He put his hand on Vicky’s shoulder. She reached up and touched it. “This is our home, and we’re not going to be frightened out of it. By Jim Cole or bored kids or anyone else.”

  He rummaged in a kitchen drawer and took out a heavy flashlight, which he handed to Vicky. Then he pulled a knife out of the block on the counter and thrust it through his belt. “It won’t come to using this, but I’ll take it anyway. You guys make another sweep of the house. This time have a look for a way someone might be getting in. Loose boards on the windows, most likely, or an old latch not turned fully.”

  Vicky stood up. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to have a look outside. You said someone knocked on the door and ran away.”

  “You can’t go alone.”

  “I’ll be okay, Vic. You stay with Merry. Whoever knocked on the door would have run off when my car drove up.”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” I said.

  “Sure enough.” He hefted the flashlight. “It’s dark out, so I likely won’t find anything tonight, but I’m going to check under the windows and along the driveway. Look for prints or foliage disturbed. Something we can take to the cops, if it comes to that.”

  Vicky looked hesitant. Mark gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You and Merry check inside again. I’ll do the outside. Take your phones. Scream if you find anything.”

  “Wouldn’t have thought of that,” she muttered. He gave her a grin and me a wink.

  “Before I go … I have to ask. Are either of you qualified in knife fighting?”

  “I own a Christmas gift shop,” I said.

  “I can wield a pastry blender to great effect,” Vicky said.

  “Maybe leave the knives behind. They can be turned against you.”

  “Are you qualified in knife fighting?” I asked.

  He looked at the blade in his hand. “I spent some of my training working at a butcher’s.”

  “Good enough,” I said. I wasn’t so sure separating was such a great idea. But Mark and Vicky intended to live here. They couldn’t spend their lives looking over their shoulders, afraid to venture alone into the yard at night.

  “Keep the dogs close,” Mark said.

  “That,” I said, “is never a problem.”

  He slipped our knives back into the wooden block and then left the kitchen. Vicky and I followed, clutching our phones. Mattie came with us, but Sandbanks had gone back to sleep, and he didn’t bother to get up again.

  Mark let himself out the front door. Vicky and I looked at each other. The hesitation and the fear had gone from her face. “It seems so silly, doesn’t it, the moment the strange noises stop? In the cold light of day, I’ve been able to tell myself I’ve been imagining things. Obviously Mark was thinking the same. Both of us keeping quiet about what we were sensing.”

  “A lesson, perhaps, for your married life,” I said.

  “Yeah. It’s getting late. You can go on home. Mark’s here now, and I’ll be okay.”

  “Let’s first do what he suggested and check the downstairs windows at least. I looked at them earlier, but I didn’t try the latch on them all. Some of that metal is old and rusty; it might well have come loose and not be fastening property.”

  “Lead on,” she said.

  Once again we went from room to room. This big old house had a lot of windows. Other than rooms Vicky and Mark had reclaimed for their current use, the windows were old, dirty, and choked with dust. We pulled at the latches and rattled the frames, but nothing gave way or swung open. Mattie trotted beside us. His curious nose sniffed at everything, but he made no indication he’d located something out of place. Something like the scent of an unfamiliar human. Not that Mattie was exactly a bloodhound. He must smell so many different people in a day—people we pass on the street, those who come into the store or who are taking a shortcut through the alley behind Jingle Bell Lane—I don’t know how or if he’d react to someone being in this house who shouldn’t be.

  “Let’s do the same upstairs,” I said. “Those trees near the house are so overgrown, it’s possible someone can climb a branch and access a window that way.”

  As we headed for the stairs, Vicky said, “I’m hoping we can knock out a good part of the walls down here and put in bigger picture windows.”

  We were chatting lightly, comforted because Mark was outside and my dog wasn’t on alert, but when Vicky’s phone rang, we both yelped. I might have hit the top of my head on the ceiling.

  “What!” she yelled into it. “The cops? What’s happened? Are you okay? Be right there. No, I’m coming.” She turned and ran down the hallway. “Call 911,” she shouted to me.

  “Vicky! Don’t go out. Wait until the police get here.” I fumbled at the emergency button on my own phone.

  “It’s okay.” Vicky wrenched open the door. “Mark’s okay. He found a body in the garden.”

  Chapter Nine

  I told the 911 operator what little I knew of what was happening. By body, I wasn’t sure if Vicky meant someone was dead or just unconscious, so I told her we needed an ambulance as well as the police.

  Mattie could run fast when he had a mind to, and he chased after Vicky without hesitation. A lamp burned over the front door, but outside of the dim circle of light it threw, all was dark.

  Mark’s shouts came from the south side of the house, and we headed that way. I focused the light from my phone at my feet as I ran, conscious of broken flagstones, fallen twigs and branches, holes dug by generations of squirrels and chipmunks.

  Overgrown branches of large old trees stretched toward the house, scraping against the roof and the time-worn bricks. Saplings sprouted from what had once been flower beds and lawns. A light wind had come up, and the branches, some just beginning to show fresh new buds, rustled softly. Small animals fled at Mattie’s approach.

  In its glory days, the largest room at the south side of the house had been a summer room, a place for the ladies of the family to relax with a good book and a cup of tea or glass of sherry, a profusion of wide-leafed plants, big windows, and French doors opening onto the garden. The doors were hammered shut now, the windows covered in boards, the flower beds choked with weeds and thistles eagerly reaching up to welcome spring. The classical stone statue of a female figure draped in ropes, pouring water from a vase into the fountain at her bare feet, was green with algae, the stone chipped and cracked, the woman’s nose broken off. No water cascaded from her vase, and the pool itself was full of decades’ worth of slimy mulch, last season’s decaying leaves, and broken branches.

  On the far side of the statue, Mark crouched on the ground, next to something dark and shapeless. Vicky was behind him, tugging on Mattie’s collar, trying to pull the curious dog away. Mark had thrown his knife aside, and it lay on the ground a foot or so away. To my intense relief, the knife appeared clean, unused. I left it where it was, knowing the police would be interested in having a look at it.

  “Are you there, madam?” the 911 operator said in her calm, professional voice.

  “Yes. Still here,” I said.

  “Police and medics have been dispatched. They will be there shortly. Please stay on the line.”

  I slapped my right thigh. “Mattie! Matterhorn! Come!”

  “What?” said the voice on the phone.

  “Sorry—calling my dog.”

  “If you can, madam, it would be best to put the dog in another room.”

  “We’re outside. At the side of the house. Tell them the gates are open. Go to the right of the house when they arrive.”

  “I will.”

  Vicky dragged Mattie toward me, and I took hold of his collar. I looked deeply into his huge, liquid brown eyes. “Sit! Down. Stay there. Stay.”

  He sort of hovered into a half sit.

  My friend turned to me, her face stricken. I stepped cautiously forward. Mark’s flashlight illuminated the ground, but not the body. In the poor light of my phone, I could see a man lying on his back. His face was half turned away from me, his expression one of horror and shock emphasized by the deep shadows. At the back of his head, something dark and wet glimmered.

  Mark stood up with a grunt. “Gone,” he said. I glanced down. His hands were streaked with blood.

  Sirens broke the night, and moments later flashing blue and red lights flooded the front of the house. Mattie broke his “sit” and bounded up, barking. He ran to greet the arrivals before I could stop him.

  The phone in my hand was still connected and the operator was asking me what was going on. “They’re here,” I said. “Thanks.” I hung up and chased after my dog.

  Powerful lights rounded the house, followed by two police officers. Mattie ran up to them, barking greetings.

  “Merry Wilkinson, is that you? I recognize your dog,” said a man’s voice from behind the wall of light.

  “Yes. This way—he’s over here.”

  “Get that dog out of here,” a woman said.

  I took a firm hold of Mattie’s collar and, with a great deal of difficulty, dragged him up the stairs, across the porch, and into the house. When I opened the door, Sandbanks, finally roused from his nap by the commotion, tried to get out. I shoved Mattie, grabbed at Sandbanks, and struggled to get both dogs inside. Finally, I slammed the door shut as another siren turned into the driveway, additional red lights flooded the yard and the house, and an ambulance screeched to a halt. Two paramedics stepped out, and I jumped off the steps and pointed. “That way. Follow me.”

  Back by the statue and the empty fountain, Mark and Vicky were standing close together. Officer Williams crouched over the body while Officer Candice Campbell shone her flashlight onto my friends. The light focused on Mark’s hands and the front of his shirt, dotted with bright red splashes.

  “Outta the way—all of you,” one of the medics said.

  “Try not to touch those.” Williams pointed to the knife and the flashlight on the ground.

  “Shouldn’t need to. Give us some light here.”

  The police stepped to one side, giving the medics room to work. Williams shone his Maglite onto the body on the ground. One of the medics opened her equipment bag while the other examined the unmoving patient.

  “How’d you get that on your hands, sir?” Officer Campbell asked Mark.

  Mark lifted his hands and stared at them in something close to shock. He said nothing.

  “Sir?” she repeated.

  “I”—Mark shook his head—“I found him. That man. Lying there. He was on his belly, his face down, not moving. I turned him over. I tried to help. I must have touched the injury. His head.”

  The medic said, “This isn’t a knife wound, for sure. Looks like a blunt instrument. Baseball bat, rock maybe.”

  “Do you know this person?” Williams asked Mark.

  Mark swallowed heavily and dared a quick glance. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  But I had. Vicky and I exchanged a look. Vicky took a deep breath and said, “I know who he is, but I’ve only met him once, and I’ve no idea what he’s doing here, creeping around our property at this time of night. His name’s Jim Cole.”

  Mark groaned, and the cop focused his eyes on him while he asked Vicky. “Why do you say ‘creeping around’?”

  “What else would you call being at the back of someone’s house,” Vicky said. “Without the residents knowing, at this time of night?”

  “Other than creeping?” I added.

  One of the paramedics knelt beside the body while the other talked on her phone in a low voice. It didn’t look to me like they were in any sort of a hurry. What I’d seen from the quick glance I’d had at Jim Cole was enough to tell me he was dead.

  “VSA,” the first medic called, confirming my observation.

  “I’ve called for a detective,” Campbell said.

  More police were arriving, bringing their big lights and crime scene tape.

  “Is this your house, sir?” Officer Williams said to Mark.

  Mark nodded. Vicky said, “Our house.”

  “I’d like you to wait inside. Officer Campbell will accompany you. Please do not talk among yourselves about what happened, and make no attempt to wash yourself or change your clothes. Sir.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Mark said.

  “That’s to be determined.” Williams nodded at Candy Campbell. “See to it.”

  I gave Candy a smile, but I’m pretty sure it looked as strained as it felt. Candy and I had known each other since childhood, although we’d never been friends. As far as I knew, she had nothing against Vicky, but high school rivalries spread to include entire circles. Come to think of it, Candy should have nothing against me either, and a lot of years had passed since we wanted the same position on the softball team, and the notice of the new and superhot guy in our class.

  Vicky had ended up dating the newest and hottest guy in our class, although it hadn’t lasted long. “Total and complete idiot” had been her assessment once she got to know him better.

  Vicky was now engaged to the second hottest guy in Rudolph, New York—Alan Anderson being the first. Candy had dated Russ Durham for a while not long ago, but that didn’t appear to have lasted long.

  I smiled at Candy again. She did not return the smile.

  * * *

  Mark, Vicky, and I were escorted under Candy Campbell’s s no-nonsense stare, into the house. The dogs were overjoyed to see us return. Candy almost smiled when Mattie lifted his head and cocked one ear toward her, but she managed to refrain from showing her feelings.

  “You have got to be kidding,” she said as she looked around the foyer, at the water-stained ceiling, the dark chandelier, the cracked floor tiles. “I heard you’d bought this place, but I didn’t think you’d actually want to move into the dump.”

  Mark had barely said a word since I’d found him with Jim Cole’s body. He recovered to defend his house. “We intend to fix it up. It will be a true labor of love for us. Right, Vicky?”

  “Totally,” she said.

  “Each to his own, I guess.” Candy gave an exaggerated shudder for emphasis.

  “You got a problem with that, Candy?” Vicky said.

  Candy’s face tightened, and I quickly said, “The back rooms are comfortable. Let’s go there.” Officer Candice Campbell simply hated her childhood nickname. Which, I thought, was fair enough, as Candy didn’t exactly suit the hard-boiled, street-hardened cop image she tried so hard to project. Although, I had to admit, I sometimes called her Candy myself, deliberately trying to get a rise out of her.

  It would be better, I thought, if she dropped that tough cop act and simply became what she was, a dedicated police officer in the small town where she’d grown up and where she might run into her old kindergarten teacher at a drunk and disorderly call. Never mind running into her imaginary high school rivals at what appeared to be a murder scene.

  Mattie and Sandbanks led the way to the warm and welcoming kitchen. Mark pulled out a chair and dropped heavily into it. He tried not to look at his hands, on which the blood was already beginning to dry. Away from the lights, I could see there wasn’t all that much—just a few spatters really—with more sprinkled across the bottom of the white chef’s shirt with his name written across the breast pocket, which he’d worn to work.

  Vicky grabbed a chair and pulled it close to Mark. “Don’t touch his hands,” Candy growled, and Vicky jerked her hand away.

  “Be right back,” I said. “I need to make a phone call.”

  “You’re to stay here,” Candy said.

  “I’ll be in the next room. I won’t close the door. You can listen in if you want.”

  “I said—” she began, but I left the room anyway.

  I should have called Alan hours ago, when this entire evening began to spiral out of control. Better late than never.

  He answered almost immediately “Merry? What’s up. It’s late. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but something’s happened, and I wanted to hear your voice.”

  “You’re hearing it now. Do you need me to come? Are you at home?”

  “No. I’m at Vicky and Mark’s.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I hadn’t shut the door to the kitchen. I could see Candy standing on the far side of the room, her eyes focused on my best friend’s fiancé.

  “I can’t give you the details right now. Mark might be in trouble.”

  “On my way,” Alan said.

  * * *

  We didn’t have to wait long in awkward silence before I heard the door open. I didn’t have to hear the new arrival’s voice in the hallway or the tread of her confident feet on the floorboards to know Detective Diane Simmonds was here. All I had to do was look at my dog.

  Mattie leaped to attention. Every hair on his body stood up. He quivered in joy and excitement. His ears were high, his bright eyes wide with anticipation, his tongue drooped over his lips, emitting a stream of drool. His idol was here.

  The detective came into the kitchen. Two people accompanied her, and another uniform took position in the doorway.

  “Matterhorn,” Simmonds said. “This is not a social call. Sit.”

  Mattie sat. Adoration poured out of his eyes, and bliss filled his face.

  He never looked like that when I walked into a room.

  Having had enough excitement for one day, Sandbanks snored lightly next to the stove.

  Simmonds studied the humans, one after another. The detective was an attractive woman in her early forties. Tall and fit, with a mass of red curls and eyes an unusual emerald green, dressed in slim jeans and a black leather jacket over a blue striped shirt. Walking down the street in the company of her ten-year-old daughter, she might look like an average resident of Rudolph, but only if you didn’t look closely. And then she would rarely be mistaken for anything but a cop. She held her thin frame straight and tense, and those emerald eyes were constantly watching everyone and everything. “Officer Campbell, you can go back outside. We’ll need someone on the gate to discourage the curious and the ill-intended. Admit no one unless they’re with us.”