White curtains covered the four pane window on the top of the door. She listened carefully as her breath formed little clouds in the still, cold air. There wasn't a sound from inside the house. The temperature was well below freezing, so the frozen spaghetti with meatballs and Chicken a la King casseroles would be fine if she left them by the door in the disposable cooler. But the house was in the middle of the woods. What kind of animals might raid the food stash for their own dinners? If she couldn't let Buck know she had delivered the meals, he probably wouldn't appreciate finding out when a pack of coyotes arrived at his back door looking for an easy dinner solution.
She hit redial on her phone. The same message—his voice mailbox was full and no more messages could be saved to it. A prolonged series of knocks on the door just made her knuckles sore. Her fingers brushed the door knob as her arm dropped. She didn't even try turning the brass knob, but the door clicked open. Amy obsessively locked her house doors and set the high-tech alarm system. Was something wrong that the lights were on, the door was unlocked, but nobody was responding to her knocks? Esther Mae had been murdered. Had her husband met the same fate?
"Hello…anybody home?" Amy called as she crept into the kitchen while clutching the small white cooler. Just as Buck had said, all of the cupboard doors were made of dark- and light-streaked hickory wood. Too late she realized that if the killer was still in the house, she had just announced herself to him.
Then again, maybe Buck was taking a nap. And she had just startled him awake by barging into his home. He could come charging into the kitchen at any moment to face off with an intruder—her. Hopefully he didn't sleep in the nude.
Through the doorway, she could make out a dark colored couch and a pink camouflage recliner in the next room. That was an interesting choice of upholstery fabric. The living room was gloomy and filled with shadows since all of the curtains were pulled shut. The pans inside the Styrofoam chest rattled and squeaked as though she was still bumping over the dirt road. The cooler turned to lead as she listened for a sound. Anything to indicate that another living person was in the home. The only sound was the humming of the nearby refrigerator's motor.
There was no sense toting the meals through the house. She set the cooler on the counter beside her. As she turned back to the living room, a set of glowing eyes in the shadows stared at her. She squealed and stumbled back against the door. The window glass rattled when the back of her head thumped it. She blinked as she held her hand against her chest. The dog-like form that the eyes belonged to didn't move…didn't make a sound. She took a step closer and could make out long grass sticking up around the canine's feet. Grass in a living room?
Slowly she advanced into the room, closer to the inert creature. Every muscle in her body vibrated with fear. She was in the middle of the tidy living room before she realized she was looking at a taxidermy mount of a coyote. Definitely not her idea of chic home decor. Not to mention, a stuffed predator would give her little dog Pogo anxiety attacks. Amy sighed out the breath she had been holding. The next breath she took caught in her throat again as a floorboard behind her groaned.
She spun around. Buck Bates stood in the hallway with a shotgun leveled at her head.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my house," he slurred as the end of the gun's barrel traced circles in the air. His plaid boxer shorts sagged under his potbelly which made him look like he had consumed an inflated basketball for breakfast. The scruffy whiskers he had sported earlier in the week had turned into a thick beard speckled with gray.
Amy shook her head. She had been pretty close when surmising that Buck could've been taking a nap in the nude. Thin underwear wasn't much of a step up. So why was she
She hit redial on her phone. The same message—his voice mailbox was full and no more messages could be saved to it. A prolonged series of knocks on the door just made her knuckles sore. Her fingers brushed the door knob as her arm dropped. She didn't even try turning the brass knob, but the door clicked open. Amy obsessively locked her house doors and set the high-tech alarm system. Was something wrong that the lights were on, the door was unlocked, but nobody was responding to her knocks? Esther Mae had been murdered. Had her husband met the same fate?
"Hello…anybody home?" Amy called as she crept into the kitchen while clutching the small white cooler. Just as Buck had said, all of the cupboard doors were made of dark- and light-streaked hickory wood. Too late she realized that if the killer was still in the house, she had just announced herself to him.
Then again, maybe Buck was taking a nap. And she had just startled him awake by barging into his home. He could come charging into the kitchen at any moment to face off with an intruder—her. Hopefully he didn't sleep in the nude.
Through the doorway, she could make out a dark colored couch and a pink camouflage recliner in the next room. That was an interesting choice of upholstery fabric. The living room was gloomy and filled with shadows since all of the curtains were pulled shut. The pans inside the Styrofoam chest rattled and squeaked as though she was still bumping over the dirt road. The cooler turned to lead as she listened for a sound. Anything to indicate that another living person was in the home. The only sound was the humming of the nearby refrigerator's motor.
There was no sense toting the meals through the house. She set the cooler on the counter beside her. As she turned back to the living room, a set of glowing eyes in the shadows stared at her. She squealed and stumbled back against the door. The window glass rattled when the back of her head thumped it. She blinked as she held her hand against her chest. The dog-like form that the eyes belonged to didn't move…didn't make a sound. She took a step closer and could make out long grass sticking up around the canine's feet. Grass in a living room?
Slowly she advanced into the room, closer to the inert creature. Every muscle in her body vibrated with fear. She was in the middle of the tidy living room before she realized she was looking at a taxidermy mount of a coyote. Definitely not her idea of chic home decor. Not to mention, a stuffed predator would give her little dog Pogo anxiety attacks. Amy sighed out the breath she had been holding. The next breath she took caught in her throat again as a floorboard behind her groaned.
She spun around. Buck Bates stood in the hallway with a shotgun leveled at her head.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my house," he slurred as the end of the gun's barrel traced circles in the air. His plaid boxer shorts sagged under his potbelly which made him look like he had consumed an inflated basketball for breakfast. The scruffy whiskers he had sported earlier in the week had turned into a thick beard speckled with gray.
Amy shook her head. She had been pretty close when surmising that Buck could've been taking a nap in the nude. Thin underwear wasn't much of a step up. So why was she
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