Angels Fall

plenty of time to draft the introduction to the cookbook while her clothes tumbled dry.
    After setting up her laptop, she warmed up her writing muscles with an update to her journal.

    Pissed at Brody. Make up a bed and he thinks I'm shopping for wedding rings. Is that the way the   male mind really works? If so, they need serious therapy as a species.   I suppose, when it comes down to it, I've just worn out my welcome there. He's done more than anyone could expect where I'm concerned. So I'll try to be grateful as well as pissed, and stay out   of his way.
    The dick.
    Meanwhile, I've cemented my status as the town loony by having a perfectly justified   absentminded moment and going shoeless to the hotel to do laundry. I'm trying not to care about   it. I'm making soup, and I only checked the locks on the door once.   Damn it, twice.
    I may have to buy two new tires, God, that's so depressing. What would once have been a minor   irritation is a huge problem under my current circumstances. I don't have the money. It's as simple   as that. I guess I'll be walking for the next few weeks.
    Maybe a miracle will happen and I'll actually write and sell this cookbook. I could use an infusion   of cash, just as a buffer against whatever wolf might show up at the door.   Linda-gail's planting pansies. We're going to Clancy's after work tonight to trash men. I think it's   just what I need.

    Satisfied, Reece opened a fresh document and began to toy with different styles and approaches for an introduction.
    When her kitchen timer went off, signaling her clothes were finished, she backed up, shut down and headed out one more time.
    She'd just dump everything in the basket and get the hell out of that spooky basement, she decided. Fold them at home. She could leave the soup on low simmer while she worked at Joanie's, and run up on her breaks to check on it.

    She hoped they were busy tonight. Busy was just what she needed.
    She zipped through the lobby, spared any conversation since Brenda wasn't at the front desk. Reece could just hear the murmur of her voice from the back.
    Small favors, she thought. Something else to be grateful for.
    Reece tried the twelve times tables this time—a tough one—as she hurried downstairs and through to the laundry area.
    She pulled open the dryer door and found nothing.
    "Well, that's…" She opened the other dryer, thinking she'd mixed up which one she used. But it was empty.
    "That's ridiculous. No one would come down here and steal my clothes." And why was her basket on top of the washer instead of on the little folding table where she knew, she  knew  she'd left it? Gingerly, she picked it up, then slowly opened the washer's lid. Her clothes were there, wet and spun.
    "I put them in the dryer." She dug an unsteadv hand in her pocket. found only the single com she had left after plugging change into the machines. "I put them in the dryer. This is my third trip. My third. I didn't leave them in the washer."
    She tugged them out, furiously pulling wet clothes free to heave them into the basket. A Magic Marker fell with a rattle to the floor.
    A red marker. Her red marker. Shaking now. Reece tossed it in the basket, with the clothes she now saw were spotted and stained with the red.
    Someone had done this to her, someone who wanted her to think she was losing it. Someone who could be down there, watching her.
    Her breath wheezed out as her head swiveled right and left. She bit off a moan, grabbed the basket and ran. The sudden clang of a pipe had her jumping, choking out a half scream. The slap and echo of her own shoes on the cement floor sent her heart shoving up to the base of her throat. This time she didn't stop running when she reached the lobby but sprinted to the desk. Back at her post, a surprised Brenda gaped at her.
    "Somebody's down there. Somebody went down there."
    "What? Who? Are you okay?"
    "My clothes. They put my clothes in the washing machine."
    "But… Reece, you put them in the machine." Brenda spoke slowly, as to a slow-witted child.
    "Remember? You went down to wash clothes."

    "After! I put them in the dryer, but they were back in the washer. You saw me come back to put them in the dryer."
    "Well… sure, I saw you come back, go down. Maybe you forgot to put them in. You know, like you forgot your shoes before. I'm always doing things like that," Brenda added, without the smirk now. "Just, you know, getting distracted and forgetting—"
    "I didn't forget.