Danger in a Small Town

By the time she reached the foyer, she realized it wasn’t a faucet dripping after all. What she heard was a full-fledged pour, and it came from the basement. Another buffet of wind hammered the house, the heavy rain thudding against the wood siding, crashing against the windows. The old quote, “It was a dark and stormy night” popped into her thoughts, and Tess laughed nervously.

It was silly to let a storm shake her up like this. “Get a grip,” she said, her words echoing in the large kitchen.

Tess opened the basement door, flicked the switch in the stairwell and carefully made her way down the steep basement stairs. She didn’t need to get hurt, too.

At the bottom of the stairs, she took a good look around. Stacks of boxes lined the walls, chairs were piled haphazardly on two tables in a corner, a collection of buckets covered Uncle Gordon’s old and unused workbench and additional plastic storage containers, suitcases, and even a lawnmower took up every visible inch of space.

“Wow!” As Tess stared at the mess, another blast of wind set off the sound of running water again. And while she didn’t find a flood, she did find an open window, one through which the rain poured in.

“Why would Uncle Gordon have left it open?” She didn’t think it could have blown ajar during the storm, but the how didn’t matter right then. She had to get it closed before the basement flooded. She climbed over a stack of boxes, then shoved three suitcases to one side. She never would have expected to find Uncle Gordon’s basement so cluttered. He was more the neat-freak, organized and squeaky-clean type.

And to leave a window open…?

Then she realized that wasn’t the case after all. No one had left the window open. The frame was locked, as it should have been. The glass pane, however, was broken, its jagged remains like a row of shark teeth along the wooden edge.

And, if she was right, the broken window flanked the torn-up rosebed outside. She looked for something to use to block out the rain. “That dog of Mr. Anthony’s must really be something,” she muttered. “First, he mangles half a dozen rosebushes, two azaleas and a border of petunias. Now, he’s busted in a window…”

Armed with the blue plastic lid to a storage container near the broken window, she reached up and jammed it into place. Her guesstimate was good; it covered the opening, but she would still need tape to get it to stay.

Tess remembered the roll Uncle Gordon kept in the laundry room off the kitchen. She ran up, grabbed the shiny gray duct tape off the shelf and hurried back down. In the dimly lit cavern, she picked her way to the window again over and around the many hurdles. As she pulled out the lid to readjust it, she thought she saw a shadow move out in the yard.

Her heart sped up.

Her breathing grew shallow.

Her hands shook, and she had to fight the urge to run upstairs and dive into her bed.

As she stood frozen, scared, Tess told herself it must have been a play of the streetlight on the branches of the oak tree outside. But no matter how many times she repeated the thought, she didn’t convince herself. Her impression had been one of a head, strong shoulders and legs. True, it had only lasted an instant, but she knew what she’d seen.

Would anyone believe her? Believe she’d seen someone walking out in the yard in the middle of a monsoon?

Probably not. Especially since now, a few minutes later, she was busy thinking up possible alternate scenarios. Like the unlikely oak branches.

She would only tell someone if she thought she’d be believed. The last few months at Magnusson’s had left a deep scar. Tess didn’t need anyone doubting her again.

Drenched, Tess made sure the plastic lid was crammed into the space as tightly as possible. Then she spread strip after strip of tape across it, and by the time she’d used almost the whole roll, the flood had been reduced to an occasional drop coursing down the wall.

“It’ll have to do,” she murmured, as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. It wouldn’t win any beauty awards, but it worked—for the time being. She turned toward the stairs and started to make her way around the clutter again.

She put her hand on the top box to her right, slipped her fingers into the now-open plastic container whose top covered the window, and hauled herself over the rain-sodden mess. “I’ll have to call around and get a handyman to come in and replace the glass. At least Uncle Gordon won’t be mucking around down here where he might slip and fall—Aaaaack!”

She lost her footing and landed on her right foot. Pain sliced up her leg. “Oh…oh…”

Gritting her teeth, Tess reached down and gingerly pulled a shard of glass from the sole of her foot. The ooze of blood told her she was in trouble. And without her phone, she’d have to crawl her way up the basement stairs, careful not to touch the wound to the dirty floor. She needed to call for help.

Inch by inch she made her bloody way across the basement. She climbed the stairs rear end first, step by step by step. Once she pushed her behind up over the last step, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now what?

Now she had to apply pressure to the wound. The bleeding was heavy. Then…?

Did she call an ambulance and scare Uncle Gordon with the siren and all the commotion? Or did she call Miss Tabitha on her private line, drag the poor dear out of bed in the middle of the night and scare the stuffing out of her?

She’d been gone from town for so long, she wasn’t sure any of her former friends were still around or would remember her if they were. She’d find no help there.

The phone rang, sending a shot of relief right through her. Potential help. Then it hit her. Who would be calling in the middle of the night?

The phone rang again. Tess hopped across the room on her good foot, her bad foot dripping on the white-painted wood floor. “Hello?”

She could hear the caller’s breathing on the other end, but she got no response. “I’ve had enough of your calls. This is a lousy time for another prank—”

“It’s no prank,” a harsh voice rasped. “It’s a warning. I want it back.”

Tess froze. Her heart pounded. The caller was clearly disguising his voice.

Lord, help! She dredged up all her courage. “What? What do you want?”

“You know.” Then he hung up.

Tess stood in the brightly lit kitchen, the phone clutched to her chest. Chills ran through her. Her stomach knotted, and everything felt surreal.

She remembered the shadow and the broken window. Tess leaned sideways, and with a glance, checked the kitchen door. She breathed a relieved sigh when she saw the dead bolt in the locked position. When she straightened again, pain stabbed up her leg, and she gasped at the sight of the pool of blood from her cut foot. She needed medical attention, and soon. Should she go ahead and call 911? Was the person still outside? Had he been the one on the phone?

If she called an ambulance and the trespasser was still there, would the ambulance make him look for a place to hide until they came and took her away? Uncle Gordon would be left alone.

If instead she called Miss Tabitha for help, would the intruder overpower them both? And then…? Then what?

“Stop it!” She wasn’t thinking clearly. The shadow had to have been the branches from the tree. And the caller? He must have made a mistake, dialed the wrong number, and in the dead of night, thought she was his intended target.

That was it. Nothing else made sense.

Another stab of pain shot up her leg, worse than before. She needed help. But who could she call?

Then it struck her. She knew one competent, capable person who she hoped wouldn’t mind helping. Ethan would know what to do.

Relieved, but now keenly aware of the foot pain, she speed-dialed Miss Tabitha’s boarding-house number and hoped whoever she woke up would forgive her.

“Hello?” Ethan asked, his voice rough, as though he hadn’t used it in hours.

Thank you, Father. “Ethan? I’m sorry to wake you up, but I’m so glad you picked up the phone. It’s Tess Graver. I need your help. One of our basement windows broke, probably during the storm, and when I went to cover it to block out the rain, I stepped on broken glass and hurt my foot. It’s bleeding pretty badly, and I need to get to the E.R. Could you please help?”

“I’ll get going as soon as we hang up.”

His deep voice reassured her, and Tess pushed the memory of the shadow and the phone call out of her thoughts. “I…I think a neighbor’s dog might have broken the window. Uncle Gordon says Rupert Anthony, three doors down and across the street, got himself this monster of a dog. It looks like the animal broke loose, trashed our rosebed, and crashed into the window, too.” She hoped.

“Some dog, that Rupert Anthony’s pet.”

His skepticism echoed her unease. For a moment, panic threatened, and Tess couldn’t stand the thought of hanging up, of losing the connection, even if it existed only over the phone. Then she took a settling breath, closed her eyes and prayed another silent plea.

A tree branch and a wrong number, Tess. Remember?