Hugging herself against the morning chill, Lara strolled toward the top of the hill and looked out over the landscape. A light wind lifted the ends of her hair. In the meadow below, behind the town park, the field grasses tilted in the breeze. How many winters had she sledded on this hill, gliding down the snowy slope on her aunt’s ancient Flexible Flyer? This was the parcel of land, she realized, that Theo Barnes had been pressuring her aunt to sell.
From where she stood, the block that housed Sherry’s coffee shop was visible. Across the street from that was the town library, a one-story red brick affair that looked as if it hadn’t changed in decades. Another old building squatted next to the library. With its dreary gray shingles and shallow front steps, it had all the trappings of an ugly apartment house.
A sudden flurry of movement in the meadow caught Lara’s attention. It was an animal on the prowl, sleek and stealthy, and— Lara took in a quick breath.
It was Blue, stalking through the field toward the base of the hill, her aquamarine eyes seemingly fixed on Lara’s.
“Blue,” she called softly to the cat. “Come here, sweet kitty.”
The cat continued moving but then shot off through the tall grass, heading in the direction of the brook.
Lara scuttled down the hill as quickly as she could, determined to catch up with the elusive feline. The cat was trotting through the grassy field as if on a mission. Lara was so focused on keeping Blue in her line of vision that she didn’t notice the jutting rock embedded in the ground. It caught the toe of her boot. In the next instant she pitched forward, her arms flailing in a clumsy attempt to break her fall. She tumbled to the ground, skidding on her stomach, almost to the bottom of the hill.
For a moment Lara just lay there, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She rolled over and sat up, groaning as she tested her limbs. Everything worked, although the palm of her right hand was scraped and sore.
After tossing a few colorful curses at the rock that betrayed her, she hauled herself to her feet and began brushing dirt and grass from her hands and sweater. She slapped at her jeans to dislodge the clinging bits of dirt and grass. She hoped Aunt Fran’s washing machine was in good working condition. At the rate she was going, she’d be running a load through very soon.
One last time, Lara glanced around for any sign of Blue, but the cat was MIA. By now Aunt Fran was probably awake and wondering where she’d disappeared to. She felt her stomach rumble. It was time she made breakfast for the two of them.
Lara turned to start back up the hill when something caught her eye—a swatch of red, maybe thirty feet away, that she hadn’t noticed before. Whatever it was, it was slumped behind the granite bench at the rear of the town’s property. Had someone left an old blanket there? Could it be something that belonged to Aunt Fran?
She moved gingerly toward the red lump. A weird chill crept up her spine. Nothing in the meadow had ever frightened her before, but now she felt oddly afraid.
Lara halted abruptly in her tracks.
It wasn’t a blanket, as she’d first thought. It was a jacket—a red-and-black checkered jacket.
A jacket still worn by its very dead owner, Theo Barnes.
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