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“I will.” I opened the passenger door and hopped out.
“Don’t forget Betsy.”
“Got it. See you in a few days,” I said.
“Take as much time as you want. Just—just let me know if you’re not coming back.” His voice was forlorn, like he assumed I wasn’t going to work at the Rooster again.
“I’m coming back. I just don’t know when. Gimme a week maybe.” I needed to get through the funeral first.
He nodded.
I was about to close the door when he blurted out, “The sheriff said he’d send one of his deputies by tomorrow.”
Were they going to question me about Tall Guy and his friends’ whereabouts? “For?”
“They need a statement about last night.”
My stomach relaxed. “Oh. Yeah. I’ll be here.”
“Night, darlin’.”
“Night.” I closed the door, grabbed Betsy’s soft carrying case, and watched the truck’s taillights disappear down the long dirt road.
Suddenly, the hairs on my arms stood straight up, and the horses in the barn started nickering. I whipped my head over my shoulder, hugging my shotgun case tightly. My fingers slowly glided up to the top zipper, and I slid down the tab.
The air around me picked up, the breeze unseasonably cold.
With a shiver, I beelined for the front door, digging my key from my purse while clumsily trying to hold my shotgun. Something was out there watching me—I could feel it—but I wasn’t about to run around in the dark, looking for whatever wild animal was lurking. ’Sides, the barn was locked up tight. The horses would be fine.
I rushed inside and deadbolted the door behind me. I leaned Betsy against the wall, grabbed my phone from my purse, and pulled up the security app. It covered the front gate and the entirety of the back of the main house. The Carlins had installed it in case any of the horses ever got out of the stable. The app sent a text to alert if there was movement.
The app showed nothing except Jimmie and me driving in.
This was just like the past few weeks. Something kept spooking the horses at night, but the cameras were never triggered.
I blew out a breath. “Get it together, Masie. Probably just a big ol’ owl.”
I grabbed my purse and Betsy and went to the kitchen, which was really just part of the great room—a twenty-by-twenty space with steep pine ceilings. The room also served as my dining room and living area. I pretty much did everything in here except sleep or read. My books were piled on a shelf next to my bed since that was where I loved to read.
I flipped on the lights and set Betsy on the kitchen island, which served as my breakfast bar.
“Hello, Masie,” said a deep voice behind me.
I froze, fear flooding my body. My eyes slowly gravitated toward Betsy resting to my left on the white tiles. I suddenly realized that the room felt ice cold. He’d come in through the window.
“Do not bother with the shotgun, Masie.”
I swallowed hard. “What do you want?” I asked, trying to figure out exactly where he was in the living room behind me so I could grab the shotgun and point it at him with one fluid motion. I’d just been attacked last night because I’d underestimated a psychopath. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
“You did not sound convinced on the phone,” he said.
He was to my left. “About?”
“You are not to discuss anything with the police regarding the fate of the men from last night.”
“If you didn’t want me to say anything, then why tell me?” I asked, preparing to reach for Betsy.
Suddenly, a shadow swept past me, and Betsy was gone.
