“Well, I wouldn’t feel right letting you walk home alone at this hour.”
“Eight p.m.?”
“Exactly.”
I walk up the front steps to my house, key in hand. Turning to Peter, I say, “Well, thank you. I should be good from here.”
“Are you feeling a little nervous about your first night alone here?”
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “Why? Should I be?”
“Nope, but I couldn’t help but wonder, based on all your questions about Violet’s true whereabouts.”
“I just wanted to make sure she’s okay. Single woman, living alone in a house surrounded by trees. Anything could have happened to her.”
“Other than living well until a ripe old age, nothing else happened to her here.” Peter gives me a reassuring smile. “You know what? Why don’t you collect Walt and come on back to your room at our place? You could spend your days here and your nights with us until you get to know all the noises and such.”
I shake my head and make appffftttsound, spitting all over my fleece coat for good measure. “That would be ridiculous. I’m not scared of my house.”
“Of course not. Would you feel better if I did a quick walk-through to make sure everything’s okay?”
“No, but if that would makeyoufeel better, have at it.”
“Yes, I’ll sleep a lot sounder knowing you’re safe,” he says with a wry grin.
I unlock the door, and when we step inside, I say, “I’ll wait here while you check things out.”
Peter slides off his shoes, then starts for the stairs to the basement, patting Walt on the head when they cross in the hall.
While he’s down there, I shout, “You okay? You don’t see any evidence of freshly dug graves, do you?”
He pops his head around the corner a moment later. “All fine, as you knew it would be.”
A few minutes later, he walks down the stairs. “All clear. Thanks for letting me look around.”
“No problem. I would hate to make you worry.”
Five minutes later, Peter’s gone, the doors are locked, and I’m upstairs in my bedroom with the covers pulled up to my neck as I listen for murderers. My cell phone rings and I jump, startling Walt, who zips off the mattress, then turns to stare at me from across the room.
I pick up my phone off the box I’m using as a night table. It’s Lauren. Thank God. “Hey lady, what’s up?”
“Just checking on you to see how the first night in your new house is going.”
“Couldn’t be better,” I say, trying very hard not to slur but failing miserably.
“Are you drunk?”
“A little.”
“Let me guess, your imagination ran away on you, so you had a few drinks to help you relax.”
“Maybe. How did you know?”
“I’m your best friend and you’re a writer with a gigantic imagination. You don’t always use it for good.”
“Right,” I say, feeling slightly sheepish. “I would have been fine if it weren’t for the dirt floor in the basement.”
“Did you convince yourself there’s a bunch of bodies buried down there?”
