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I thought it had to do with the traveling. I can do my consulting from anywhere, so I can continue to work no matter where I am. I spent fall in New York City with my sister Gerry because everyone should experience walking in Central Park at least once while the leaves are golden. There was the trip to California for a convention where I took the time to see monk seals and wine country, then there was the girls’ trip to Vegas with my sisters.
My inability to sleep worsened, so I decided to find a place and settle down. Unfortunately, it’s only gotten worse.
“Meow.” I look at Meredith. She’s a stray calico I just adopted yesterday. Not sure how I’ll travel with her, but I’ll figure it out. I always do. She does not look happy with my late-night wandering.
“Sorry, sweetie. Mama needs to have a snack. You can go back to bed.”
She gives me a look of disdain, then abandons me for the warm bed. I shake my head and turn toward the stairs for my after-midnight feeding.
As I round the corner, I hear a suspicious sound, something different than the usual creaks and groans of a house over a century old. I stand on the top stair, listening. Maybe I imagined it. I close my eyes because everyone knows that you can hear better with your eyes closed.
There. It sounds like something is at the door. What the freakity freak? I want to hide in my bed, but I creep down the stairs instead. Yes, I know, not smart, but I’ve been working on nine hours of sleep over the last three nights. The doorknob to the front door jiggles, then I hear a low masculine curse.
Oh, well, sorry to irritate my intruder.
“Probably changed the locks, so I’m forced to go see the old bat.”
That sounds like someone who knows Estella. But why would anyone try to break into the house if they knew her? And who would go see her after trying to break in?
It’s then that I remember my phone in my PJ bottoms pocket. I pull it out and dial 911. It takes two rings for someone to pick it up.
“Yeah?”
“Josh?” I whisper. “This is Avery O’Bryan. I’m staying in Estella’s house on Preston Road.”
“You mean Jon’s house?”
“She said that she owned it.”
“I’m sure she does, but everyone knows Jon stays there when he’s in town.”
Really? Does anyone else have an issue with getting help in a small town? Only I would have to talk to the town sheriff, who apparently is the 911 operator tonight, and discuss the ownership of the house that’s being broken into.
“Did you just call to tell me you’re staying there?” His voice is easygoing with a hint of humor.
“No, that’s not why I called.” I try to make my whisper as fierce as I can.
“Oh, then why did you call?”
I roll my eyes. Why do people always think I’m an idiot? I know I’m different, but I should be taken seriously. “Someone’s trying to break in.”
“Be right there.”
He hangs up so fast it leaves me blinking. I peek around the corner and notice the handle wiggling again. There is also more muttering.
Dammit! The house is at least five minutes away from the police department. At least, I think so, trying to get my sleep-deprived mind to work. Things tend to get a little confusing when I’m deep in one of my bouts of insomnia.
I try to come up with something to protect myself. I’m small, only a few inches over five feet, but I’m scrappy. My brother Fritz taught me how to defend myself, but one thing he told me was not to take on someone bigger unless I had to. He always told me to use anything to help. I remember a baseball bat in one of the rooms. I hurry to get it just in case.
When I return to the stairs, the front door opens.
Fear hits me first. It’s a small town, and everyone knows everyone else, so the fact that the guy knows Estella means nothing. She’s the wealthiest woman in the entire county. I hate being scared, and because of that, I know I’m not thinking straight with only about ten hours of sleep over the last few days.
My terror fades as rage rushes through me. How dare some dude do this? He has no right to scare me or intrude into my space. Before I can talk myself out of it, I launch myself down the stairs, screaming like a banshee.
The figure stops his forward progress, probably stunned by my screech. I trip over the last two steps in my rush to get down the stairs. All of a sudden, I’m flying through the air. He catches me with an oof but tumbles backward. We both crash back over the threshold onto the massive front porch. The baseball bat goes flying and lands on the porch with a loud thunk.
The first thing I notice is how good the intruder smells. Bergamot, tobacco, and something else I can’t discern tickles my nose. I had no idea burglars smelled so delicious.
