look of speculation on her face that made Jodie’s blood run cold.
“There’s a rumour going around that he has a pierced willy,” Betty said. “I’ve never seen one of those.”
She reached for the zipped fly of Grunt’s jeans.
“No!” every woman in the room shouted at the same time.
Margaret grabbed Betty’s dress and yanked her back. Shona snatched the stun gun from her hand and Heather confiscated the camera—although that seemed a little pointless.
“What do we do now?” Robin said. “He’s going to be pissed when he wakes up. Does being stunned give you a headache? Did anyone see if he hit his head on the way down? Maybe we should call a doctor or something.”
“No doctor. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Grunt has a history of being knocked out. He’s used to it,” Margaret said. She glanced at Heather. “And no police. I’m pretty sure this could be considered assault.”
“I don’t think there’s any considering about it.” Robin pointed at Grunt. “This is definitely assault.”
They stared at the man mountain lying on his back in the middle of the floor. For some reason images from Gulliver’s Travels danced through Jodie’s brain. It wasn’t delightful thinking of herself a Lilliputian.
“I think,” Jodie said, “that it might be a good idea if we weren’t here when he wakes up.”
“You don’t think he’d get violent, do you?” Patricia paled at the thought.
“No.” Jodie looked at the big man. “But I don’t think he’ll be happy, and I’d rather not be around for that.”
There was a pause before unanimous agreement. The women scattered. Jodie grabbed her phone as soon as she was in Brenda’s bedroom. She called her brother.
“Deke,” he said by way of hello.
“So,” Jodie said. “Betty zapped Grunt with a stun gun and now he’s unconscious on the floor of the manse kitchen. We’re all leaving before he wakes, but somebody should probably check on him.” She took a deep breath. “Tag. You’re it.” She cut the call dead.
The phone rang while she was pulling on her jeans. Jodie didn’t answer. She threw her things into a bag and was halfway down the drive when she heard the roar that signalled Grunt was awake.
It took minutes to get to the hotel in her car. With a sigh of resignation, she let herself in through the side entrance and climbed the tartan-carpeted stairs to Mitch’s room. She mentally crossed her fingers and wished upon a star that Mitch was out doing Mitch stuff with his buddies and she would be able to dump her stuff and run. Of course, she wasn’t that lucky. As soon as she swung the door open, she spotted him hunched over his laptop at the desk. His slow, smug smile said it all.
“Don’t.” Jodie held up a hand as she dumped her bag on the paperwork-strewn bed.
The guy seriously needed to find a house. How he could live like this, she honestly didn’t know. Mitch spun in his chair, which she noticed wasn’t a standard hotel issue, but was an ergonomically designed desk chair. His jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His arms folded over a denim-blue Henley. The smug smile stayed in place.
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Jodie snapped, even though he hadn’t said a word. “I just want to have a shower, get some food and get to work. Okay?” She put her hands on her hips.
All he did was grin wider and arch an eyebrow at her. With a grumble, she grabbed her washbag and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Men. There was no dealing with them.