Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,155

cleaning severed. I walked over to the wall by the door and turned the dial, the lights in the sconces along the golden walls illuminating.

I tipped my eyes up again, checking out the suspension gear which seemed to still be intact, thankfully. This light fixture had been on its way down for cleaning or repair when it collapsed.

All it needed was to be raised again.

But, of course, the winch rope was ruined.

I would’ve heard this crash in the house. It must’ve happened before I came. Maybe long before I came. This door had always been closed, so perhaps the cleaning crew never got around to dealing with it.

Leaving the room, I found the breaker panels in the basement and turned off the electricity flowing to that room before grabbing some rope nearby that they’d used to tie up their deer, and then the ladder from the greenhouse, hurrying back to the ballroom. I didn’t want to be stopped, and the great thing about this big place was that it was easy not to run into people if you didn’t want to.

Since the winch rope was busted, and there was no way to replace that here, I checked the connections on the chandelier to make sure nothing was pried or loose before I set up the ladder, using the hand-powered drilling tool I’d found in the shed to drill a hole into the wall near the fireplace.

Placing in the bit, I wound the crank, digging into the plaster, which normally would only take seconds with a drill, but I didn’t have a drill here, so it was like 1898 and churning butter for three hours so you could have biscuits for dinner.

I grunted, my muscles burning. This was for the birds.

I growled, releasing the drill and slipping the eye screw in, winding it.

I twisted and twisted, using every bit of strength I had to get it as tight as I could before climbing farther up the ladder—the full thirty-two feet—and straddling the top of it, doing the same on the ceiling, near the original output for the light.

The ladder teetered under me, and my heart skipped a beat, but I worked fast, screwing in the eye and then fisting it and pulling, testing my weight.

It was still no indication that it would hold the chandelier, but at least it held something. I was never content to just carry the blueprints. I liked helping in the construction.

And I loved to work alone. I thought that was why I favored the small projects at the firm. The more personal renovations.

Descending the ladder, I secured the rope to the chandelier, carried the rope back up the ladder, and threaded it through the eye hook on the ceiling, and then came back down, moving the ladder to the wall and slipping the rope through the other eye again.

I stepped back down to the floor, wrapped the rope around my hand, and dug in my heels, pulling strong but slow. The shards jostled and sang as they tapped against each other, but the chandelier didn’t even leave the floor.

Shit. I almost laughed at the muscles I thought I had when I thought I could do this.

It had to be a quarter of a ton. Breathing hard, I tried again, using my weight to pull and pull, but there was no way. Even if I got this off the floor, I couldn’t hold it.

“No, I’m coming!” I heard Rory growl.

I jumped. “Rory!” I called, dropping the rope and standing up straight. “Rory, can you come here?”

The next thing I knew, he was standing in front of the door, shirtless and sleepy-eyed like he’d just woken up.

Planting his arms on both sides of the doorway, he cocked an eyebrow but didn’t ask me what I was doing. Pretty sure he never gave a shit.

“Can you help me?” I asked, pointing to the chandelier. “It’s too heavy for me to—”

I heard him laugh, and then I looked back to see him gone, not even letting me finish my sentence.

Dick!

If he and Micah helped, it would take ten seconds. Did he have somewhere else to be today?

I twisted my lips to the side and studied the chandelier, trying to figure it out. There was always a way to solve the problem.

There was always a way to accomplish something I needed to accomplish.

Or… I smiled to myself, a lightbulb popping on. A way to get someone else to do something I needed done.

I wondered…

Dropping my tool belt, I left the ballroom