Well, she’d let the topic ride until tomorrow, at least. Maybe by then she’d have come up with some tactful way of approaching the subject and Grams would, she hoped, have had a decent night’s sleep.
She opened her laptop. In an instant she was completely engrossed in work.
Finally the numbers began to blur on the screen. She got up, stretching, and walked to the window. Full dark had settled in, and her attention had been so focused on the computer screen that she hadn’t even noticed. Maybe she’d been trying to shut out the human problems that she found so much more difficult to deal with than figures.
Her eyes gradually grew accustomed to the darkness. She could make out the pond now, the forsythia bushes along it, and the pale line that was the flagstone 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.
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