path.
She stiffened. There—by the toolshed. That wasn’t a bush—it was a person. She froze, watching the faint gleam of a shielded light cross the door of the shed.
He was breaking in. She whirled, racing out of the room and across the hall to burst in on her grandmother, who sat up in bed with a Bible on her lap. Barney jumped up, ears pricking.
“Andrea, what—”
“There’s someone prowling around by the toolshed. Call the police and alert Cal. I’m going to turn the outside lights on.”
She could hear Grams protesting as she bolted down the stairs, the dog at her heels.
FOUR
Andrea reached the back door and slapped the switch that controlled the outside lights. They sprang up instantly, bathing the area with soft illumination. The yellow glow was probably intentional on Rachel’s part. It fit well with the style of the two-and-a-half-century-old building, but at the moment, Andrea would rather have harsh fluorescents that lit up every shadowy corner.
She peered through the glass pane in the door, shivering a little. The dog, pressing against her leg, trembled, too, probably eager to get outside and chase whatever lay in the shadows.
The flowers were mere shapes that moved restlessly in the breeze, as if they sensed something wrong. She strained to see beyond the patio. There was the pale outline of the pond, and beyond it nothing but angular shadows.
She heard a step at the top of the stairs behind her.
“I tried Cal, but there was no answer. Perhaps it’s him you saw outside.”
If so, she was going to feel like an idiot for overreacting. “Does he usually look around the grounds at night?” He’d mentioned looking for the prowler, and after their conversation, that seemed likely. The tension eased.
“Sometimes. But I called the police anyway. Now, don’t start worrying about it.” Grams seemed to be reading her mind. “I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
But she couldn’t help the chagrin she felt. City-dweller, jumping to conclusions at the slightest thing.
Well, if so, Cal was the one who’d spooked her, with his talk of prowlers and thieves. He and Uncle Nick had done the job between them.
A heavy flashlight hung on the hook next to the back door, just where Grandfather had always kept one. Clutching the collar of the excited dog, she opened the door, then reached up and took the flashlight.
“Andrea, don’t go out,” Grams said. “I’m sure it’s fine, but wait for the police. Or Cal. He’ll come to the house when he sees all the lights on.”
Obviously Grams wasn’t worried. A little embarrassing, to have her elderly grandmother reassuring her.
“I’ll just step outside and flash the light around. See if I can spot Cal. Or anyone.”
The dog surged forward, tail waving, apparently welcoming this change in his usual routine. Did the waving tail indicate he sensed a friend?
She edged down the two steps to the patio, lifting the flashlight to probe the shadows beyond the pond. Even as she did, the wail of sirens pierced the night.
She must have relaxed her grip at the sound, because Barney pulled free and darted off toward the lane, letting out an excited bark. Turning, she caught a glimpse of what might be a dark figure. Her heart jolted. She swung the light toward it, but the beam didn’t reach far enough to show her anything suspicious.
The dog barked again, a high, excited yip.
If it had been an intruder, he’d be thoroughly scared away by the dog, the lights and the sirens. The lane led to the road—if he went that way, he might run straight into the arms of the police, although he’d hardly be so foolish.
She swung the light back toward the shed where she’d first glimpsed the figure. Everything was still. Reassured by the wail of the police car as it turned in the drive, she crossed the patio, flashing the light around. Nothing seemed to be disturbed.
Cal had said the outbuildings were stuffed to the rafters with furniture. She focused the flashlight on the toolshed. Nothing moved now. The shed was a dark rectangle, with a darker rectangle for the door.
She frowned, trying to pick out details in the shaft of light. Memory provided her with an image of the door as she’d seen it earlier, and tension trailed along her nerves. There had been a padlock on the door. If it was open, someone had been breaking in.
She glanced toward the house. Grams stood in the lighted doorway, peering out.
“Grams, I’m going to check the toolshed. Please don’t come out.”
“Be careful.” Grams sounded a little shaky.
“I will. But if anyone was here, he’s long gone by now.” She called the words back over her shoulder, moving toward the shed. If something had been stolen on her second night here, she was going to feel responsible.
A mental list began to take shape. Get better outdoor lighting, whether it enhanced the ambience or not. Ask the police to make a regular swing by the property. New locks on any building that held something of value. If what Cal had said was right, that could be any of the half-dozen or more outbuildings.
Every building should be properly inventoried. If it hadn’t been done when her grandfather died, it should be done as soon as possible.
Grams and Rachel hadn’t thought of that—their minds didn’t work that way, as Cal had pointed out. Hers did. He hadn’t intended a compliment, but she considered her organizational skills an asset. If her mother had been a bit more meticulous, maybe they wouldn’t have spent so much time evading the bill collectors.
She shook that thought off, because remembering those days gave her a queasy feeling in her stomach and an inclination to check her bank balance, just to be sure she was all right.
Hardly surprising. Other children’s bogeymen had been monsters and snakes. Hers had been collection agencies.
“Barney! Come, Barney.” Her grandmother’s voice fluted over the dark garden.
She glanced back the way she’d come to see the dog’s pale coat as he bounded toward Grams. Apparently Barney hadn’t been in time to take a piece out of their intruder.
Ahead of her, the entrance to the toolshed yawned open, sending a faint shiver of fear across her skin. She hadn’t been imagining things. Someone had been here.
A few steps took her to the shed door. With a vague thought of fingerprints, she didn’t touch it. She’d shine the light inside, that’s all. There was no way of knowing if anything was missing, but at least she could see if it looked disturbed. And get an idea of what she had to deal with.
She leaned forward, light piercing the darkness, giving her a jumbled view of wooden pieces—straight chairs, tables, shelves, even an old icebox, jammed on top of each other…
A quick impression of movement, a dark figure. She couldn’t react, couldn’t even scream as a hand shot out,
