She let herself out the back door and headed for the shed. Surely there was something out there she could use to secure the broken window. Lulu hadn’t been one to let any sort of resource go to waste. She insisted that you never knew when you might need a piece of wood or odd screw or nail or whatever was left over from a project. Better to have it than not.
The shed was actually a good-sized garage, but there was no overhead door. The old-fashioned carriage-style doors no longer hung straight, but they did the job of protecting the interior well enough. Rory lifted the cross board that held them closed, and the doors swung open. She roved the beam of the flashlight over the interior. Lulu’s ancient Volkswagen Beetle stood in the middle. Her aunt had hand-painted colorful flowers on the doors of the little sunny yellow car. She’d loved it as if it were her child. Rory would bet money that the bead necklaces still hung from the rearview mirror and fake flowers remained perched in the little dash vase.
She smiled as she thought of all the times she had been dropped off at school in that flashy bug. The other girls had been so envious of the car. Rory’s wardrobe had been a different story. Church rummage sales and consignment shops had been the places Lulu shopped. Wearing second- or thirdhand clothes never bothered Rory. Well, maybe that once when the snobbiest girl in her class had recognized a dress as one she had cast off. Lulu had reminded Rory that the dress had been far too nice for such a mean girl and that she had looked far prettier in it anyway.
After some digging, Rory found a piece of plywood that looked to be about the right size. Lulu had no fancy battery-operated tools, but she did have an old circular saw and a drill, both of which plugged into an electric outlet.
“Better than trying to attach it by hand.”
Rory found the right tip for the screwheads, then gathered the drill and the plywood and headed back to the house. She would have to come back out and close up the shed when she finished.
A loud engine roared in the distance. Rory stiffened, listened harder. Was it the same one? The white pickup whose occupant had thrown the rock? Surely they wouldn’t come back.
Rather than risk being caught outside if the person or persons did return, she hurried into the house and locked the door. She made it into the home office and turned off the light in the room, then waited. Sound carried in the darkness. The truck could have been a mile or so away. No sooner than the thought occurred, headlights bobbed in the darkness.
The truck braked to a stop in her driveway. The distinct crunch of gravel pierced the air. Her heart thundered even harder. Voices echoed. At least two distinct voices were clear. Both male. The men apparently didn’t care if they woke her.
A deep thud. She jumped. Something had hit the front of the house. Another thud…this time louder. She dared to ease closer to the window. It was too dark to tell for sure, but the two were holding something like…guns.
Fear spiraled through her body.
One jogged back to the truck and opened the passenger-side door. She held her breath. The interior light from the cab gave her a glimpse of what he carried.
Paintball gun?
He closed the truck door and returned to his friend. The thudding started again.
“You hiding in there?” one shouted.
Rory drew back from the window…baffled as to what to do. She didn’t have a weapon. She didn’t dare engage them. Maybe it was better to pretend she wasn’t home or that she was asleep. But who could sleep through the bangs and thuds coming one after the other?
Not to mention the shouting and laughter.
She couldn’t just stand here in the dark. She had to call someone. It was either the police or Chance Rader. She decided on Chance. She eased into the hall, crouched down and tapped his name in her contact list. She’d added his number to her phone even before he arrived at her house.
He answered on the first ring.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she whispered. “There are two men outside, and they’re shooting at my house with what looks like paintball guns.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“You better come out or we’re coming in!” one of the men called.
The shouted words had her pulse racing.
“What was that?” Chance asked.
The sound of his vehicle starting in the background of the call gave Rory some fraction of relief. It wouldn’t take him long to get here. “They said if I don’t come out, they’re coming in.”
“Call 9-1-1. I’m on the way.”
Rory ended the call and did as he instructed. She provided her name and address and answered the necessary questions. Almost immediately she was told officers were en route. The dispatcher asked that she remain on the line until the officers arrived.
Rory squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the shouting and banging now happening at her front door. They had apparently run out of ammo for their paint guns.
“Come on out, bitch!” one of them shouted.
“Here comes the bride,” the other singsonged, “all covered in blood!”
