“That’s no mouse.” Vicky hammered at the door. “Hello! Hello! Is anyone in there? We’re calling the police.”

  I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I identified myself, gave my address, and gasped out that I needed help. Someone might be trapped.

  “Is this person in immediate danger?”

  “I don’t think so, but … I don’t know.”

  “I’ll send someone as soon as I can, Merry,” the dispatcher said. “But there’s been a major incident in a neighboring town, and all available units have been dispatched.”

  “What sort of incident?” Vicky asked.

  “Turn on the news,” she said. “Meanwhile, you keep this line open and tell me if the situation escalates.”

  “Get someone here as soon as you can. We’ll call you back.” Vicky plucked my phone out of my hand and hung up.

  “What’d you do that for?” I asked.

  “I’m not waiting around.” She hit the door again with her fist. “The police have been notified! We’re coming in!”

  She twisted the door handle. Nothing happened. She threw herself against the door. Nothing happened to the door, but Vicky said, “Oof,” pulled a face, and rubbed her shoulder. Mattie barked.

  We looked at each other. And then, between the barks, we heard it again.

  “Shush, Mattie, shush.” I grabbed his muzzle and tried to keep it closed. I wasn’t entirely successful, but it gave us enough of a quiet break that this time the sound came clear and distinct.

  Definitely a human cry and definitely coming from inside this house. Mattie barked all the louder.

  “Might be easier access around the back,” Vicky called as she ran down the steps. “You stay here and wait for the police.”

  “I’m not too stupid to live,” I said, “even if you are. I’m coming too.” I set the flashlight on my phone, and Mattie and I followed Vicky through a gate at the side of the house.

  The property was nicely maintained. A brick path weaved between trees pruned back and bushes wrapped tightly in burlap. Fall leaves were raked and flower beds turned over.

  The lights at the back of the house were off, but my beam of light shone on a wide wooden deck, now empty of furniture and flowerpots, stretching out from the back of the house. Sliding glass doors opened onto it. Vicky had climbed the steps, and she was attempting to peer into the house with the help of her own phone. I could see a kitchen, thoroughly modernized, looking never to have been used. Only two objects lay on the large center island. One was a cell phone. I knew that sparkly pink case. I also recognized the tin cookie container, the top with a painted scene of a horse and carriage prancing through the snowy woods.

  The cry came again, and this time I could make out the word. “Help!”

  “Someone’s trapped in there. We have to get inside,” Vicky said.

  If the residents of the house hadn’t heard us knocking, they couldn’t miss Mattie’s barking. It was getting frantic now. On the other side of the long wooden fence surrounding the property, a light came on.

  Over all the years we’d been best friends, Vicky had been the brave one, the bold one, the one rushing into things. I’d been the timid one, the one checking the situation out first. Obviously nothing had changed. “We can’t just break in,” I said.

  “Sure we can. I don’t suppose you have a hammer handy.”

  “No, I do not have a hammer handy.”

  She swept the weak beam of light across the empty deck and onto the lawn. Something glittered as the light hit it, and Vicky let out a cry of triumph.

  A bird feeder lay on the brown grass. The metal post had rusted and collapsed. Vicky leapt down the steps, crossed the lawn, and grabbed it. Then she was back, yelling, “Get Mattie out of the way, Merry.”

  I grabbed the increasingly frantic dog by the collar and attempted to pull him away. When Mattie didn’t want to move, he didn’t move. “Wait!” I screamed. I tore off my coat and threw it over the dog’s head, hoping to at least protect his eyes if shards of broken glass flew. Then I turned, bent my head, and wrapped my arms around my neck.

  Vicky hit the door. Once, twice. On the third blow I heard glass shattering and falling to the deck.

  “What’s going on over there!” a man called from the neighboring house. “I’m calling the police.”

  “Please, do,” Vicky yelled back.

  “It’s Merry Wilkinson,” I shouted. “Someone’s in trouble over here.”

  I straightened up and turned around. One pane of glass was completely shattered, glistening shards scattered across the deck. Mattie was trying to toss the coat away while Vicky pulled her own coat off and wrapped it around her right arm. “Stand back,” she said to me as she used the protected arm to sweep broken glass from the doorframe.

  “In here! I’m in here!” a weak voice called.

  Vicky, followed by Mattie and then me, stepped over the doorframe and into the house.

  The kitchen was large and totally modern, with granite countertops, glistening steel appliances, an induction stove, pale hardwood floors, marble-topped island. Interior walls had been ripped out, opening the space to the living and dining areas.

  New residents moved in here more than a week ago, but it looked as though they hadn’t taken advantage of the amenities. The trash can was full of pizza boxes, crumpled paper napkins, and takeout coffee cups. Pop cans and beer bottles crowded the countertop next to the sink. No toaster or coffeepot on the counter, no kettle on the stove. No canisters of sugar and flour. No washed coffee mugs or wineglasses on the drying rack. Not even a drying rack, or dish towels tossed over the handle of the oven.

  A closed door was on the other side of the island, and something larger than a mouse was thumping inside it.

  Vicky ran around the island and wrenched open the door while I fumbled for a light switch, found it, and threw it on. The pantry shelves were empty of tins and jars or wintering fruits and vegetables; no boxes were on the floor. The only thing in the room was Mabel D’Angelo, crouched in a corner, feet bound, hands tied in front of her and fastened by a long rope to a shelf attached to the wall. Her eyes were wide, her hair disheveled, her wrists torn and bleeding. A rough cloth was wrapped around her chin. I guessed it had been used to gag her, but she’d managed to work it out.

  For the briefest of moments, Vicky and I simply stood there, staring. And then we both leapt forward.

  “Knife,” Vicky yelled. “Find a knife.”

  I ran back to the kitchen and pulled open drawers. All were empty.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Vicky said. “The police are coming. Merry, if you can’t find a knife, run home and get one.”

  “Where’s Mattie?” The big dog hadn’t rushed to Mrs. D’Angelo’s side. He wasn’t attempting to comfort her or sniffing around for dog biscuits, and he wasn’t getting in Vicky’s way.

  Instead he was in the dining room, standing at an old door on the far side of the room from the kitchen, leading to what was likely the cellar. The only furniture was a couple of straight-backed chairs and a small folding card table. A group of cardboard boxes were stacked against the walls.

  I stepped cautiously forward, and even more cautiously twisted the handle and eased open the cellar door. I peered down into the darkness, and then I found the light switch on the wall. The stairs were steep, the light poor, and the scent of damp walls and decades of mold rose up.

  Mattie got past me before I could stop him and hurtled down the stairs, still barking.

  Above the damp and the mold, I caught the smell of something strong and unpleasant. I started cautiously down the steps, taking care to watch my footing.

  Unlike the rest of the house, the cellar had not been updated. The steps were steep, narrow, and rickety. The walls were stone, and the beams holding up the ceiling were formed from whole tree trunks. The furnace hummed softly.

  The space was crammed full of modern equipment and stacks of cardboard boxes. The glow of small green and yellow lights indicated the equipment was switched on. I couldn’t identify most of it, but I didn’t worry about that now.

  Mattie’s barks had turned to a low whine. He stood above an unmoving shape on the concrete floor. I took another cautious step down. Mattie turned his head to look at me. The shape did not move.

  It was a woman. She wore tight jeans, a baggy sweater, and sneakers. She lay on the concrete floor, face down, arms thrown out to the sides, a river of sleek blond hair spread out around her like a halo. The weak light from the single bulb in the ceiling glistened off a pool of dried blood beneath her.

  Chapter Seven

  I took a cautious step down and then another. Mattie nudged the woman with his nose. She didn’t react.

  “For heaven’s sake, Merry, what are you doing?” Vicky called. “I need a knife here.”

  I hesitated, and then I decided Mrs. D’Angelo was more in need of help right now than this unmoving woman. I summoned Mattie, and he eventually, reluctantly, came. We climbed back up the steps. I left the light on and the cellar door open.

  “Merry, what’s happening?” Doug Kincaid, who lived next to this house, stepped through the broken glass door into the kitchen. “I called the police. Do you need help?”

  “Yes, yes, we do,” Vicky said. “I need a knife.”

  “What for? Oh my gosh,” he said. “Mabel, what are you doing in there?”

  I came into the kitchen to see him pulling a penknife out of his pocket and joining Vicky in the pantry. Mrs. D’Angelo’s sobs filled the kitchen.

  A moment later, Vicky emerged, and then Doug half carrying Mrs. D’Angelo. He was not a young man, and he was clearly struggling, but my landlady’s legs were all rubber. Vicky slipped one of her arms over her shoulders and looked around the kitchen, searching for someplace to put her.

  “Hi, Merry,” Doug said, as though this were a normal neighborly encounter.

  “Chairs in the dining room,” I said. “She needs to sit down.”

  A weeping Mrs. D’Angelo was helped into a chair. Vicky crouched next to her and rubbed at her feet. Her hands were torn and bleeding. Doug hovered nearby, wanting to help but unsure of what he could do.

  I kept my voice low and half turned from my landlady. I didn’t know if she was capable of understanding, but I didn’t want to add to her distress. “Someone’s in the cellar. A woman. Dead, by the look of it.”

  Vicky pushed herself to her feet. She and Doug stared at me open-mouthed.

  “You two stay here. I’ll go down and have a quick check.” At that moment, we heard the sound of sirens approaching, and I let out an enormous sigh of relief.

  “I’ll wave them down and let them in.” Doug ran for the front door, and moments later medics and police flooded into the house.

  “The cellar,” I said. “Someone … something’s down there. You need to check it out. Right away.” I pointed to the old door now standing open. “Careful. The steps are steep, and it’s dark.”

  “I’m on it,” an officer said as he turned. He called over his shoulder, “Campbell, you stay with these people. No one’s to leave until we’ve checked all this out.”

  Vicky and I went into the kitchen. We huddled close together against the far counter. We stood there, watching. I kept a firm hand on Mattie’s collar. His entire body quivered, but he stayed by my side. The police would not thank us for getting dog hair and drool in all the forensic evidence they’d be searching for.

  “What on earth has been going on here?” Officer Candice Campbell said to us as she came into the kitchen. Past her, I could see medics giving Mrs. D’Angelo a quick check over and then helping her onto a stretcher. I was pleased to see that although she was wobbly, she was able to stand with minimal assistance. Doug remained in the background, pressed up against a far wall, watching. Mrs. D’Angelo was wheeled away, past more uniformed police flooding into the house as word spread they were needed.

  From the cellar, a man yelled, “Get medics down here. ASAP.”

  “I have absolutely no idea,” I said in answer to Candy’s question. “Your colleague in the cellar might need some help. We’ll stay here. Promise.”

  I smiled my most innocent smile, and she gave me a stern look in response before going to help her partner. Candy and I, as well as Vicky, had been in the same class all through school. She and I had never been friends, and all these years later I still sometimes thought she was hoping to catch me getting myself into trouble.

  “You found a body down there?” Vicky whispered to me.

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure she was dead.”

  “An old one? Like, bones and stuff?”

  “No. Recent enough the blood was still wet.” I swallowed heavily. “Looked that way, anyway. I didn’t get close. The light wasn’t good.”

  “Geez,” Vicky said.

  Mattie let out a low whine and pressed himself into my leg. I ran my shaking fingers through the long thick hair on his head, seeking, and finding, comfort there.

  “You don’t think? Mrs. D?” Vicky asked in a whisper.

  “I can’t see her killing her kidnapper and then tying herself up in the pantry for us to find.”

  “No,” Vicky agreed.

  Candy came up from the cellar, shouting into her radio that the second ambulance didn’t need to hurry. Another officer was talking to Doug. All Doug was doing was shaking his head.

  Mattie let out a low whimper, and when I looked down at him, he was licking his right front foot. On the kitchen floor, a few drops of blood marked his passage through the house.

  “Hey there.” I couched down next to him. “Let me have a look.” I lifted the paw and studied it. He licked my face. “He’s stepped in some glass. The foot’s cut.”

  “Let’s wait outside. No one said we had to stay right here,” Vicky said. “You take one end, and I’ll take the other. We don’t want him walking through any more glass.” Between us, grunting and groaning, we managed to wrestle the dog through the broken door without him touching ground. “He needs to go on a diet,” Vicky panted when we were on the deck, I was crouched beside him, and Mattie was licking his sore foot.

  “He is what he is.” I took the foot gently in my hand. “As I recall, I wanted a small dog. A Pekingese, maybe, or a fluffy little bichon frise. But no, you needed homes for your cousin’s unwanted Saint Bernard puppies.”

  “Can you say you’ve ever been sorry?”

  “Can’t say that, no.”

  At that moment, Mattie forgot his injury, pulled his foot out of my hands, and leapt to attention. His liquid brown eyes sparkled, his ears stood up, his tail wagged furiously. His idol had arrived.

  Detective Diane Simmonds walked into the kitchen and stepped through the shattered door to join us on the deck. “Matterhorn, sit,” she commanded. “This is not a social call.” Mattie sat.

  “First things first,” she said to me. “Don’t let him put any weight on that foot. If a piece of glass is embedded, we don’t want it getting pushed in further. If it’s worse later or doesn’t stop bleeding soon, take him to the vet. In other matters, Mabel’s been taken to the hospital. The medics say she’s severely dehydrated and has some bad cuts and chafing but otherwise appears to be unharmed. Physically, at any rate. Your neighbor Mr. Kincaid says he heard you two yelling; he came to investigate and found Mabel tied up in the pantry.”

  Vicky and I nodded.

  “Not to mention a dead woman in the cellar. Recently dead, by the looks of it. Very recently.”

  I nodded again. “Mattie found her. I mean, Mattie indicated something was down there, so I opened the door. I saw a lot of equipment; do you know what it is?”

  “I do,” she said, without offering an explanation. “Did you touch the body, Merry? You or Matterhorn?”

  “I didn’t go all the way down the stairs, but Mattie did. He sniffed at the … at it. I can’t say for sure if he touched it or not. I was more concerned about Mrs. D’Angelo, so I didn’t investigate.”

  “Did you recognize her?”

  I swallowed. “She was lying on her front, head turned away from me so I couldn’t see the face. But nothing seemed familiar, no.”

  “Who lives here?” Simmonds glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen. “The place doesn’t exactly look lived in. Not much furniture at all. Unpacked boxes.”

  “We don’t know,” I said. “The current owners don’t live in Rudolph, so they rent out the house. New people, or a new person, moved in a little over a week ago, but they’ve kept themselves to themselves.”

  “A heck of a lot seems to be going on here, and I have a long night ahead of me, but before that, I need a quick overview about what brought you two breaking the door down tonight. And I do mean make it quick.”

  I tried to be as succinct as possible. Vicky nodded along, and when I finished, she said, “What Merry said.”

  “I have to get to the hospital and talk to Mabel once the doctors say she’s able to speak to me. You two go home. I’ll be around soon as I can to take your statements.” Simmonds looked at the adoring dog sitting quietly between us. “And watch that foot. Clean it up and probe gently for any glass that might still be in it. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but don’t hesitate to go to the emergency vet if it starts bleeding again or he seems to be in pain.”

  * * *

  Mattie favored his foot as we crossed the backyard, but he wasn’t completely avoiding putting any weight on it, which I considered to be a good sign. We went through the gate and rounded the house and stepped into a blaze of light and activity. Police cars and ambulances were parked every which way. Red, blue, and white flashing lights overwhelmed the holiday decorations. Just about every one of the residents of the street was on their porch or gathered on the sidewalk, many in varying degrees of nightwear. Several had fortified themselves with mugs of steaming liquid, and a few carried beer bottles or wineglasses. Phones were in hand, and more than a few flashed as pictures were taken.

  “Never a dull moment in Rudolph, New York,” Vicky mumbled.

  “There they are!” someone shouted.