Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
With a tired sigh, she pushed the folders away. She’d revisit them the next day when her mind was fresh. She needed to get up early. She’d planned a yard sale where she could purge a portion of the stuff she’d cleared from the attic and basement and make some cash at the same time. She’d already printed off flyers, hung them around town. She wondered if it was too late to put up an ad on Craigslist too…get as many people as possible out to the property to cart off some of her aunt’s old possessions for profit.
She hated crowds, but in the effort to make some money and therefore cross a few things off her list, she’d do what she had to do.
Josie unlocked her bedroom door and went down the hall to the bathroom where she brushed her teeth and washed her face. She yawned as she emerged. God, she was tired. It’d been a long, draining day. Emotional. But as she started for her room, a small noise from downstairs met her ears. A squeak. She held still as she listened, her heart rate spiking. Another squeak as though someone was stepping slowly over the hardwood floor downstairs, pausing when he met one of the noisy floorboards. And there was a faint…dripping in the background.
Josie’s breath caught in her throat as she pressed herself firmly against the hallway wall, waiting. Listening. It’s an old house, she told herself. It’s just settling. As though to confirm her thoughts, the pipe from the bathroom rattled in the wall the way it did a few minutes after the sink had been run. Normal. Usual. Nothing to fear.
Still, she waited, listening for another minute, her ears perked. The squeaking stopped, though that faint dripping continued. Had she left the kitchen faucet just slightly on? She must have. When no further squeaks drifted upstairs, she gathered her courage and walked quietly to the top of the stairs, flicking on the light to the foyer below and looking over the railing. Nothing. Her breath came easier as she descended, holding the rail firmly in her grip.
She was just feeling unsettled because of Detective Copeland’s visit, what he’d imparted to her about the recent crime. The dead girl. The memories his visit had evoked.
Outside the front window, headlights moved slowly by on the road in front of her home. Not the officer—he was only going to drive by every hour or so, and she’d watched him from her upstairs window fifteen minutes before.
She turned, walking into the kitchen where she stopped dead in her tracks, a scream rising to her throat at the sight on her kitchen table.
A dead rat. A knife stuck in its stomach, pinning it to the wood, its blood pooling on the surface and running over the edge where it dripped into a puddle on the floor.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
* * *
Zach jumped from his truck and ran toward the well-lit house, pounding his fist at the door. Craig Horton pulled it open, stepping aside to let him enter.
“Horton,” Zach said.
“Cope.”
“Where is she?” he asked as Horton pushed the door closed behind him.
“In the living room to the right.”
Zach patted Horton on the shoulder. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”
“We were just down the road when she called. We’d driven by fifteen minutes before. Nothing seemed out of place. Quiet night.”
Zach turned into the room Horton pointed toward. Josie was curled up on the sofa, a blanket over her knees, golden brown hair curling around her fresh-scrubbed face. She looked younger. Vulnerable. He felt a punch to his gut. She started to stand, but he motioned her down. Walking to where she sat, he took a seat on the same sofa and angled his body toward hers.
“You all right?” he asked, his eyes doing a sweep of her face. She appeared slightly shell-shocked, though her hands, lying in her lap, were steady.
“I am now. That…that thing scared the hell out of me. Someone was in my house, Detective.”
Zach’s skin prickled the way it had when Horton had called him a half hour before. He hadn’t even bothered to shower, even though he’d just finished a workout, had pulled on a pair of track pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and jumped in his truck. He looked back at the officer he also considered a friend. Not a close one, but they’d worked together before, and the guy was solid. “Vogel still doing a sweep?”
“Yeah. We did a sweep of the rooms on the lower floor when we arrived. I stayed with Ms. Stratton while Vogel checked out the upstairs. He’s in the basement now.” As if to confirm his statement, Zach heard a thud from below.
“All good, Vogel?” Horton called into the hallway where Vogel must have left the door to the basement open.