X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

“I know. I remember.”

She took over the cheese-and-cracker duties and fed herself two more, which seemed to calm her to some extent. “Something else. I had another friend complain about my not returning calls, and it bothered me. When you said you left that first message, I shrugged it off, thinking you dialed wrong or there’d been a power outage, something like that. But then I couldn’t figure out how your message and hers could just evaporate. So then I held down the Play button and brought up old messages. I had sixteen, which I played and deleted as fast as I could because most I’d heard but neglected to erase. Then yours popped up, and two from her were on there as well. I had to ask myself what the hell was going on, and the only answer I could think of was someone was in here and listened to them first. Once you play a message, the message light no longer blinks.”

“Which means you’d have no idea the message was ever there.”

“That’s what I concluded.”

“You think someone was in here before the incident today?”

“I do. On more than one occasion.” She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “Once it occurred to me, I realized I’ve had the same feeling for the past couple of weeks. Like something was off.”

“Give me an example.”

“Little things. Nothing obvious. I’d put mail on the counter and come back later to find it not quite where it was. I’d see books leaning at odd angles in the bookcase, which is a bugaboo of mine. Or a light would be on when I distinctly remembered turning it off. I do that automatically because it’s what my mother taught me. Leave a room, turn the light off. I kept dismissing and discounting my perceptions.”

“This is bringing up the hair on the back of my neck.”

“Well, it’s scaring the shit out of me, too.”

Suddenly, the phone rang and we both jumped.

Ruthie crossed to the counter, and when she picked up, it was quickly apparent she was talking to the locksmith who’d returned her call. I disconnected my attention while she went through the exercise of explaining what had happened and what she needed done. He was available, and the two agreed to his arrival within the hour. Once she hung up, she sat down again, and I could tell she was feeling better now that help was on the way.

“Why would someone do that?” I asked.

“What, move things around? To spook me, I guess. It wasn’t with an eye to ripping me off. There was ample opportunity for that. This was something else. ‘Sly’ is the only way I can describe it.”

“Had to be a guy. I can’t picture a woman pulling the same stunt.”

“A woman would certainly be capable, but I agree. You know what’s weird? Anybody who could slip in like that could slip out again without leaving a trace. This was deliberate. It wasn’t until today I felt the reality sink in. Even then, if you’d told me it was my imagination, I’d have taken your word for it.”

“No alarm system?”

“Well, no. When Pete was alive, we didn’t need one. After he died, I could’ve had one installed, but I’m not used to thinking that way. The neighborhood is quiet and it’s always felt safe. It’s not like we have vandals or burglars. I’ve checked all the windows and doors, and there’s nothing out of line. Locks, window latches, everything’s closed up tight, so how’s this fellow getting in?”

“We’ll come over in the morning and do a proper search. I’d rather tackle it by day so we can see what we’re doing.”

“I’m not making this up, am I? Really, this is making me feel crazy.”

“Don’t worry about being crazy. I just met a good shrink and I can probably get you a discount.”

It took her three seconds to realize I was joking, and even then I knew the attempt at humor was lame.

The locksmith arrived and rekeyed the front and back doors, along with a little-used side door. While Ruthie threw a change of clothes and toiletries in an overnight bag, I gave Henry a call to tell him Ruthie would be spending the night and asking if she could leave her car in his driveway. I knew I’d manage to find parking, but I didn’t want her driving around in the dark in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Of course Henry agreed. I didn’t stop to explain what was going on, and he didn’t press. There’d be plenty of time for that when I knew what we were dealing with.

When the locksmith was finished, she wrote him a check and then walked him to the front door. After that, the two of us made the rounds, assuring ourselves that the windows and doors were secure. I followed Ruthie upstairs and walked with her from room to room, watching as she turned out the lights one by one. I was dimly aware that something was bothering me, but the immediacy of the moment required my undivided attention. The notion was like someone knocking at a distant door. Twice, I paused and turned my head as though I might identify the source.