Whispers of Danger and Love by Janis Lane

ancient, rotting stump to survey the entire yard. Massive overgrown yews meandered wildly, some dead, most beyond recognition as the original gardens sentries. She spotted a wide path almost obscured by grasses and guessed where it would lead. Dusk was not far away. They needed to hurry.
    “I have my bearings now,” Cheryl said firmly. She spotted thorny brambles up the path and tucked her arms to her side. “The peony bed is over in that corner adjacent to the side porch of the house. Just step high and don’t bump into that tickseed or you’ll be wearing most of it. The seeds stick to everything.”
    Too late. Jane had them stuck to her jeans and embedded in her hair, brown accents in the red curls. Cheryl stifled a smile. Her friend was not a plant person and rarely recognized even a dandelion. They’d need to de-seed her later. She didn’t want those seeds spread into her own weed-free gardens.
    They picked their way carefully and slowly through fallen limbs, leaves, and other debris that had collected over the years. A pungent smell of deep woods filled the air with the accumulated bits and pieces of summers past. The last occupant in the gracious old house had been an elderly lady too infirmed to garden and too poor to hire the work done.
    Huge trees, centuries old, shaded them as they wound their way through the overgrowth of weeds and scrap saplings. The setting sun peeked through the branches, flickering in and out. Cheryl would love to rejuvenate this beautiful old garden. Too late now. The property was sold.
    “I always wanted to see the inside of this house,” Jane whispered from behind her. “ Let’s go peek in the window.” She jumped and grabbed Cheryl when they heard a rustle behind them. “What’s that?” she squeaked frantically. “Snakes?”
    “More likely a little chickadee or a towhee.” Cheryl peered in the direction of the noise.
    “Oh, my God! Do they bite?” Jane squeezed Cheryl’s arm painfully as she hid her face.
    “Birds, silly. They are birds that scratch in the leaves hunting for worms and such.” Cheryl grabbed Jane’s hand and pulled her forward.
    “Worms? What kind of worms? Do they bite? Are they slimy?” Jane huddled closer as they walked together toward the house. The windows, beautifully rounded and carved, were higher than they expected. They stood eyeing them pensively for a moment. The silence was broken in an occasional swirl of the dry leaves by puffs of an indolent breeze.
    “There’s a concrete block over there. Help me slide it over closer to the house.” Cheryl waded through the almost-shoulder-high weeds carefully avoiding the tickseed cling-ons and motioned to Jane to help her tug the heavy block.
    “Perfect.” Jane jumped up on the block and peered through the window. “Ewee. Dirty. Nice room though. Wow, wait until you see. The chandelier is still there complete with all the crystals. Must be hundreds of them. They need a good cleaning but still lovely. Here, take a look.” She stepped down and moved over to allow Cheryl to take a peek.
    Cheryl stepped on the block and was squinting through the dirty window when a movement caught her eye and she took a quick breath. Something . . . someone was inside the house. She braced her hands on the wall in front of her and moved closer to peer inside. What was going on? She reached down and grabbed Jane by the shoulder, her finger against her lips shushing her.
    “There’s a man inside with a gun!”
    Jane’s gasp had Cheryl scrambling down and slamming her hand over her friend’s mouth.
    “Quiet!” Cheryl said. “Let me see what’s going on and then we’d better get out of here.” She stepped back on the concrete block and strained to see inside the darkened room. Nothing. Whoever was inside had passed through the room and left.
    Just as Cheryl was about to step down, a man entered the dining room again holding a gun pointed at a second man. She could hear the menacing tone as one threatened