creepy-crawler performing a rapid acrobatic climb toward the ceiling.
She shivered again, albeit with some relief. If she hadn’t verified that thing’s whereabouts, she’d be rushing upstairs right now and pouring a can of bug spray over her hair. She drew in a shaky breath and suddenly the task ahead seemed insurmountable. It wouldn’t cost much to hire someone else to finish cleaning this part of the house.
“Grow up, Miss Muffet,” she muttered. “You know the basement’s not the problem.”
It’s the waiting.
After an entire week, she was no further ahead now in proving Anthony’s guilt than before. Lily hadn’t known what to expect, but not this. In the back of her mind, she’d believed someone would investigate Anthony. No one had. Nor was there any indication of intent to do so.
Her dilemma remained in what to do next. Keep a low profile, of course, but for how long? Every passing day lessened her ability to gain traction on clearing Jerry’s name. It didn’t lessen the threat of Anthony though, as proven by Lily’s call to her landlord. He’d said the vandalism done to her apartment must’ve been random. Right. Then again, proof wasn’t growing on trees these days.
She grudgingly had to thank Sheriff Walker; although it was doubtful he’d believed her claims about Jerry. At least he’d delayed his report even if there was little else he could do.
Tiny fingers skipped along her spine at the remembered husky baritone when he’d checked in with a follow up. It’d been a simple phone call for goodness sakes. How old was she? Twelve?
Taking the broom, Lily set about alleviating her frustration through physical methods. An hour later, she glanced down and grimaced at the dust on her metallic blue running shorts. Goody, she’d get to do laundry after finishing here. Of course, she could laze around on the deck some more. The success of her tan was reaching competition levels.
She was bending down to scoop the last of the dust into the dustpan when brightness shone from the previously darkened window above her. Perplexed, she cocked her head back. She squinted to discern the object through the frosted glass. Someone’s legs?
Anthony! She shoved her body forward, smashing her cheek against the cold concrete wall. Her heart accelerated through her tank top as she tried to recall the location of the basement window from the outside. There hadn’t been one. Is this another funky room?
The legs moved again and she bit back a yelp and huddled closer into the wall, praying the glass too obscure to see through. Seconds passed and Lily knew she had to act. Her hand shook as she grappled for the cell phone at her waist and dialed 911. A male voice answered.
She kept the volume of her voice low. “This is Lily Delaney at 277 Main and someone’s in my house.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to speak up,” the man said. “Did you say someone broke into your house?”
“Yes,” Lily whispered a little louder and cast a furtive glance above her.
“Where are you?” he asked again and frustration battled with fear.
‘It’s 277 Main,” she clarified. “Please hurry.”
“Got it. Is the intruder still there?” he asked.
“Yes. Please hurry,” she pleaded again.
“Ma’am hang in there and don’t….We’ll…someone…there…possible…”
Lily’s horror increased as the cell phone broke up.
“Hello, are you there? Please answer,” she rasped, but the call had disconnected.
Blowing in and out to keep her breath even, she peeked up at the window. Dark again. What did that mean?
Too petrified to move, after what seemed an eternity, but could only be minutes, she heard a faint shouting. Pounding on the front door followed. She finally detected the words, Sheriff’s Department, and galvanized into action. In reckless abandon, she raced up the stairs to the front door. Seeing the uniform through the glass, Lily yanked open the door and fell headlong into the arms of the man on
She shivered again, albeit with some relief. If she hadn’t verified that thing’s whereabouts, she’d be rushing upstairs right now and pouring a can of bug spray over her hair. She drew in a shaky breath and suddenly the task ahead seemed insurmountable. It wouldn’t cost much to hire someone else to finish cleaning this part of the house.
“Grow up, Miss Muffet,” she muttered. “You know the basement’s not the problem.”
It’s the waiting.
After an entire week, she was no further ahead now in proving Anthony’s guilt than before. Lily hadn’t known what to expect, but not this. In the back of her mind, she’d believed someone would investigate Anthony. No one had. Nor was there any indication of intent to do so.
Her dilemma remained in what to do next. Keep a low profile, of course, but for how long? Every passing day lessened her ability to gain traction on clearing Jerry’s name. It didn’t lessen the threat of Anthony though, as proven by Lily’s call to her landlord. He’d said the vandalism done to her apartment must’ve been random. Right. Then again, proof wasn’t growing on trees these days.
She grudgingly had to thank Sheriff Walker; although it was doubtful he’d believed her claims about Jerry. At least he’d delayed his report even if there was little else he could do.
Tiny fingers skipped along her spine at the remembered husky baritone when he’d checked in with a follow up. It’d been a simple phone call for goodness sakes. How old was she? Twelve?
Taking the broom, Lily set about alleviating her frustration through physical methods. An hour later, she glanced down and grimaced at the dust on her metallic blue running shorts. Goody, she’d get to do laundry after finishing here. Of course, she could laze around on the deck some more. The success of her tan was reaching competition levels.
She was bending down to scoop the last of the dust into the dustpan when brightness shone from the previously darkened window above her. Perplexed, she cocked her head back. She squinted to discern the object through the frosted glass. Someone’s legs?
Anthony! She shoved her body forward, smashing her cheek against the cold concrete wall. Her heart accelerated through her tank top as she tried to recall the location of the basement window from the outside. There hadn’t been one. Is this another funky room?
The legs moved again and she bit back a yelp and huddled closer into the wall, praying the glass too obscure to see through. Seconds passed and Lily knew she had to act. Her hand shook as she grappled for the cell phone at her waist and dialed 911. A male voice answered.
She kept the volume of her voice low. “This is Lily Delaney at 277 Main and someone’s in my house.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to speak up,” the man said. “Did you say someone broke into your house?”
“Yes,” Lily whispered a little louder and cast a furtive glance above her.
“Where are you?” he asked again and frustration battled with fear.
‘It’s 277 Main,” she clarified. “Please hurry.”
“Got it. Is the intruder still there?” he asked.
“Yes. Please hurry,” she pleaded again.
“Ma’am hang in there and don’t….We’ll…someone…there…possible…”
Lily’s horror increased as the cell phone broke up.
“Hello, are you there? Please answer,” she rasped, but the call had disconnected.
Blowing in and out to keep her breath even, she peeked up at the window. Dark again. What did that mean?
Too petrified to move, after what seemed an eternity, but could only be minutes, she heard a faint shouting. Pounding on the front door followed. She finally detected the words, Sheriff’s Department, and galvanized into action. In reckless abandon, she raced up the stairs to the front door. Seeing the uniform through the glass, Lily yanked open the door and fell headlong into the arms of the man on
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