Dying Breath. Heather Graham

      George Ballantine looked back at Vickie and winked. She smiled and waved and headed to the door to close and lock it behind them.

      But Chrissy was suddenly back, rapping on the window. “The alarm!” she said.

      “I’ve got it!” Vickie assured her. And she keyed in the alarm.

      As she did so, she remembered that she had forgotten to ask George Ballantine why the side door had been open. She rekeyed the alarm to Off and threw open the door.

      But their silver Mercedes had already driven into the night.

      She heard Noah let out another wail and she quickly locked the door and keyed in the alarm again before hurrying back to the grand parlor.

      She wasn’t really sure why any kid would be crying or wanting to leave this play space. His “playpen” was constructed to cover an area that was a good fifteen-by-fifteen feet long and wide. He could crawl onto his scooter, play with his toddler walker—or any number of the amazing toys in the carefully constructed play box in the play area.

      Despite being spoiled rotten, Noah Ballantine was a sweet and affectionate baby. He had taken to Vickie right away, which had helped her earn the position. She adored him in turn.

      He wasn’t screaming or crying out with his few words when she reached the parlor; he was staring into what appeared to be blank space. And then he began to laugh—the way he did when they watched Little Baby Bum videos and clapped and played.

      His interaction with blank space made Vickie curious—and uncomfortable. She told herself that she was just spooked. She silently cursed herself for not asking George Ballantine about the open door—he would have said something to reassure her.

      “What ya doing, my little love?” Vickie said, stepping over the playpen gate and hunkering down by the baby. He truly was a sweetheart. He looked at her and gave her a brilliant smile and clapped his hands.

      He was blessed with huge hazel eyes and a thatch of rich sandy hair and couldn’t possibly have been a cuter boy.

      He clapped his hands again.

      “Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker man! Bake me a cake as fast as you can!” she said. “Roll it, and poke it, and mark it with a B, and then put it in the oven for my baby and me!”

      He responded with more laughter and smiles, and then looked aside again—as if someone else was there.

      “Okay, okay, creeping me out there, kid!” Vickie said. “And, by the way—P.U.! You stink-um, dink-um!” she told him. “You need a diaper change.”

      She swept him up, climbed over the playpen gate and headed for the stairs.

      She stopped halfway there, hearing a tapping at the window. It seemed that her heart caught in her throat.

      Just branches in the wind, branches in the wind...

      But if she didn’t check it out, she’d scare herself all night. Cuddling Noah to her, she headed to the window and held her breath as she drew back the drapery.

      “As I expected!” she said, keeping her voice filled with fun—she wasn’t about to scare the baby. “Branches! Rude! How rude of them to tap at the window like that.”

      Noah thought it was all great.

      “Up the stairs we go!”

      Noah’s room was a fantasy playland. His crib and dressing table, changing table, floor mat and toy chest were all done up in a jungle motif in pastel blues with an elephant theme. She grabbed a diaper and the wipes and made quick work of the change.

      She felt her cell phone buzzing and answered it quickly, balancing Noah in the crook of her left arm. Her mom always called to make sure she was okay. Vickie was always afraid if she didn’t answer quickly, her mom would have cops at the door. But it wasn’t her mom, it was Roxanne Greeley, one of her best friends.

      “So, the cats are gone, eh? Party, party?” Roxanne asked her.

      “No parties. I’m earning my money for college.”

      Roxanne giggled. “I know you—just teasing. If I were to head over for a wild and wicked party, that would be the two of us doing our toenails once the little guy fell asleep. But...”

      “But what?” Vickie asked.

      “Hank Fremont does think you should spend more time with him. I overheard him talking about his brother getting him some beer and then him heading over to surprise you,” Roxanne said. “Some of the guys he hangs with were egging him on. Telling him he’s the coolest dude in the school and if he’s dating you, well, you should be cool, too.”

      “Not to worry. I informed Hank this is serious work for me. College is serious for me.”

      “Ah, well, one day maybe you’ll be president of the country! And then I’ll have wild, wicked parties doing my toenails with the president! Anyway, I warned you.”

      “I told him not to come. He won’t. So I’ll see you tomorrow? Shopping, right? We’re going to the mall. Sushi at the ridiculously good place in the food court?”

      “We’re on.”

      Her phone was ringing again as she finished with Roxanne; it was Hank. She shook her head, smiled at the baby, and answered.

      “I’m on my way, my love,” Hank said, trying to make his voice husky—deeply, manly rich. Vickie shook her head at the baby with exasperation. He loved it.

      “Don’t be. I told you—I won’t let you in,” Vickie said. “Hank, this is serious for me. You need to be more serious. If you don’t hit a few books instead of beer bottles, not even your athletics will get you into college.”

      “Hey, we’re only young once! I already have beer and a pizza. Come on, that’s a super-cool house. I’ll be there—”

      “Come, and I’ll call the cops,” she threatened.

      “Bitch!”

      “I mean it, Hank.”

      “Well, you know, we could be over.”

      “We will be eventually. Maybe now is a good enough time.”

      Vickie hung up, aggravated, and set her phone on the baby’s dresser.

      They’d been through this before. He’d apologize tomorrow. He’d beg her to stay with him. But everything she had said was true.

      “Maybe this is the right time to end it, huh, Noah?”

      Noah laughed and clapped.

      And then they both heard a thump. Noah’s eyes widened; Vickie jumped.

      It had come from the attic—she was certain.

      Now she did freeze. For a moment, she couldn’t even remember to shake it off quickly for the baby.

      She waited. Nothing more.

      Had a branch fallen on the house?

      Or had Hank Fremont not taken her refusal seriously? Could he possibly be there already, up in the attic, or outside? Maybe, like in the movies, he’d actually called her from inside the house or right outside the house!

      No, he’d been a jerk tonight, but usually he kind of listened to her. But he was a high school senior surrounded by a few guys who were taking a long time to reach anything that resembled maturity.

      No. Hank would not be that big a jerk. But the house was closely surrounded by big trees.

      “That’s it—a branch,” she managed to say at last, realizing that her hold on Noah was tight—and right when he looked at her, his little face puckered into what might have turned into a cry.

      He smiled instead. “Bick-bick!” he said. It was his name for her. He was beginning to talk—sometimes his words made sense. He was good with mama,