Page 37 of Little Girls Sleeping
There was no suicide note. It was unclear if Terrance Price had ever spoken to anyone about committing suicide. His behavior had seemed more stable in the past year; those who knew him expressed the belief that his medications seemed to be working.
Katie knew that the medical examiner would rule it a suicide and then the case would be closed. It was troublesome that she hadn’t got to talk to Price about the day he saw Chelsea get into a truck. Her instincts suggested to her that there was at least some truth to his statement. When he was pressed by Detective Templeton, it agitated and confused him, leading him to claim he didn’t remember. It wasn’t surprising that he acted like this; many interviewees didn’t want to talk with the detective. His moods and tactics made people want to get away from him.
A long snore rumbled from under the coffee table. Cisco’s legs twitched, most likely due to a wonderful doggie dream.
Katie leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. Just as on previous nights, she immediately saw Chelsea’s face, sometimes it was her friend Jenny.
Tomorrow was a full day of investigation with many interviews to conduct. She wanted to come at it through the back door, instead of head-on with the parents. She knew Templeton would take care of that interview and obvious things like the autopsy and the preliminary reports from forensics. She was going to talk to the people of Pine Valley first, and would pay a visit to forensics and the ME after Templeton’s mad rush had slowed down.
She scrolled through the crime-scene photographs once again as her eyelids became heavy and then closed. She fell into the dark abyss of much-needed sleep.
A loud crash woke Katie. She sat up and looked around in the darkness, trying to decipher her waking world. It wasn’t clear if she had been dreaming or if there really had been a crashing noise.
Her eyes acclimatized to the dark and she slowly scanned her living room in the dim light. The furniture, shelves, and rug all appeared unchanged. But she didn’t remember turning off the lamp next to her. The house was in complete darkness. She knew she had left the kitchen light on, and a bedroom lamp too.
Where was Cisco?
Instinct told her to keep the lights off and to move around carefully. She stood up, took two steps to a small table, and opened the drawer. There was a stowed Beretta already loaded with one bullet in the chamber. She kept the safety engaged and tucked the gun in her pocket as a precaution.
She glanced at her ornate mantel clock: 1.42 a.m. The sound of the clock seemed to increase in volume.
She moved effortlessly to the front door area and peered outside. Her car was parked in the same position she had left it.
She tried the outside light switch, but nothing happened. She walked quietly back to the couch, bent down, and tried the lamp toggle. Same outcome. Nothing.
She realized that it was most likely a blown fuse or a tripped breaker. It was actually quite common in the old house.
“Cisco? Here…”
Quiet ensued without any sounds to indicate that she wasn’t alone. The only sound she heard was her heartbeat hammering in her ears—rapidly becoming faster.
All the doors were shut tight and she couldn’t feel any draft wafting inside from an open window or door.
“Cisco?” she whispered.
Her question was answered by a low guttural growl emanating from one of the back bedrooms. She slowly moved in that direction, knowing she didn’t need to call for the dog again. Something was wrong, otherwise he would be next to her. It meant that something more urgent had drawn his attention away from her.
She walked down the hallway, stopped, and tried another light switch, confirming that the breaker was off.
Another low rumble floated down the hallway. The skin at the back of her neck and over her scalp prickled, making her shoulders and upper body shudder. She kept moving, now with her weapon drawn, not knowing what she would find.
She stopped at the back bedroom, which had been her parents’. The furniture and artwork had been left the same as Katie remembered it. She had cleared out their personal belongings and clothes, leaving behind two boxes and extra linens in the closet. The bedroom was now a guest room, so she rarely entered it except to look for additional towels or sheets.
As she stood in the doorway, she saw Cisco’s dark outline facing the window, perfectly still.
“Cisco,here,” she whispered.
She saw one of his perked ears move. She knew there was nothing wrong with him. He was standing guard over something.
“Cisco. It’s okay.Here.”
The dog finally moved, and obediently padded next to her, closer than normal.
“Okay, boy. What’s over there?” she asked, just to hear her own voice.
She began to approach the window, which had a blind to keep the light out. She tried to recollect the last time she had looked out that particular window and thought it had been years. It faced out toward the large back yard, framing the older trees and perennial flowers.
Her night vision had enhanced, but she decided to grab a flashlight from one of the nightstand drawers. Balancing her weapon in her right hand and dropping the flashlight in the pocket of her robe, she took hold of the blind string with her left hand and tugged hard.
