you.” He stalked to me, grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me gently but decisively off. He indicated a point at my feet. “Stand there. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like a cocker spaniel or something?”
“No, though the hair’s about right for an Irish setter. Stay.” With a grin and a hand held up to emphasize the command, he left the room.
I stared at the doorway through which he’d disappeared. I looked at the spot at my feet. With calm deliberation I took my first step. Then my second, and soon I was at the front windows where I had already hung Tuscan Vine. I worked with the folds of the heavy silk fabric, adjusting them to drape just so. I stepped back and eyed the overall effect. I nodded. They looked good, if I did say so myself. Apparently he wasn’t going to say so.
Gray returned, lugging a stepladder that was taller than mine and obviously much sturdier.
“Now you won’t have to stand on the top step, so you can lean into it to keep your balance. No more falls.” He folded my old standby and set up his ladder in its place. It looked strong enough to hold both of us, an unexpectedly cozy thought.
“Now get up there and let me hand you this heavy thing.” He indicated the Tuscan Vine lying on the chair. “Or better yet, let me hang it.”
“That’s all right,” I said as I climbed quickly. I recognized potential disaster when I saw it. “I know what I’m doing.”
He didn’t say a word, merely gathered the fabric in his arms and stood there radiating energy and cooperative spirit. He handed me the top of the panel, and I began attaching it beneath the swag I’d hung earlier. I had to admit that the task was going to be easier now that I didn’t have to both hold the material and attach it.
Movement outside caught my eye. I glanced again at the house kitty-corner from the one I was decorating. The man I’d seen earlier stood at the opening for what I guessed was one day to be the kitchen door. He jumped to the ground. I squinted. What was it about him that was so strange? As I watched, he unscrewed something and stuffed part of it in his pants pocket. The rest he stuck in his waistband at the small of his back, pulling his red shirt over it. After wiping the back of his wrist across his forehead, he peeled flesh-colored gloves from his hands, balled them, and stuffed them in his other pocket. I frowned.
“Gray.” I motioned for him to come look. “The man’s back. He just took off some gloves like the ones doctors wear.”
“Gloves? Why is he wearing gloves in August? And why that kind?”
Like I knew. Shrugging, I moved as far to one side of the ladder as I could so he had room to climb. It vibrated under me as he took the first two steps, then stopped.
“Move to the center,” he said. “I think it will be better if I put one foot on either side of you. Otherwise we’ll be unbalanced.”
I nodded absently and slid to the center, concentrating on the man outside. I blinked in disbelief as he suddenly pulled what could only be a stocking from his head. His features leaped into focus.
“No wonder he looked so funny. He was wearing a stocking over his head.”
“What?” Gray stood on the step below me and tried to peer around me. “Can’t quite see yet.” He slid one foot beside mine, looking down to be sure of its placement. He began to raise himself to slide the other foot in place.
I froze as the man in the yard swiveled his head and looked directly at me. I knew I was highly visible with the westering sun streaming over me, just as he was clearly visible to me, blond hair, hook nose, mustache and all. I’m not very fanciful, but I could feel the malevolence of his stare across the distance and felt goose bumps spring up on my arms.
“What’s wrong?” Gray asked, straightening to peer over my shoulder.
“He’s—” I’d been about to say that he was looking at me, but the sentence changed when he pulled something from the waistband at the small of his back “—got a gun!”
TWO
“He’s got a gun!”
At least that’s what I meant to say. What came out sounded more like I was gargling with a particularly offensive mouthwash. I hurled myself backwards, away from the window, away from the danger.
I slammed hard against Gray who made his own gargling sound. Together we tumbled to the floor, a wild pinwheel of arms and legs. I thought I also heard a particularly heartfelt grunt from Gray when we struck the unforgiving floor. Over the crash of the falling ladder and the terrified beating of my heart, it was hard to discern one sound from another.
There was a brief moment of silence as I lay on my back, breath squished from my lungs by the bone-jarring impact. I stared at the ceiling and the little circles of red dancing across it. I gave a mighty gasp, and oxygen rushed into my depleted system. The red circles disappeared.
A gun! The man had a gun! I had never seen a handgun like that in real life before, and the hairs at the base of my neck twitched as I remembered how one looked pointed directly at me. I rolled off Gray, who had unintentionally buffered my fall, and scuttled on my knees to safety in the front hall.
“Out here should be safe, don’t you think?” I crouched, curled into a ball, and hugged the wall. “He can’t see us here.”
Of course he could decide to walk over to the house and in the unlocked front door that I was staring at. I groaned at the thought, crawled to the door, and turned the lock.
“There!” I pulled myself into a tighter ball. “My phone’s in my purse across the room. You’ll have to call 911.”
Gray didn’t answer, and he didn’t punch numbers. All I heard was a peculiar gasping sound.
“Gray?” I turned, surprised to find he wasn’t in the hall with me. I’d thought he was right behind me. “Gray?” I crawled back to the doorway into the living room and peered in. I clapped my hand to my mouth to stifle a scream. It leaked out anyway.
Gray lay on his back where he’d fallen, his mouth open, his eyes closed, his face covered with blood.
“He shot you!” I crawled toward him. Why, oh why hadn’t I decided to be a nurse rather than an art teacher? “You’re bleeding!”
Gray made that gasping sound again. At least he wasn’t dead.
“Don’t move!” I tried to remember the first aid class I’d taken as part of my health requirement in college. What did you do first? Staunch the blood! That was it. All I had to do was find where the blood was coming from. I put a tentative hand to his head, burying my fingers in his thick hair.
Gray pushed my hand away none too gently, rolled to his side, and pushed to his hands and knees.
“You shouldn’t move.” Gently I tried to push him back to the floor. “Everyone knows you don’t move when you’re shot.”
He resisted my push with a growling sound that reminded me of our neighbor’s ill-tempered schnauzer, Daisy. He gasped again, his back arching like he was doing the cat stretch exercise. Blood poured onto the hardwood floor.
Thank
