by Katie Ruggle
Kicking off the covers, she slid out of bed. If she wasn’t going to sleep, there was no sense in wasting time lying there and staring at the dark ceiling. She might as well be productive.
Daisy cleaned the training room first, snickering to herself at the sight of Max’s now-covered lower half. As promised, Callum had brought a pair of sweatpants and had even dressed the dummy himself. While she stood on a bench so she could wipe down the pull-up bar, the memory of the guys having their impromptu competition made her smile again.
It had been a fun day. Before the group training session, Daisy had been worried that she’d accidentally do something or say something that would drive them away, never to return again. As much as she loved her books and computer time, it would’ve been hard to go back to seeing only Chris and her father occasionally. Now, she had Monday night’s get-together to look forward to, plus they’d been talking about making the training sessions a regular, couple-times-a-week thing.
As she moved the mats so she could vacuum, she did a mental inventory of the pantry and freezer. The Monday evening meeting would be held too late for a big meal, but she had the ingredients to make teriyaki meatballs and crab wontons. She wished she had eggs, so she could make some brownies, too.
“What do you think, Max?” she asked over the whine of the vacuum. “Would it be crossing a line to ask Chris to pick up a few things at the store?”
The dummy dangled silently on his hook, his new sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
“I know he brought groceries today without me asking, but it’s different when I request it. It changes it from a favor between friends to, I don’t know, a duty for the poor housebound girl, I guess. I don’t want him to see me as helpless and needy.”
Max’s silence felt slightly judgmental.
“I know, I know. I am needy and kind of helpless. It’s stupid, but I want Chris to look at me and see a whole person, not just this living ghost haunting my house.”
Turning off the vacuum, she gave Max an accusatory glare.
“It’s a good thing you’re useful in other ways, Sir Maximillian, because as a therapist? You kind of suck.”
By the time she finished with the training room, Daisy was in full-on cleaning mode, so she decided to tackle the rest of the house. Her dad’s room had a slightly stale smell from disuse, and she left the door open to let it air. It was close to one in the morning by the time the house was done.
Feeling grubby, Daisy took a shower and then crawled back into bed. She knew she wasn’t tired enough to sleep, so she grabbed a book off her nightstand. It was by one of her favorite urban fantasy authors, and it was a sign of how crazy her life had gotten over the past few days that she hadn’t finished it yet. It had been a long time since her real life was as interesting as what happened in her books.
After rereading the same page over and over for a half-hour, she gave up on the book. Her brain was spinning with so many things—the training session, Chris’s recent weirdness contrasted with his consideration, the renewed possibility that Deputy Macavoy might actually have been hauling a dead body around at three thirty in the morning, the Gray case and the fact that the other women were interested in getting her, Crazy Daisy’s, opinion about it, and even the pros and cons to making brownies for Monday night, if her dad returned in time to make an egg run. How could a book, even a good one, compete with all that?
Daisy sighed. Since she wasn’t going to be able to sleep or read with all the thoughts crowding into her brain, she didn’t want to stay in bed. She turned off the bedside lamp and moved to the window seat, once again feeling that twinge of guilt. It wasn’t a strong enough pang to keep her from opening and raising the blinds, however.
As usual, Ian and Rory’s house was shuttered, with no hint of light showing. Daisy waved at the dark building, feeling a glow of pleasure that she’d actually met them, worked out with them, laughed at their jokes. The Storvicks’ place was dark as well, but Daisy had no urge to meet any of those family members.
As if magnetized, her gaze moved to the white house with the for-sale sign in the yard. She wished it would sell, so she’d have a new family to watch, rather than scouring the darkness for the possibility of a second body removal. Shaking her head, Daisy reminded herself that there was a very, very slim chance that Macavoy’s burden had been a person.
Leaning against the window, Daisy shivered at the touch of the cold glass. She debated whether to take the ten steps it would require to fetch a blanket, but pulled her knees to her chest instead. It was a poor substitute, but she was feeling lazy.
The clouds were moving quickly, and Daisy watched, mesmerized, as they scurried through the night sky. She quit trying to control her thoughts and just let them run through her brain. Chris popped up more than she’d hoped, but, for once, she didn’t fight it. Ever since she’d stopped leaving the house when she was sixteen, he’d been a regular visitor. He’d always acted like an older brother, teasing and overprotective, but she’d never felt like his sister.
Thinking about the early days of their friendship made her mind drift toward thoughts of her mom. She slammed a mental door, blocking any memories of that day. Shifting on the window seat, she hugged her legs harder and replayed the training session in her head again instead.
A shadow shifted, moving from the trees to the far side of the empty house. Daisy straightened so quickly, she knocked her head against the wall. Absently rubbing the back of her skull, she peered into the blackness.
Before she could even begin to blame her imagination and the poor illumination, the shadow moved again. The light from the closest streetlamp reflected off a pale face.
“Should’ve worn face paint, whoever you are,” she muttered, moving to her knees and leaning close to the window. When her breath started fogging the glass, she reluctantly shifted back a few inches and used her sleeve to clear the condensation. “Or one of those black bank-robber face masks.”
The figure disappeared, and Daisy made a sound of annoyance. She didn’t move, as if a shift in position would ensure that she didn’t see the trespasser again. She stared so hard at the spot where she’d last seen the shadow that her eyes began to itch and burn. When she finally allowed herself to blink, her vision blurred with tears, and Daisy hurried to rub away the wetness.
It took her a few seconds to catch the motion on the near side of the house, since she was concentrating so hard on the other. The figure stood out against the white of the house and the remaining snow, showing the differences between the current intruder and Macavoy. This one was lanky and not quite as tall as the deputy. That, and the way he moved, made her think he was a teenager.
Daisy squinted, trying to bring the kid’s uncovered face into focus. “Corbin, is that you? What are you up to this time?” She wondered if he was trying to sneak inside so he didn’t get in trouble with his parents for breaking curfew. Instead of looking at his home, though, possibly-Corbin was peering into one of the side windows of the white house.
That wasn’t going to lead to anything good. Although she hated taking her eyes off the skulking kid, she made a quick dash to grab her phone off the nightstand where it’d been charging. Returning to the window seat, she saw that maybe-Corbin was still in the same place. He’d grown bolder, though, and had cupped both hands around his face to better see into the dark room.
Daisy’s finger hovered over Chris’s name, but it was his last day off before he started on nights. Instead, she found the nonemergency number for Dispatch and tapped it. Whoever was manning the phones would be up already—hopefully—so she wouldn’t be waking someone to report some bored, trespassing kid.
“Communications.”
“Hi,” Daisy said awkwardly. “This is Daisy Little, and there’s what looks like a teenager sneaking around outside the empty house across the street from me. It’s 304 Alpine Lane.”
“Daisy Little?” the dis
patcher repeated. “The sheriff wanted to talk to you directly if something else happened involving that house. Can he give you a call on this number?”
“Oh,” Daisy said, flustered. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a bored kid, so you don’t have to wake up the sheriff for something so minor. I just don’t want any damage to be done to the house. Could you just have one of the on-duty deputies do a drive-by?”
“Sheriff Coughlin was insistent,” the dispatcher told her apologetically. “Is this number the best one for him to use? I’m sure he’ll call you immediately.”
“This number is fine,” she said reluctantly. If she’d known it was going to require a conversation with Sheriff Judge-y-pants, Daisy would’ve woken Chris, instead. “Could you let him know that it’s definitely not an emergency, though, and that I don’t require a call back?”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Thanks.” After she ended the call, Daisy stared at her cell phone in dread for a few seconds before remembering the trespasser. When she looked at the white house, the kid was gone—or out of her sight, at least. She watched the property, alternating between the near and far sides of the house, but no one was skulking in the shadows.
The sound of her ringtone made her jump. In her attempt to get another glimpse of the intruder, the sheriff’s call had slipped her mind. With the kid gone, she was even more reluctant to answer. Daisy was afraid if she didn’t, though, the sheriff would send someone to her front door to check on her. Over-the-phone embarrassment was preferable to in-person embarrassment, so she accepted the call.
“Hi, Sheriff.”
“Ms. Little.” He sounded alert, so hopefully the dispatcher hadn’t woken him. “More trouble in the neighborhood?”
“Nothing major,” she said. “I didn’t mean to bother you with this, but the dispatcher insisted you’d want to talk to me.”
“It’s fine. What’s going on?”
“Someone was sneaking around outside the for-sale house. It looked like a teenager. He went around the back and then looked in a side window. I just called Dispatch in case he was thinking about doing some vandalism or wanted to break in or something.”
“Is he still there?”
“I don’t think so.” Her eyes were glued on the empty house, and everything was still. “He slipped away while I was talking to the dispatcher.”
“I’ll stop by in the morning,” the sheriff said, making Daisy wince.
“You really don’t have to do that, Sheriff.” She tried to sound grateful and discouraging at the same time. “I just thought a squad passing through the neighborhood would drive the kid away. He’s gone now, and you don’t need to waste your time—”
“Seeing to your peace of mind isn’t a waste of time, Ms. Little,” Coughlin interrupted. “I’ll be by around six thirty tomorrow morning, if you’ll be awake by then?”
“I’ll be up,” she said faintly.
“Good. Sleep well, Ms. Little.” He ended the call.
Daisy brought her phone to her lap and stared at it absently. Why had he mentioned her peace of mind? She’d told him flat-out that she didn’t think the teenager would be a danger, except maybe to one of the house’s windows. The way he said it made her feel like he was coming over to pat her hand and assure the weak-minded girl that the bogeymen wasn’t real.
With a mental shake, she stood and took her phone to the nightstand. While she plugged in the charger again, she told herself she was being too sensitive. The sheriff didn’t have the best bedside manner, at least not with her, but he was trying to help. She should be pleased that he was taking her concerns seriously—more seriously than she thought they warranted, in fact.
As she settled back onto the window seat, she gave a humorless laugh. Being awake in time for the sheriff’s visit wouldn’t be a problem, since she was fairly sure she wouldn’t be sleeping any more that night. There was something about conversations with Coughlin that kept her awake.
* * *
It was worse than she’d expected.
“None?” she asked.
“No fresh boot prints anywhere around the perimeter of the house,” Sheriff Coughlin confirmed.
“It was windy last night. Maybe the drifting snow filled in the prints?” Even before she finished speaking, the sheriff was shaking his head.
“With the warm temperatures we’ve been having, the snow is either frozen or wet and heavy. If someone had walked through that yard last night, there would’ve been prints.”
Daisy hid her wince at his words, even though they hit as hard as an elbow to the gut, and struggled to keep her voice firm. “There was someone walking around the outside of that house last night, Sheriff. I don’t know why there aren’t any boot prints, but I definitely saw someone.”
He was giving her that look again, but it was worse, because she saw a thread of pity mixed in with the condescension. “Have you given more thought to starting therapy again?”
The question surprised her. “Not really. What does that have to do…?” As comprehension dawned, a surge of rage shoved out her bewilderment. “I didn’t imagine that I saw someone last night. There really was a person there, looking in the side window.”
All her protest did was increase the pity in his expression. “It must get lonely here by yourself.”
“I’m not making things up to get attention!” Her voice had gotten shrill, so she took a deep breath. “I even said there was no need for you to get involved. I only suggested one of the on-duty deputies drive past to scare away the kid.”
“Ms. Little.” His tone made it clear that impatience had drowned out any feelings of sympathy. “Physical evidence doesn’t lie. No one was in that yard last night.”
“I know what I saw.”
The sheriff took a step closer. Daisy hated how she had to crane her neck back to look at him. It made her feel so small and vulnerable. “Do you really?” he asked. “Eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable. Even people without your issues misinterpret what they see all the time. The brain is a tricky thing.”
Daisy set her jaw as she stared back at the sheriff, fighting the urge to step back, to retreat from the man looming over her. There had been someone there, footprints or no footprints. She couldn’t start doubting what she’d witnessed the night before. If she did, then that meant she’d gone from mildly, can’t-leave-the-house crazy, to the kind of crazy that involved hallucinations, medications, and institutionalization. There had to be some other explanation, because she wasn’t going to accept that. Not when her life was getting so much better.
She could tell by looking at his expression that she wasn’t going to convince Coughlin of anything. “Thank you for checking on it, Sheriff. I promise not to bother you again.”
Although he kept his face impassive, his eyes narrowed slightly. “If you…see anything else, Ms. Little, please call me.”
That wasn’t going to happen, especially when he put that meaningful pause in front of “see” that just screamed “delusional.” Trying to mask her true feelings, she plastered on a smile and turned her body toward the door in a not-so-subtle hint for him to leave. “Of course.”
Apparently, she needed some lessons in deception, since the sheriff frowned, unconvinced. Daisy met his eyes with as much calmness as she could muster, dropping the fake smile because she could feel it shifting into manic territory. She’d lost enough credibility with the sheriff as it was.
The silence stretched until Daisy wanted to run away and hide in a closet, but she managed to continue holding his gaze. The memory of Chris telling her about the sheriff using his “going to confession” stare-down on suspects helped her to stay quiet.
Finally, Coughlin turned toward the door. Daisy barely managed to keep her sigh of relief silent.
“Ms. Little,” he said with a short nod, which she returned.
“Sheriff.”
Only when he was through the doorway with the door locked behind him did Daisy’s knees start to shake.
Chapter 8
Daisy passed the time from the sheriff’s departure until noon alternating between pacing, one-sided conversations with Max, and chewing her thumbnails down to nothingness. Since Chris would be on duty, working the six-to-six shift that night, she knew he’d try to sleep as late as possible. It probably would’ve been safer to call him midafternoon, but Daisy was afraid she wouldn’t have thumbs left if she had to fret for another three hours.
“What’s up, Dais?” he asked, sounding awake and fairly cheerful, thankfully.
“I’m not crazy, right? I mean, I am about the whole not-going-outside thing, but I’m not loony tunes, seeing-things-that-aren’t-there, get-thee-to-a-nuthouse type of crazy, am I?” After the words rushed out of her like verbal vomit, Daisy rested her head against the training room wall. Even if she had planned the most insane way of starting the conversation with Chris, she couldn’t have sounded more cracked.
“What’s this about?”
Her stomach clenched. “Did you just avoid answering the question?”
“You’re not crazy. Now what’s going on?”
The whole story spilled from her. Hearing it out loud made it seem even more insane, and she cringed several times during the retelling. It didn’t help that Chris was silent for a long time after she stopped talking.
“Chris?” Although she’d been determined to let him be the one to speak first, she couldn’t stand not knowing what he was thinking. Daisy could stand up to the sheriff’s suspect-cracking stare, but Chris’s ambiguous silence broke her easily.
“I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
That wasn’t any clearer than his silence had been. “Okay.”
“Dais?”
“Yeah?”