The Night Before Read Free Page A

her stained nightgown and started for the staircase. She gave a low whistle.
    Nothing.
    Her throat tightened.
    You’d better grab a weapon. Just in case.
    She didn’t keep a gun in the house, didn’t believe in it. Biting her lip, she grabbed a small dumbbell, one she used when working out while watching television, then inched into the hallway.
    Ears straining over the frantic beat of her heart, she listened as she moved. The house was still. Quiet. As if all were safe.
    Pull yourself together. Do it, Caitlyn. Don’t let fear paralyze you! Her fingers tightened over her weapon as she peered into the hall bath. It was empty.
    Nervous sweat slick on her body, she slowly eased open the door to one of the other bedrooms and her heart tugged as it always did as she looked into the space that had been her daughter’s. Jamie’s favorite stuffed animal, a droopy-eared bunny was propped against the pillows of a double bed covered with a quilt hand-stitched in soft pastels. Luminescent stars and clouds that she had painted for Jamie still covered the ceiling. But the room was empty and, she thought sadly, was starting to smell musty and stale, reminding her that her baby was gone.
    “Happy birthday dear Ja-mie . . . ” The discordant children’s voices blared in her head.
    Don’t go there. Not now.
    Her sweaty fingers tightened around the weight. Nervously she eased into her den with its drafting table and computer desk, just as she’d left it. Her desk, drafting table, computer all stood silent, the desk slightly cluttered. But no one was hiding in the corners or behind the closet doors. Turning, she spied a figure in the darkness. No! She gasped, before realizing it was her own reflection staring back at her from the full-length mirror she’d hung on the door.
    She nearly collapsed.
    Come on, Caitlyn. Toughen up!
    Silently she edged down the stairs, the fingers of her left hand trailing along the banister, her right fist coiled tightly over the weight. But no dark figure wielding a knife or gun leaped out of the dining alcove at her as she stepped onto the second riser. No gunshot blasted through the house. No—
    She heard a quick, loud scrape.
    The sole of a leather boot on hardwood?
    She froze.
    Over the mad drumming of her heart, she heard the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the hall clock. She wanted to call out to the dog, but decided to wait. But she forced herself to inch forward, her gaze sweeping the rooms. The living room was just as she’d left it, still smelling of the roses she’d cut and placed in the vase on the coffee table. No trace of blood.
    She began to calm. The house felt empty. She checked the laundry room and kitchen, where morning light was beginning to filter through the windows, and the dining alcove with its view of the back courtyard. Everything was in its place.
    Eerily so.
    Except it looks like Charles Manson held a party in your bedroom while you were sleeping .
    She heard a sharp bark.
    Oscar!
    She saw him through the bay window, a scruffy mutt scratching at the back door. She nearly collapsed in relief. “How did you get out here?” Caitlyn scolded kindly as the scrappy terrier-mix stood on his hind legs and pawed frantically at the glass. The sound she’d heard. She unlatched the door and he flew into her arms. Ruffling his coarse mottled fur, she wondered if she’d left him out by mistake. Had she come home, let the dog out, then, because she’d had one or two too many Cosmopolitans, wandered upstairs and forgotten him?
    Why would you do that? Just so you could hack away at your wrists and suffer the worst nosebleed you’ve had in five years? You know, Caitlyn, Kelly might be right. You might just be losing it. Big time.
    “What happened last night?” she asked the little dog as she set him on the floor, then opened a can of dog food and scraped the contents into his bowl while he turned in quick tight circles. “You’re not half as glad to see me as I am to see