There was no sign of her in the bedroom.The light was on in the adjacent master bath, which struck me as a little peculiar when it was bright and sunny outside, but it wasn’t necessarily sinister.She might not have been into the bedroom since earlier, and might not realize the light was still on.
In the front of the house was a dining room, with what looked like a carved mahogany dining room set, and then the front door and picture window.
I went up on the stoop and knocked again.There were three small windows in the top of the door, too high for me to see in.
There was no answer, but the dog started barking.A second later, it threw itself at the panes in the picture window, yipping hysterically.
I left the stoop and waded through the flower bed over to the window, pushing my way through prickly holly bushes and taking care not to step on flowering mums.The dog went crazy, hopping stiff-legged inside the window.Funny, when it hadn’t barked at me outside earlier.
Must be a protective thing.It was inside the house now, and it had to protect its territory.
The picture window was huge.Almost floor to ceiling.I could see the hardwoods a foot below the window inside, and when I peered up, the ceiling wasn’t very high above the window frame, either.
There was some very nice morning light in Mrs.Grimshaw’s formal living room.
Enough light to let me see, clearly, hundreds of tiny red paw prints meandering back and forth in front of the window.
I cupped my hands over my eyes again and peered inside.
Flowered chintz furniture, dark coffee table with a glass top.Small TV on a stand against the wall.Small, rabid dog jumping up and down, bat ears flapping.
And a pair of feet, toes pointing at the ceiling.One wore a fuzzy, pink slipper; the other nothing.Another fuzzy pink slipper lay a foot or two away.The rest of the body—Mrs.Grimshaw’s, I assumed—was out of sight behind an upholstered wingback chair.
I stepped out of the flowerbed and away from the window, fumbling for my phone.
I gave the 911 operator my name and Mrs.Grimshaw’s address, and explained that I could see her through the window, lying on the floor, and that there was a lot of bloody paw prints on the floor, but I couldn’t see anything else.
“Have you gone inside the house?”the operator inquired.
I said I hadn’t.“The back door was locked.I haven’t tried the front door.I can do it now.”
“No,” the operator said.“Wait for the police.”
“But what if she’s still alive?What if there’s something I can do, and I’m just standing here?”
“There’s an ambulance on the way,” the operator told me.“Stay on the line with me until it gets there.”
I could already hear the sirens in the distance.The nearest fire station must be nearby.“I can’t,” I told her.“I have to call someone.Sorry.”
I hung up.And then I called Mendoza.
The phone rang twice, and then he came on.“Mrs.Kelly.”It was impossible to say whether he was happy, exasperated, or something else, to hear from me.
“You have to come out here,” I told him, through chattering teeth.“Something’s happened to Mrs.Grimshaw.”
“Who?”
“The lady who called you yesterday.About the suspicious car.The one with the little dog.Something’s wrong.”
Immediately he was all business.“What?”
“There’s blood on the floor.The dog stepped in it.It was outside in the street.When I followed it back up to the house, I saw bloody paw prints.So I started looking through the windows.She’s in the living room.On the floor.On her back.And there are bloody paw prints all over the room.”
“Are you there now?”Mendoza asked.
I nodded.“Uh-huh.”
“Have you called 911?”
