There’s someone up ahead. Is that a little dog beside them? Yes, a man walking his little dog.
I stride forward, faster toward him.
I’ll look when I’m closer to the man and the dog, closer to someone who might help if I need it. I wish Stevie were here with me.
Separated by just a few houses, I make quick eye contact with the dog-walker. He gives me a tight-lipped smile and enough courage to glance in my peripheral, but there’s nothing there. No. It feels like someone’s right behind me.
Chapter 4
You took him from me.
I cast a glance to my right, looking a little farther back. The sidewalk on the other side of the street is empty, but the shadow of something, someone, moves behind me. I catch it from the corner of my eye on the boulevard as the man and his dog get close.
If there was someone behind me, wouldn’t he be looking at them too? His little dog prances past me as if I don’t exist, and each step we both take in the opposite direction tightens my chest. I’m farther from a witness if something happens. Far from safety.
But is a woman walking on her own ever really safe?
I glance over my shoulder, watching for oncoming cars before turning onto my street. Any shadow once there is gone, and I want to catch my breath, but I can’t slow down.
Where did they go? Did they disappear in the fog? Was it someone walking up to one of the houses along the way? Did they hang back, realizing they’d been spotted?
I just want to get back home to Stevie, pour myself a nice glass of Irish whiskey, curl up on the couch, and listen to the music Stokes gave me to learn Pascha’s parts for their set.
The feeling of eyes on me returns, deep as the cold night chill, but I don’t dare look back. I’m too close to home now.
Just keep going.
I reach into my purse as I pass the Hilden’s, grab my keychain, and fumble with it for the front door key. When I reach that door I’ll be ready to let myself in, and lock myself away from whatever trouble lurks in the shadows.
I rush up the path to the porch, dash up the steps, slip the key in the keyhole, twist it and turn the knob. I steel myself for the last moment of vulnerability—for someone to reach out and grab me before I shut the door behind me. In one smooth motion, I close it with a whoosh, and twist the lock again on the other side.
Panting, I flick on the light as Stevie trots out from the living room with her little lamb stuffed animal, grey and brown from the dirt and her drool. She presents it to me and I bend down to rub her head as I shove my keys back in my purse, finally catching my breath.
“Hey girl, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I missed you.” She licks my hand and I pretend to take her lamb away before she wrestles me for it and brings it back to her bed in the living room. I kick off my boots and grab the notebooks from my bag, letting it flop to the bench beside the small front closet.
Each step I take away from the locked door releases some of the tension—a victory.
I turn right into the living room and push the rolled material curtain to the side, peering out onto the dark street. Nothing moves or catches my attention.
Satisfied, I let go of the blind and drop the notebooks on the couch, heading straight for my little bar cart. I pour whiskey from Ron’s amber decanter into a lowball glass and Stevie follows me to the kitchen. I open the door to let her into the back yard and she trots out.
As I wait for her, I pass the kitchen counter to the freezer for some ice and hesitate, taking a step back, staring at my glass from the iced tea I had this afternoon in the sink.
I thought I set it on the counter before I checked Stokes’s initial message? Maybe I moved it before I left?
I take the glass and load it into the dishwasher before grabbing two ice cubes and dropping them into my whiskey glass. I swirl it around, sniffing at the smokey caramel notes.
A scratch comes from the door and through the glass, Stevie stands waiting for me.
“Wipe your paws,” I tell her as I open the door. She circles the mat a few times as I lock the door before following me back into the living room. “Good girl.”
I set my drink on the bar cart and open a little glass jar. I select a peanut butter ball and hand it to her. She darts away with it in her mouth, over to her bed below the three front windows, and settles in with her treat as I take a sip from mine.
Dropping into my favourite golden yellow armchair, I swirl the whiskey around the glass again. It burns before the smooth, robust flavours dance on my tongue. After I swallow, Stevie looks up at me, her cute little face content, and my own nerves settle before I even take my next sip. Leaning forward, I set my drink on the coffee table, reaching for the matchbox. I pull out a match, strike it against the side and a flame ignites.
“Let’s get cozy, okay?” I stare through the dancing flame at Stevie, still smiling at me from her bed, and connect it with the wick of a pillar vanilla spice candle. It takes flame instantly.
Bringing the matchstick close to my lips, I blow it out, inhaling immediately to enjoy the burnt aroma wafting from the last traces of smoke. Taking my drink in one hand and my notebook in another, I lean back
