“Maybe he was a little too taken with that mare swishing her tail in his face in the homestretch. Hormones will distract a male.”
“So I’ve noticed,” his aunt retorted. “Are you planning to swing by the house?”
“I wasn’t. Why?”
“There’s something I left in that old bureau upstairs. I’d like to get it, as long as we’re already in the vicinity.”
“I thought you cleaned out every bureau and closet before you moved in with me.”
“Well, I forgot this. Sue me.”
“Okay, okay. We’ll go by the house.”
“Thank you,” she said with a bite of sarcasm.
“You’re welcome,” he replied with the same edge.
Kevin knew there was something more going on with his aunt than some forgotten personal item she couldn’t do without. He had walked through every inch of that house with her a dozen times to be sure nothing of real or sentimental value had been left behind. No, she was up to something, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what.
He began to get a worrisome idea when he noticed that the wrought-iron gate was unlatched. But how had Aunt Delia guessed that there might be a trespasser on the property, particularly the trespasser Kevin’s gut told him was at this very moment trampling down weeds?
“Looks like someone’s here, doesn’t it?” his aunt said, not sounding especially surprised or worried by that fact.
“Probably kids,” Kevin retorted, though he didn’t believe any such thing. More than likely it was Ms. Gracie MacDougal, up to no good. Kids were scared to death of the place. He’d planted several hints that the old house was crawling with ghosts. Kids hadn’t been near it since, according to the neighbors who kept an eye on it for him. They huddled outside the gate, occasionally slipped inside and went as far as the front step on a dare. But at the first creak of the old, rotting wood, they dashed for safety.
No, the only person with the curiosity and the pure gall to be sneaking around was Gracie.
“Go visit Mrs. Johnson,” he instructed his aunt.
“Why on earth would I want to do that? You know she hates people dropping by unexpectedly.”
“Not as much as I hate the prospect of both of us getting clobbered over the head with something if we’re wrong about what’s going on here. Please, just apologize and stay with her until I come for you.”
“You think it’s that MacDougal girl, don’t you? And you don’t want me to meet her.”
“Okay, yes. I think it’s probably Gracie. And I don’t want you to meet her. What puzzles me is how the heck you knew she’d be sneaking around here.”
“Me?” she protested. “I’ve been with you all day. How could I know anything? I resent you thinking I would do something sneaky and lowdown like luring you over here just so you could bump into her again.”
Which, of course, was a little too emphatic and detailed a denial not to be the exact opposite of the truth.
“We’ll discuss your scheming later,” he said. “Just go see Mrs. Johnson and stay there.”
“Fine,” she said with an indignant little huff and headed off toward her longtime neighbor’s house.
Kevin watched her departure with admiration. She was quite an actress. The local theater group could have used her skills in their recent production of Arsenic and Old Lace.
Once he saw that Mrs. Johnson was, indeed, home and had invited his aunt inside, he stepped through the open gate into Aunt Delia’s yard. It really was a disgrace, he conceded, though at the moment the tall grass, dandelions, and buttercups allowed him to pinpoint exactly which was the intruder had gone. He turned to the left and followed the trampled weeds.
He’d give Gracie MacDougal credit for being brazen. She’d probably found a way inside and was already measuring for curtains.
The path she’d left took him around the back of the house. Sure enough, it stopped right beside the steps to the glassed-in back porch, which his aunt alternately described as her sunroom or her garden room. Once it had been filled with pots of blooming plants, but now those very same plants were decorating her parlor at his place. He’d had to knock out a whole damned wall practically and replace it with windows until the lighting suited her and her philodendrons, or whatever the hell they were.
Of course, at the moment, that was neither here nor there. At the moment, he needed to figure out exactly where his quarry had slipped off to. It didn’t look as though she’d broken in. Every window was intact and the door was firmly closed. He tested the lock and it held. So where the dickens was she? Surely she hadn’t vanished into thin air.
Suddenly his eye caught a glimpse of bright yellow where it had no business being, right on the bottom branch of the oak tree shading the side of the house. He shimmied up the tree and reached for the scrap of cloth. Silk, either from a blouse or a scarf. It was a nice, sunny shade, too, perfect for Ms. MacDougal’s coloring. He’d bet she looked like a million bucks when she’d left home. He wondered if she looked half as good now that she’d scaled a tree and shredded her clothing.
He glanced up a little higher and saw what had attracted her. The second-floor window was wide open. He had left it cracked himself, to allow some air to stir in the place and keep it from getting musty. It had never occurred to him that anyone, not even the neighborhood kids, would spot it and break in. But, then, he hadn’t known about Gracie MacDougal a few months ago.
Kevin considered scrambling down and using his key to go in the back door, but concluded that would be a tactical mistake. Though she probably didn’t know it yet, Gracie was trapped inside. All the doors had deadbolt locks requiring keys to open them from inside or out. If he entered the
