Page 39 of Mountain Void

I guess that’s all it is.

But the word seemed too soft for what she was looking at. And it wasn’t just the color. There was violence in the word itself.

Salope. Slut.

It didn’t feel random. It felt personal.

By the time Lorenz hung up his phone, the urge to throw up had passed, but not the fear.

“They’re sending someone,” he said. “It’ll just be a few minutes. Do you want to wait in the car?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I want to take a quick look at the house.”

Charlie shivered. “You think someone might be inside?”

“I don’t,” Lorenz said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But I want to make sure.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Lorenz hesitated. “Are you sure? You can wait in—“

“I’m not letting you go alone,” she said. “Not if there’s a mad person loose with a—“

“Bucket of red paint?” he said helpfully.

Despite herself, Charlie smiled. “Right. With a bucket of red paint.”

They circled the house once. Charlie kept her eyes down, stepping where Lorenz stepped. Her black heels, which had felt so à propos earlier that evening, crunched softly on the fresh snow. Fresh, because nobody had stepped there before them. Whoever it was, they’d stopped at the driveway.

By the time they made their way back to the paint, the gendarmes were there. Two officers. Efficient, professional, almost deferential as they took photos and asked questions. Charlie knew they were treating this with particular care because of Lorenz.

“Have you had any disagreements with anyone recently, mademoiselle?”

Charlie shook her head. She didn’t have enemies. “I’m a teacher,” she said weakly. She was distracted from saying anything else by the appearance of her neighbor. Tonight, he was wrapped in a bathrobe and wearing incongruous-looking white slippers that squelched in the snow with every step he took.

Almost as bad as my heels.

The man stood on his side of the driveway, frowning at the red paint like it was an inconvenience designed especially for him.

“What is all this?” he demanded. “People are trying to sleep. I was trying to sleep.”

One of the officers turned politely. “Sir, please don’t step anywhere near here. We need to take pictures first.“

Her neighbor peered at the red letters, looking unimpressed. “Hmm. That’s going to be difficult to clean, you know. Especially from concrete.” His gaze seemed to linger on the placement of the word. “Half of this driveway is mine.”

Charlie blinked.

Asshole.

“I beg your pardon?” Lorenz asked, stepping in swiftly. “What’s your name, sir?”

“I’m Oliver Brody. I’m the owner of this property,” he said, pointing at an invisible line on the ground.

He looked down again at the letters, twisting his head slightly. When the meaning of the word finally sank in, he looked up at Charlie, his gaze accusatory.

“I don’t like this.”