Summary of the wrong house
Answers
Summary of the wrong house:
Rebecca and her husband Brian leave New York City to move to Los Angeles and find the perfect suburban house for them and their young daughter. However, meanwhile a local personal trainer named Kathleen Strickland has a secret past with this home and becomes distraught when she loses the house to the young couple in a bidding war. Shortly after moving in, Rebecca and Brian notice strange things start to happen--food deliveries they did not order, rat and pest control dispatched without their knowledge, and finally--a rock thrown through the window. The Lassiter's ideal life quickly begins to unravel and their family's safety is put in jeopardy as they realize Kathleen will stop at nothing to get her house.
Answer:
The night was dark. And the house was dark. Dark -- and silent. The two men ran toward it quietly. They slipped quickly through the dark bushes, which surrounded the house. They reached the porch, ran quickly up the steps, kneeled-down, breathing heavily, in the dark shadows. They waited -- listening.
silence. Then – out of the blackness – a whisper: “we can’t stay out here….Take this suitcase….Let me try those keys. We’ve got to get in!”
Whispering, they discussed the situation. They wondered if they had awakened anyone in the house.
“Let’s have a look at this place.” “Careful, Hasty!” “Oh, there is not anybody awake!” And the soft rays of a flashlight swept the room.
It was a large room. A living room. Rugs, carefully rolled, lay piled on one side. The furniture –chairs, tables, couches-was covered by sheets. Dust lay like a light snow over everything.
The man who held the flashlight spoke first. ”Well, Blackie,” he said, “We’re in luck. Looks as if the family’s away.”
“Yeah, Gone for the summer, I guess. We better make sure, though. Huh.” Together they searched the house. They went on tiptoe through every room. There could be no doubt about it. The family was away. Had been away for weeks.
Yes, Hasty Hogan and Blackie Burns were in luck. Only once in the past ten days had their luck failed them. It had been with them when they made their big robbery – their truly magnificent robbery-on the Coast. It had been with them during their thousand-mile trip eastward, by automobile. It had been with them every moment – but one.
That moment had come just one hour before. It came when Blackie, driving the car, ran over a policeman. And Blackie, thinking of the suitcase at Hasty’s feet, had driven away. Swiftly.
There had been a chase, of course. A wild crazy chase. And when a bullet had punctured the gasoline tank, they had had to abandon the car. But luck or no luck, here they were. Alone, and without a car, in a completely strange town. But safe and sound – with the suitcase.
The suitcase lay in the centre of the table, in the centre of the room. In the suitcase, neat little package on neat little package, lay nearly three hundred thousand dollars!
“
“But what are we going to do with that?” And Mr. Burns pointed to the suitcase.
“Hide it right here. Sure! Why not? It’s much safer here than with us – until we get a car.”
And so they hid the suitcase. They carried it down to the cellar. Buried it deep in some coal, which lay in a corner of the cellar. After this, just before dawn, they slipped out.
“Say, Blackie,” Mr. Hogan remarked as they walked down the street, “The name of the gentleman we are visiting is Mr. Samuel W. Rogers.”
“How do you know?”
“Saw with on some of them books. He’s surely got a wonderful library, hasn’t he?”
The automobile salesrooms opened at 8 o’clock, as Mr. Hogan had supposed. Shortly before nine, Mr. Hogan and Mr. Burns had a car. A very nice little car. Very quiet. Very inconspicuous. And very speedy. The dealer lent them his license plates and away they rode.
Three blocks from the house, they stopped. Mr. Hogan got out. Walked toward the house. He had just to go around to the rear, he thought, and slip in. Fifty yards from the house he stopped. Stared, swore softly. The front door was open. The window shades were up. The family had returned!
Well, what bad luck. And what could they do? Break into the cellar that night, and pick up the suitcase? No -- too dangerous. Mr. Hogan would have to think of something.
“Leave it to me, kid “He told Mr. Burns. “You drive the car. I’ll do the special brainwork. Let’s find a telephone. Quick.”
Ten minutes later, Mr. Hogan was consulting a telephone directory. Yes, there it was – Samuel W. Rogers, Plainview 6329. A moment later he was talking to the surprised Mr. Rogers.
Mr. Hogan cleared his throat. “Mr. Rogers, “he said — and his tone was sharp, official, impressive — “this is Headquarters, Police Headquarters, talking. I am Simpson. Sergeant Simpson, of the detective division —
“The Chief – the Chief of Police, you know,” — here Mr. Hogan lowered his voice a little — “has ordered me to get in touch with you. He’s sending me out with one of our men to see you.”
“Am I in trouble of some kind?” asked Mr. Rogers.
“No, no, no. Nothing like that. But I have something of great importance to talk to you about.”
Within ten minutes “Sergeant Simpson” and “Detective Johnson” were conversing with the surprised Mr. Rogers. Mr. Rogers was a small man. Rather insignificant. He had pale blue eyes. Not much of a chin. A funny little face. He was nervous — a badly frightened man.
Mr. Hogan told the whole story. Somewhat changed. Very much changed. And Mr. Rogers was surprised, but delighted.
He accompanied Mr. Hogan to the cellar. And together they dug up to the suitcase. Took it to the living room, opened it, so that it had not been touched-that it really did hold a small fortune. Bills, bills, bills!
i hope ot helps