And then it is not.
I’m nearing the back of the house when I pick up a shuffling sound. I go still, a dozen zombie movies playing in my head. The sound isn’t footsteps, though. It’s someone moving objects. A faint clatter. A fainter thump.
The sounds come from the shed.
The intruder has boxed himself in a tiny building with a single exit.
As I move around the shed, I put each foot down as if I’m walking a minefield. My approach is silent, though I’m not sure how necessary that is—he’s making no attempt to hide his movements inside. He’s not bothering with darkness, either, as dim light seeps through the cracks.
I ease to the door. It isn’t even closed. When I peer around, I see a figure with his back to me, pawing through Daisy’s leftover belongings.
I step into the doorway, gun raised.
Then I clear my throat.
Daisy
When that throat clearing sounds behind me, I jump so high, I fall, and in my tumble, I manage to twist and land on my ass. I also manage to grab my knife from the shed floor. I thump down on my ass, knife raised... only to realize the blade isn’t extended.
That’s when I see Celeste standing there, hands behind her back, watching me.
“Jesus!” I say. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“I see that.” She pauses. “Nice instincts.”
I wave the multi-tool. “Yep, one wrong move, and I’d have thrown this at you. Might even have left a bruise.” I pull out the two-inch blade. “Even like this, it’s better for prying off bottle caps than stabbing would-be attackers.”
She eases against the door, one arm dropping to her side as the other rests behind her back. “You gave me a scare. I saw you skulking around the forest.”
“Skulking?” I raise my brows.
She waves it off. “What are you doing out here?”
“Getting the rest of my stuff.” I heft the small backpack. “Not much left out here, but I figured I should bring it in. If we get another intruder, I’d hate for him to steal my”—I reach into the bag and pull out an item—“dental floss.”
“You’re in a good mood tonight.”
Celeste says it with a smile, but a hint of sarcasm slips through, and I hesitate before remembering where I’ve been and who I’ve been with.
“I am,” I say. “That door was in much worse shape than I expected. I thought I’d be there even later. It’s fixed, though.”
She relaxes. “Good.”
“Tom will be coming by tomorrow to help with the window,” I say as I brush off my dirty knees.
Her eyes light up, the distraction doing its job.
She backs out of the shed and says, “I’ll meet you up at the house. And next time you go sneaking through the woods at night, please use a flashlight.”
I lift the penlight. “I did use a...”
But she’s already gone.
I sleepwith a knife under my pillow. Not the little multi-tool one, but a steak knife from the drawer. I’d much rather have my gun. That’s why I went to my shed. Walking back from Tom’s, I’d realized how dark and quiet it was and remembered the break-in. Fetching my gun seemed like a fine idea. Right up until Celeste “caught” me, and I could hardly pull my gun from its hiding spot in front of her.
I tell myself that’s for the best. I can’t risk her finding the gun in my room, either. Better to leave it where it is.
Instead, I have a steak knife and a bedroom door that doesn’t lock. Celeste’s does. A determined intruder could break it easily, but if someone comes looking for her, I don’t want them ending up in my room. So I wedge a chair under the knob.
By now, I’m convinced last night’s intruder wasn’t random. I’m not the only one here with a plan. I just know how to conduct my business with a little more finesse.