Right.
So there was no need to panic, right?
Wrong. Because the noise was coming from the shed behind the house where her father used to clean fish. It couldn’t have been made by settling timber or by the wind.
Sunny’s heart was pounding so loudly that she thought she might have imagined the whole thing. But when she heard the noise again, like something or someone stamping through the underbrush behind the shed, she broke out in a cold sweat of fear.
Thankfully she realized she had already turned off the light in the kitchen. She crept toward the window over the sink, which afforded a view of the back of the property all the way down to the dock and the lake beyond. Her hand was shaking when she moved the curtain aside, creating a crack no wider than an inch, but wide enough for her to peek through.
Nothing. It was a dark night. There was only a partial moon, and it was obscured by clouds. The wind had picked up. The lake was choppier than it had been earlier in the day. It looked as though the clouds on the horizon might produce a summer storm after all.
Sunny stood motionless at the window for several minutes. Nothing beyond it stirred, except for the trees that bent gracefully in the wind. What she had heard must have been just blowing branches. She let the curtain fall back into place.
Shaking her head, amused and irritated with herself for behaving so foolishly, she turned and started to go out of the kitchen for the second time. Again, she got no farther than the doorway when she heard another noise. This time metal clanking against metal. Her father had stored buckets, gardening tools, and hardware out in the shed.
“Oh, dear God.” Whimpering in fright, she mashed her fingers against her lips.
Steve and Fran had expressed concern about her staying alone out here at the lake.
“Nothing really criminal has happened out there,” Steve had told her, “but kids have beer busts, get drunk, raise a little hell.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay in town with me?” Fran had asked.
“Don’t be silly. Your house will be in a state of chaos all week. I’ll be safer alone at the lake.”
Sunny regretted her decision now. If she hadn’t been so stubborn, she could have been safely ensconced in the guest bedroom of Fran’s house instead of shivering in fear in an isolated cabin.
She didn’t waste another second but hastened to the wall telephone, which her parents had never had disconnected. In the darkness, she overturned a kitchen chair. She stubbed her toe against the table as she lunged for the telephone receiver. She dialed O and waited breathlessly for the operator to answer.
The moment she answered, Sunny said, “I need help.” Her words were hushed as they tumbled, one over the next, out of her trembling lips. She was certain she sounded hysterical and out of her senses, but she couldn’t help it. “Call the police. Tell them to come right away. I’m alone and someone is outside my cabin at the lake. I think he might be trying to break in.”
Although that wasn’t quite true, it was better to be safe than sorry. Better to anticipate the criminal than to stand by and wait for him to make his move. Besides, it added an element of urgency to her message. It worked. Without hesitation the operator said, “I’m calling the sheriff ’s office right now. Someone will be there soon.”
Sunny provided her with the rural address and hung up. Who else could she call? Her neighbors? She didn’t know them. Not even by name. They had moved in since she had left town. Steve and Fran? Yes. If this was a false alarm, she’d feel really stupid, but...
The consequences of having false courage were too gruesome to think about. She bungled the series of memorized numbers twice before the call to Fran’s house went through. The phone rang and rang while Sunny muttered, “Come on, come on, answer.” When it became apparent that no one was there, she hung up, almost in tears now.
What if he was out there watching her through the window?
She almost collapsed when she recalled a previous conversation. “You should have become a window peeper.” “How do you know I’m not?”
Good Lord! He was the one who had warned her about wackos roaming around the lake. He was the one who had pointed out that her nearest neighbor was over a mile away. He was the one who had gone to the trouble to find out where she was staying. He was the one who had crossed the lake to see her. And hadn’t his final words—“I’ll be seeing you later, Sunny”—carried both a promise and a threat?
What did she know about him? Nothing except his name. He had been invited to the wedding party, but serial killers were often charming men who lured their victims—
Stop it! Get control of yourself. Think of something constructive to do. Don’t panic.
What was George Henderson’s number? She’d call and ask him about this Ty Beaumont. But what was George’s telephone number?
The drawer beneath the telephone was stuck. Sunny tried it several times, then tugged on it so hard that it came out of its moorings and crashed to the floor. The Latham Parish telephone directory, a few unsharpened pencils, a scrap of fabric her mother had used to match paint, a coupon for buy-one-catfish-dinner-get-one-free, and a rusty nail all scattered over the linoleum floor.
The racket she had made stunned her for a moment. Recovering, she dropped to her knees, gouging one on the head of the nail. She picked up the telephone book. As yet unaware that she couldn’t read it in the dark, she began frantically thumbing through the old, curled pages.
It was then that she heard the heavy footsteps on the porch outside. She clutched the directory to her thudding heart. Her eyes were round with terror. She made a helpless mewing sound when the front doorknob rattled as though someone was trying to open it.
She used the countertop to pull herself up. Her entire body was quaking with fear. Moving along the wall, she edged her way into the living room and stared in horror as the doorknob twisted first one way, then the other.
Sunny almost jumped out of her skin when the loud knock came. She hadn’t expected the intruder to knock. She waited, but there was another knock, then another, becoming impatient and as hard and dramatic as her beating heart.