X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

Electrical wires sagged into view, and between the joists pink and gray insulating material hung in tatters. The far corners were in deep shadow, but my flashlight caught the two bright eyes of a creature that scuttled out of sight. There were no vents, and the underside of the subflooring was dusted with a white substance that could only be mold. I saw no evidence of trapdoors connecting the crawl space to the rooms above, so there was no way an intruder could enter the house from below. Absent were scuff marks to suggest that someone had belly-crawled across the surface, which resembled nothing so much as the bleak landscape on a distant planet man had once visited and found wanting.

I got up and dusted myself off, then continued circling the house. At the back of my mind, I was still testing my belief that Pete was up to something. Why put together six names and then convert the list to code unless he was worried it would fall into the wrong hands? Why would a list like that mean anything to anyone except Ned Lowe? Ruth could protest all she liked, but it didn’t add up any other way; at least as far as I could see.

When I arrived at the side door again, I noted what looked like a thin line of a lighter color along the mullion nearest the door. I leaned close, picking up the scent of oil-based paint. I drew back a step. The original dark blue trim had been covered with a shade that wasn’t quite a match. I ran a finger across the surface and found it faintly tacky to the touch. I went inside and checked the same panes of glass. Adjacent mullions and trim were the original dark blue. Only the pane nearest the door handle had been touched up. Outside again, I dug a fingernail into the paint and found the window putty as soft as cheese.

I peered through the glass at an angle. The key in the dead bolt sat within easy reach. I pictured the intruder using a knife blade to chip away the ancient putty that secured the glass. Once the pane was lifted out, it would be easy to reach through the opening and extract the key from the lock. Any hardware store could duplicate that key. Many of the same hardware stores sold dark blue exterior paint. All the intruder would have to do is return the original key to the lock, replace the pane, and putty it into place. After that, he’d apply a line of fresh paint, and for all intents and purposes, the glass would appear as it had been.

I wondered if he’d anticipated the arrival of the locksmith and the rekeying of the lock. Having left the door standing open, he must have assumed she’d have the locks changed. No big deal to him. All he had to do was wait. The next time she left the house, he could employ the same technique to supply himself with a new key while she’d go on thinking she was safe. I noticed I was neatly tiptoeing past the name Ned Lowe. Ruthie’s bristling aside, I still harbored the strong belief that Pete had been operating in the usual shakedown mode with Lowe as his target.

I closed the door, turned the key, and removed it from the lock.

“What are you doing?”

I jumped and said, “Shit!”

Ruthie was standing behind me. “Sorry. You were gone so long, I came looking for you. What’s the matter with the door?”

“This is how he got in,” I said. I gave her a quick summary, watching as her expression shifted from disbelief to dismay.

“How do I know he didn’t get in again last night after the locks were changed? He might already have a copy of that key.”

“Better have the locksmith out again, and let’s hope he offers you a discount. You should have an alarm system installed.”

“I guess I’ll have to, but I’m pissed off just thinking about how much it will cost.”

“No point in getting mad when you don’t have a choice.”

“Right, and I’m angry about that, too,” she said.

“You have a company in mind?”

“My neighbor used an outfit called Security Operating Systems. He had an alarm installed last year and he’s a big fan.”

“Security Operating Systems. S.O.S. Very clever,” I said. I placed the key in the palm of her hand. “In the meantime, you might want to install a chain where he can’t get to it.”

“How did he know he could break in to begin with? What if I’d been home?”

“Come with me,” I said.

I ushered her into the kitchen with me where I pointed at the refrigerator door, which was papered with odds and ends. Under assorted magnets shaped like vegetables, there was a photograph of Pete, a dental appointment reminder card, two fliers, and a calendar on which she’d noted her work hours. “Look at this. You have your schedule posted where anyone can see it. The first time he broke in, he was taking a big risk. After that, he knew what shifts you worked, so he could come and go as he pleased.”