Page 91 of Deathtoll
“What?” Emma blinked with sleep-heavy eyes.
“Never mind.” Kate checked again, but didn’t see anything suspicious, so she kicked off her sneakers.
“What are you doing?”
She used her toes to roll off her socks, the maneuver sending half a dozen tiny tools scattering to the cement floor.
Emma leaned toward them. “Is that my manicure set?”
“You left it on your nightstand. I didn’t have time to grab anything else.” Kate eyed the nail file, nail clipper, the cuticle trimmer, and another few pointy metal pieces she had no name for. “I wanted to bring my gun, but I figured he’d find that on me in a second. This was as close as I could get to having a concealed weapon on me.”
She had the small items flat against the side of her feet under her socks, and the bulkier clipper under the arch of her foot. It had made her limp, but only a little.
“Wouldn’t have occurred to me in a million years.” Emma yawned. “What time do you think it is?”
“Noonish?” Kate’s stomach was growling for her missed breakfast and lunch. She’d wasted hours not daring to reveal her little tool set, for fear that Asael would come back. But he had stayed away. Maybe he would stay away a little longer. “Listen. Do you hear any noise from upstairs?”
They both fell silent.
Nothing.
“He could have gone out to eat,” Emma said.
“This could be our chance. See if you could kick some of these tools up to my hand.”
Emma kicked off her shoes and socks, stretched, then swiped at the cuticle cutter with her bare toes and grabbed up the round plastic handle. Then she lay on her back and pulled her feet up and over her head, tilted to the side, and dropped the precious tool behind Kate’s back.
Kate searched the ground blindly until her fingers brushed over the metal. “Got it.”
“You can call me Yoga Queen.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Kate tried to saw at the plastic tie that held her to the water pipe without stabbing herself bloody.
While she worked on that, and failed, Emma finagled over the nail clipper. “Try that.”
Kate did. Dropped the clipper, picked it up, dropped it again. “The plastic is too stiff. I can’t get the angle right.”
She kept fiddling with it anyway, until they heard the basement door open. Of course, he would come back right at this second. Maybe he did have a freaking camera hidden somewhere.
Kate shoved the nail trimmer into the back of her waistband, then grabbed the rest of the tools her sister had deposited behind her back in the meanwhile and did the same with them. Then she just sat there with Emma and tried to look innocent. They could do nothing about their socks and footwear.
Asael appeared at the bottom of the steps, a large messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He’d definitely had work done. Cirelli had been right. His nose was narrower. His hairline straighter at his forehead. Hair plugs?
He took in their shoes and socks, then shook his head. “I don’t have a foot fetish.” He laughed. “I’m not going to waste time on guessing what you were hoping to accomplish here.”
“Could we have some water?” Kate asked.
Emma spoke up at the same time. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Later,” Asael told them. “I have a schedule I mean to keep.”
He strode to the workbench in the dark corner and carefully placed his homemade devices into the messenger bag, one after the other.
Desperation choked Kate. “Are those for the festival?”
“Give the girl a cookie.”
“This town has done nothing to you. The people of Broslin had nothing to do with Mordocai’s death.”
