Page 120 of Cold, Cold Bones
Birdie’s flight unnerved me. I stood paralyzed, searching my mind for a rational sector.
Run!The usual warning came up from my hindbrain.
What the cat heard is outside.The logic guys countered. If someone is inside, your escape is through that door.
If someone is outside, don’t allow him a way in!
I glanced over my shoulder. The warning light on my security system glowed evenly. There’d been no breach.
The noise is outside. What Birdie heard is outside. Take a look but don’t open the door.
Seemed reasonable.
I scanned the kitchen for a weapon. It wasn’t exactly an armory.
Tiptoeing to the counter, I slid my utensil drawer open and felt for a steak knife. Fingers tight on the handle, I angled the blade backward, dropped my hand, and crept toward the door. Shoulders flattened to the wall, I craned around to peer through the glass.
The shapes in the yard were teased from obscurity by the single yellow bulb glowing on my back porch. The magnolia tree, the holly bushes, the smiling snail. All seemed natural. No lurking figures. No shadowy ripples. The only movement the occasional leaf winking light then dark as it tossed on a breeze.
“Where are you, you bastard?”
My voice sounded gritty, like sand through a sifter. I tried to swallow. My mouth was too dry.
I watched for a few more moments. The scene within my limited field of vision didn’t change.
The wind gusted slightly.
Crick. Tap tap tap.
I jumped and almost cut myself.
The sound was right at my ear. Created by something in contact with the door?
Emboldened by knowing the security system hadn’t been breached, I disengaged the alarm, tightened my grip on the knife, and turned the knob.
An object arced toward the door, then settled against the exterior wood.
I stepped onto the porch to see what it was.
Too late, I heard footsteps. Saw a large form in the darkness.
Whirling to bolt back inside, I caught lightning quick movement in my peripheral vision.
Arms wrapped me, pinning my own to my sides.
27
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY17
Thirty minutes later my adrenals were still in hyperdrive.
And I was still dumbfounded.
Ryan stood across the parlor, watching me sip my chamomile tea. He’d searched inside the annex and outside on the grounds. He’d talked to the patrol team doing their drive-by.
CSU would come in the morning. They’d look for tire treads, footwear impressions. They’d dust for prints. I knew they’d find nothing to suggest the identity of my uninvited visitor. They hadn’t with the eyeball.
Ryan had explained his wee hours arrival. Weather. Delayed flights. Two no-show Ubers. Coming down from near hysteria, I’d missed most of it.
