Lucky and the Electrocuted Ex Read online

  Lucky and the Electrocuted Ex

  Carriage House Capers, Book 6

  Emmy Grace

  EG Books

  Copyright © 2020 by Emmy Grace

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Mallory Rock Rock Solid Cover Design

  Created with Vellum

  For those of you who have laughed and stumbled along with Lucky this far, this one is for you.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Thank you

  Connect with me

  About the Author

  Also by Emmy Grace

  1

  “My house is gonna be so beautiful! Like a big twinkling purple flower,” I say as I make my way up toward the roof on the rickety ladder I borrowed from Mrs. Stephanopoulos. It shifts and creaks with every step I take.

  “It’ll definitely be unique,” Regina murmurs from below. She’s my best friend in the world, but she’s not at all into my purple lights. She’s still helping, though. She’s standing at the bottom of the wooden death trap, presumably to hold it steady, but she’s doing a terrible job.

  “Are you holding it tight? Because I’m wiggling up here like Snuffleupagus’ nose.”

  We call Mrs. Stephanopoulos, my landlady, Snuffleupagus. For years, Regina and I have nicknamed people we know based on some outstanding characteristic. Mrs. S. gets her moniker from her long, trunk-like nose, the very tip of which jiggles when she talks or laughs.

  Not that I’ve seen her laugh very often. Her personality is more Mad Dog Mattis than Mary Poppins.

  “Of course, I’m holding it tight, but there’s only so much I can do with you bouncing around up there.”

  “I’m not bouncing around. I’m just trying to get to the roof, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Well, climb faster.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can. You’re gonna give me a heart attack. I’m already white knucklin’ it here. Just hold tighter.”

  I hear Regina’s sigh of frustration. “Are you sure this thing’s even safe?”

  “Of course, I’m not sure. It belongs to my ancient land lady. I think it was built by Jesus when He was still a carpenter.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. If Jesus had built it, it would still be in perfect condition. Can you imagine, though, if actual Jesus built this actual ladder? If we were standing here, touching something tha—”

  “Regina!” I hiss, interrupting her wandering train of thought. “Focus! We can talk about Jesus’ woodworking later. Or ladder.”

  I snort.

  Regina snorts.

  “You’re a dork.”

  “I know, but I’m gonna be a broken dork if you don’t hold this stupid ladder.”

  I take a few more steps up. I don’t exhale until I am finally eye level with the gutters. I was aiming for the roof, but that seems a little ambitious at this point. The gutters will just have to do.

  I heft the thick loop of purple twinkle lights that’s wrapped around my shoulder up onto the roof and pick through the strand until I can find the plug at the end.

  “What are you doing?” Regina calls up to me.

  “Looking for the male part so I can plug it into the extension cord when I’m done.”

  I hear her snigger. “I bet I know where you could get a really good male part.”

  I feel a flush creep into my cheeks at the slyly indirect, if somewhat crude, reference to Liam. Things have been heating up quite nicely between us since we stopped pretending that we don’t have feelings for each other. I mean, Liam’s still a grouch, of course. Short of personality transplant, nothing can change that, but it’s something I’ve come to expect and even sort of like in him.

  He’s a gorgeous grouch.

  I’m a lucky optimist.

  We fit.

  My knees get a little weak just thinking about him.

  “You’re gonna make me fall, now stop,” I tell her sternly, even though there’s the hint of a giggle in my voice. The whole thing makes me feel like a teenager. I’ve been valiantly resisting the urge to write Mrs. Liam Dunning on napkins and crap like that.

  Head in the game, Lucky, I tell myself. Head in the game.

  I stretch out a length of violet lights along the base of the gutter and then reach into my pocket for the staple gun I brought. It was also appropriated from Snuffleupagus’ tool shed. The woman has one of every tool known to modern industry. I’m fairly certain we could build an entire town just with her selection of instruments. She’s nothing if not prepared. If the zombie apocalypse happens, I’ll be in good shape as long as I stick with her.

  I reach through the rung in the ladder to hold the strand in place. Carefully, I affix the wire to the wood below the gutter with about twenty staples. Tap, tap.

  Tap, tap, tap, tap.

  I smile in satisfaction. Piece of cake.

  That sucker ain’t going anywhere.

  I staple two more lengths of lights, and then stretch as far as I can to get a third one in place. That’s when I realize that I’ll have to climb all the way back down, move the ladder, then climb all the way back up to do the next section. Then I’ll have to do that about five more times.

  That’s a lot of climbing. My thighs are already telling me it’s pure madness and my butt is literally trembling in fear.

  Trembling, I tell you!

  I glance down at Regina, my mind clicking through all sorts of possible end-arounds.

  “What? Did you forget something?” she asks.

  “No, I’m thinking.”

  Regina’s expression turns dubious. “Well, that can’t be good.”

  I make a face at her. “Smarty.” After a minute or so, I think I have an idea. “Okay, so I need to get this ladder moved over about two or three feet.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But I don’t want to climb all the way down, move it, then climb all the way back up again.”

  “Have you learned to teleport?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Have you learned to fly?”

  “No.”

  “Bend time and space and matter?”

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “Then how else are you supposed to get over there?”

  “We’re going to move me over there,” I pronounce with a confident smile.

  Regina is quiet for a few seconds. “Why do I suspect I’m not going to like this?”

  “Because you’re a negative nelly, that’s why.”

  “Uh, n
o. I’m not. I’m just wise. Wise in the ways of Lucky. I’ve been your best friend since I was too young to realize what a menace you are, but I’ve learned a lot. I know when trouble’s coming. And I smell trouble.”

  “No, you don’t. That’s allergies. From the Christmas tree.”

  “Which we still have to decorate by the way.”

  “I know, I know. I just want to get these done because Beebee and Momma Leona will see them first. I want them to be greeted with Christmas cheer.”

  “We should be doing inside stuff. This is man’s work. You should’ve let Liam help when he offered.”

  “I don’t want to wait. We’ve only got a little over a week until Christmas. It’s a crime that we haven’t done this until now.”

  “Oh, no! Don’t lump me in with that. I had nothing to do with it. You’ve been in a love bubble for the last couple of weeks. That is why it hasn’t been done.”

  “Me? What about you? You and Marshal McGruff.”

  If I said that sparks flew between Regina and Steven Locke, the super-hot federal marshal that got involved in our last investigation, that would be like calling a volcanic eruption a small case of geological indigestion. He has flown back to see Regina four times since we had our double date to go over all that had happened with Dahlia Hayes’ murder. Even though he’s every bit as grouchy and surly as Liam, he’s made his interest clear. And Regina has made it equally clear that she’s gaga over the man.

  It’s actually both sickening and sweet, depending on my mood.

  “The Marshal,” Regina says, practically swooning at the base of the ladder.

  She refuses to call him Marshal McGruff. She sticks with “The Marshal” and she says it in reverence. She makes it sound like he’s Prince or Madonna. Like he’s someone who needs no other name or introduction. Of course, as much as she talks about him, I think everyone in town knows exactly who he is without any further explanation.

  I snap the fingers of one hand down at her. “Hey, hey. Focus, woman. We have to move me over, remember?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Okay, what’s this insane plan you’ve concocted?”

  “I’m going to count to three, and at the same time, I’m going to jump up and hop to the right as you pull up on the ladder and move it to the right, too. See what I mean?”

  “You’re gonna jump?” She’s incredulous.

  “Not off the ladder. I’m jumping on the ladder.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Of course, it is. Duh.”

  “Lord help. You realize this is just an accident waiting to happen, right?”

  “No, it’s not. It makes perfect sense. When I hop, it’ll take my weight off the ladder so you can move it. Plus, I’ll be helping move it, too. Get it?”

  “Oh, I get what you’re saying. I just see it going terribly wrong.”

  “It’s gonna work like a charm. Trust me.”

  She shakes her head but agrees to go along with my ingenious plan. “Fine. We’ll try it, but if you break your neck, don’t expect me to decorate the tree when you should’ve just listened to me and done it first.”

  “Don’t worry about mourning me or anything,” I reply with as much sarcasm as I can load into so few words.

  “Who are you kidding? You’re worse than a cat. You’ve got nine hundred lives, evidently.”

  “How about we not test that theory today, k? K. Now get ready,” I tell Regina as I grip the sides of the ladder, preparing to perform what I’m going to call the “old ladder jump jerk.”

  The physics of the move are sound. I’m sure of it.

  “Which way are you going again?”

  “To the right, Regina. Right.”

  “Lucky, wait. You should really—”

  “Good grief, it’ll work. Now zip the lips and get ready.”

  “I don’t think we should—”

  “I hope you’re ready, because I’m starting the countdown. One,” I say by way of interruption of her thousand and one reasons why something won’t work. “Two, three!”

  I jump up, holding onto the ladder to take it with me as I shift my body to the right. As I suspected, the ladder moves, but just not enough.

  “Gotta go again, Regina. Get ready.”

  “Okay, give me a second.”

  “One, two,” I count.

  “Three!” she says, and we move again.

  This time it gets me to my goal. I feel like cheering, but honestly, I’m a little winded from the trip. I really need to start exercising if I plan to stay in Salty Springs. This place requires more physical activity than I’m used to.

  “Uh, Lucky?”

  “Yeah?” I huff.

  “You forgot to grab the lights,” Regina yells up.

  I glance over at the lasso of lights lying up on the roof, now almost three feet away. I mutter under my breath as I stretch my body as far as I can in that direction. My fingers are still several inches away from being able to grab any part of the bundle.

  “I can’t reach it,” I tell her.

  “Well, I sure can’t reach it.”

  “You mean you don’t have go, go gadget arms? For shame!”

  “Hey, be glad I’m helping you at all, snarky wench. It’s freakin’ cold out here.”

  “Then help me move back about a foot and we can finish and go inside.”

  “Move you back?”

  “Yep. About a foot.”

  “Lucky, this is ridiculous. It worked once. Maybe you shouldn’t push your luck.”

  “I don’t have to push it. My luck is bottomless. Endless. Infinite!” I proclaim, saying that word a few more times, but softer, like an echo.

  “You keep thinking that way, lunatic. See what happens.”

  “Hush, Debbie Downer. Just get me back over there. Left, left! One, two…”

  “Three!” she adds, and we shift back to the left.

  When the ladder is still, I lean to the left again and can just reach the clump of lights. My fingertips are barely brushing one of the fat, multi-colored lights when I hear a muffled cracking sound.

  Before I can guess what it is, the rung under my feet gives way and I drop down to the next one. I yelp, winding my arms around the ladder and fisting the lights in my hand.

  I hear another crackling sound just before another rung snaps. In future recollections of this story, I will call this one the rung that broke the camel’s back.

  I drop down one rung, then another and another. I’m gripping the lights like they’re a lifeline when the ladder begins to wobble and sway and crackle like the whole thing’s coming apart.

  Because it might very well be.

  With me on it.

  Below, Regina is hollering something. It’s like a mash-up of words. I can’t tell what they are individually, but their intent is loud and clear. She’s in a blind panic, and I think she’s either encouraging me to jump or telling me to hold on.

  I feel my body going one way and the ladder going the other. I know there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop either one, so I grip the lights, let out a Tarzan-like scream, and swing toward the house.

  It isn’t a far trip to smack the side of the house. I land so hard I hear the window right near me chatter in the sill.

  There’s a short pause before I hear a popping sound and the length of lights I’m holding onto starts to lower, bit by bit. The staples are giving way, too.

  A few more pops, and I’m surging toward the ground. I close my eyes and just hold on to the flimsy strand of lights that is so cruelly giving out on me.

  I expect a painful landing, but something sort of soft breaks my fall. I hear muffled cursing just before a big gob of lights smacks me right in the face. I roll to the right and flop onto my back, my still-tender shoulder giving an irritable twinge.

  My heart is hammering like mad and my breath is more like Mr. Jingles, my French bulldog’s pant than human breathing. I lay perfectly still for the count of six, taking a quick inventory of my
body parts. It’s as I’m feeling for all four limbs that something moves under my butt. I hear more muffled cursing and then something pokes me.

  Hard.

  “Ouch!” I exclaim, flinching away.

  I finally hear some clear words. Very clear. “Get off my head.”

  I roll a couple more times until I can look back and see what’s what. Regina was the semi-soft thing that broke my fall and her balled up fist is what poked, or rather punched me in the backside. By the looks of her, she must’ve taken the brunt of my weight on her head.

  When she sits up, her hair is a tangled mess with twigs sticking in it, and her cheeks are flushed. Well, one cheek is flushed. The other is grass stained. Probably from being squashed between my butt and my front yard. Also, I’m pretty sure there’s fire shooting from her eyes.

  I cringe. “Merry Christmas?” I say tentatively.

  Is it possible for a person to literally boil? Because, while I can’t be absolutely certain, I think there might be steam coming from my best friend’s ears.

  A tiny little voice whispers something vital to me.

  “Lucky, you’d better run.”

  2

  I’m slurping the last of my cinnamon dolce latte as Regina makes the turn off the street into Mrs. Stephanopoulos’ driveway. It’s one of those thru-type deals where you have to drive through hers to get to mine. Probably because, at one point, my house was a glorified garage for her house.

  After threatening me bodily harm for landing on her head, I managed to talk Regina down by agreeing to an impromptu trip to the hardware store to get a new box of tree ornaments (of her choosing, of course) and then treating Regina to a giant cup of her favorite coffee. I wouldn’t have dreamed of arguing, of course, because I did almost squish her head with my butt, and she did put off decorating the tree to help me with outside lights first. That’s practically against her religion. Regina’s version of Christmas order is tree first. Period. The end. Putting up exterior decoration of any kind beforehand is akin to sacrilege.