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Chapter 1
As Julia bumped down the cratered driveway beside her house, she pressed the transponder and waited for her garage door to heave itself upward. One of these days she’d replace it, but her struggling restaurant sucked up all her available cash. Madeline’s had to come first.
When the garage door stopped moving, she slid her Forester into its usual slot beside her neighbor’s Prius. Jenny rented a room in a house a few doors down with no garage space. The extra two hundred dollars she paid Julia every month was a godsend.
Exiting the garage, Julia stepped into the moonlight-dappled back yard of her house and stared at her shaggy grass. Time to mow. Again. Hadn’t she just done that last week? Sighing, she added it to her already-too-long to-do list.
The gas grill she’d bought stood as a ghostly sentinel in the yard, reminding her how optimistic she’d been when she bought this house. She’d grill on her day off. Create meals for her friends. But she hardly used the thing. She cooked six days a week. On Mondays, when the restaurant was closed, she wanted to relax.
One of the cheap patio chairs lay on its side, blown over by the wind. She straightened it as she walked past and trotted up the steps to her back door.
Frowned when she noticed the light on in the kitchen. She always turned off the lights when she left the house -- she prided herself on being as green as possible. But just as important, turning off the lights saved money on her electric bill.
She glanced at the bright ceiling fixture as she stepped into her kitchen. When she’d left that morning, her mind had been on her restaurant and the new steak and new vegetarian menu items they were adding this week. She must have been too distracted to notice she’d forgotten to hit the light switch.
Tossing the brown paper bag holding her dinner onto the tiny kitchen table, she walked through the dining room to the small closet beside the front door. Hung up her jacket. Her gaze skimmed the living room as she headed back to the kitchen and her delayed dinner. She froze. Drew in a sharp breath.
Someone had been in her house.
Was he still here?
She edged toward the front door, fumbling with the doorknob as her gaze swept the room. Settled on the magazines she’d left neatly stacked on the end table.
Now the top issue was skewed a little. Most people wouldn’t notice. But Julia’s tidiness was too ingrained. Too much a part of who she was.
The book she’d been reading was tucked into the tiny wooden book holder on her wall. But the cover faced the wall instead of the room.
Panicking as she wondered if someone was hiding in one of the other rooms, she struggled to unlock the front door. As she twisted the bolt, Julia cataloged the room. A plant had been moved slightly from its spot, as well. Her bookshelves were still orderly, but a gap separated one bookend from its books.
Her heart racing, her hands clammy with sweat, she finally wrenched the door open. Stumbled onto her front porch, the cool air soothing her hot cheeks.
Fumbling her phone from her pocket, she managed to press 911. When the dispatcher came on the line, Julia whispered, “I think someone’s been in my house. Might still be there.”
“If you’re in the house, please go outside,” the dispatcher said calmly. “The police are on their way.”
“I’m outside,” Julia said, her teeth chattering as she imagined someone in her bedroom, waiting for her.
“Good,” the dispatcher said. “Move toward the street. Away from the door.”
Julia swallowed. Took a deep breath to steady herself. “I’ve already done that.” From a distance, a siren wailed, its volume increasing. Getting closer.
“May I have your name?” the dispatcher said, her voice steady. The complete opposite of how Julia felt.
But she needed to get a grip. She drew in a breath. Huffed it out. “I’m Julia Stewart.”
By the time the black and white cruiser turned the corner onto her street, Julia was balanced on the curb. She stepped back onto the grass as the siren cut off abruptly and the car pulled to the curb in front of her.
“You Julia Stewart?” the officer asked as he stepped out of the car.
“Yes,” she answered. “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”
His face softened a little. “That’s my job,” he said. “I’m Officer Daley. You think someone’s in the house?”
“I’m not sure,” Julia answered. She mentioned the light in the kitchen, the things out of place in the living room. “Instead of checking the house myself, I called 911.”
“Smart thing to do,” the officer said. “I’ll check for you.”
“Thank you.” Wrapping her arms around herself -- it was May, but spring was cool in Seattle -- she watched Daley disappear into her house. Ten minutes later he came back outside.
