A Dangerous Woman (A Fay Cunningham Mystery-Book 1)

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

The sudden weight on my chest roused me from deep sleep. But it took several meows and a few paw taps to the nose before I opened my eyes to total darkness.

It was the darkness that got things shifting into high gear inside my head. I snapped my neck to the right so I was facing the glow of the red numbers on my digital clock.

8:53. It couldn't be. I couldn't have slept that long. But the black around me told me the clock gave the correct time. Kitty gave my face a swipe with her fluffy tail before hopping to the floor and up onto the windowsill. I thought I heard a downstairs door rattle when I started to sit up.

Kitty must have heard it too, by the way she leaped to the floor and sprang back up on the bed, crashing into my chest.

Then I heard it again. I reached for the light on the night stand. My fingers froze on the switch. Should I or shouldn't I? My eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that I thought I could find my way to the door without turning on the light and alerting whoever was down there that someone was home. Then again, maybe that's exactly what I should do. Instead, I hurried to my feet and felt a thousand needles jab into my right ankle. I toppled over and hit the floor with a thud. Forget the light. The sound of my crash shook the whole house. If I was lucky, it also scared off whoever, or whatever, was trying to get inside.

What appeared to be a set of headlights flashed into the bedroom as I started to pull myself up the side of the bed. Then darkness again. When the lights flashed a second time, I dropped down on all fours and crawled like lightning to the window.

I arrived in time to catch a glimpse of brake lights before the vehicle disappeared around the downhill curve in the road a few yards past my driveway. Because I lived along a very lightly traveled road, I was certain whoever was behind the wheel of that vehicle also had been jiggling my doorknob. If I had only gotten to the window seconds quicker, I might have been able to make out the vehicle. I do believe it was a small-sized one.

Mitch. It had to be him. He probably rang the bell. When I didn't answer, he tried the door, found it locked, figured I wasn't home, and left before my noisy fall.

There was one way to know for certain. Once I had myself up and sitting on the edge of the bed, I flipped on the light and picked up the telephone. From memory, I poked in Mitch's numbers.

He growled a hello after the second ring. The sound of his voice gave me such a startle that it took a stern, "Who's there," before I located my voice.

"It's me, Mitch."

"Fay. You okay?"

I didn't answer immediately, because I wasn't sure I wanted to tell him someone just tried to get into my house. He'd insist on coming over, maybe stay the night. No, I wasn't ready for that.

"I'm fine. I just wanted to check on the time Thomas is getting buried tomorrow."

"Thought you weren't goin.'"

I wasn't. But I had to give him some reason for calling at such a late hour. Late for him, that is.

"Well, I thought about it and decided I should probably attend."

"Why?"

Give me a break here, is what I thought. "I don't know, maybe Joe will be there," is what I finally said.

My own words turned on lights in my head. It was possible Joe would show. If for no other reason than to spit on his brother's grave.

Once Mitch told me the service was to be held at eleven, I thanked him and said a goodnight.

My fear had been chased away by the thought of possibly getting to finally see Joe again. I refused to consider the odds stacked against it actually happening.

I limped from my bedroom and went down the stairs on my butt, since I left the crutches in the living room earlier. But then, it was probably just as well I didn't have them in hand. With my lack of coordination, I'd no doubt lose my balance and wind up breaking my neck or something else.

The noise coming from my stomach led me into the kitchen, where I polished off a tuna salad sandwich and headed for the living room. I settled myself on the couch and picked up the remote to the television and turned it on. After some unsatisfactory channel surfing, I clicked the set back off. As I picked up the book I had started reading the night before, it occurred to me that my ex never returned my call. I thought it a great idea to disturb him at home.

After two rings, his recorded voice danced above the soft background music. As instructed, I waited for the beep and left my message. "Allen, this is Fay. If you don't return my call, I promise to pay you a visit."

I hung up, smiling deviously. I was certain he was home, but just didn't want to be interrupted. He was probably in the sack with that blonde bimbo he calls his paralegal. Something probably went limp at the sound of my voice. I hope. I hope.

The smile remained with me when I flipped open my book and began reading and waited for the telephone to ring. Allen certainly didn't want a visit from me if there was a way to avoid it. If he was indeed home, he'd be calling within minutes.

An hour passed. My smile was long gone. I had been wrong. Allen couldn't have been home. My telephone never rang.