Chapter Nine - Shadow Boxing

"And when you needed me, I came through…!"

Kate belted out the familiar tune as the last of the broken glass was propelled up the hose of her brand new vacuum sweeper. The light began to flicker, and she glanced at the chandelier overhead. One of the fixture's five bulbs dimmed again and she frowned. Light bulbs. That's what she'd forgotten. Oh well, she had the rest of the night off. Picking up a box of bulbs later at the grocery store wouldn't be a big deal.

She gave the floor a final lingering appraisal before switching off the vacuum.

"Through the sleepless nights," she sang along, her voice trailing off when static crackled over the air. After a few moments, she gave up and switched the radio off.

The hose and attachments detached easily and made a satisfying, job-well-done sort of snap as she replaced the parts in their individual compartments. She unplugged the cord from the wall and wound it, wrist over elbow, until she'd created a long, loose loop to hang haphazardly over the vacuum's handle. Years of Olivia's nagging made her bend down and grudgingly wrap the cord around its designated clips.

Kate nodded to her new cat, who was perched on the back of the sofa, grabbed the yellow plastic sack containing the new lock kit and a screwdriver set, and headed toward the entrance hall, stopping only long enough to stow the sweeper in the small utility closet off the kitchen.

She passed the thermostat on her way out and paused to punch the buttons that would kick the AC down a couple of notches.

Her flip-flops slapped the floor, and the bag swung against her bare thigh as she shoved at the screen door, set the catch at the top of the door to hold it open, and stepped into the warm, brilliant mid-morning sunshine.

Kate swiftly set the bag onto the wide, flat top rail, dug into it, and began to lay her purchases out in a neat row. A series of beeps sounded and she fished her phone from the pocket of her shorts, then tapped the icon on the main screen. Three text messages. Two were from Lindsey, the first inquiring about her first night on the job—the second was a picture of a grinning skeleton.

Kate snorted. "Funny, Lindsey." The most recent message was from Lilly and said simply, Call me.

15 min ☺, she typed back, then slid the phone back into the shallow denim pocket of her cutoffs. From her other pocket she took a pocket knife and carefully cut across the top of the thick plastic that encased the screwdriver set.

She selected the neon-green-handled Phillips and made quick work of swapping out the old brass single-key lock knob for a new pewter-finish deadbolt. As she worked, her attention kept straying to the house next door. Jaxson's car was in the driveway, along with a late-model Buick that looked as if it had seen better days.

Once, Kate thought she saw a curtain twitch to the side but didn't see anyone looking out at her, and the fabric quickly fell back into place, so she figured somebody must have brushed up against the window. What reason would Jaxson have to be concerned with what she was doing? Frowning, she crouched and raised the tool to secure the final screw.

What was wrong with her that she was drawn to what he was doing? No, that wasn't fair, she decided, lining up the screw with the pre-drilled hole in the knob plate.

She wasn't drawn to him. Hadn't he already proven himself to be a foul-tempered jerk? That and strange. She forced her gaze away from the now-undisturbed window and refocused her attention on the task at hand. No doubt about it, Jaxson Green was an odd duck. Kissing him had been a mistake, she insisted, giving the screw one final twist before rising to her feet.

Her mind drifted back to last night and what amounted to the wildest—okay, the only wild thing—she'd ever done in her life. While Lindsey and many of the other girls in her sophomore class were at dances and parties, Kate was working after school to supplement the disability checks that barely paid the rent, let alone put food on the table. After graduation, when most of the people she knew were cutting loose, making plans and traveling, rooming in dormitories, she was raising a grieving fifteen-year-old who was angry at the world.

If it hadn't been for Lindsey opting to do the first two years of her business degree at a local university, Kate wasn't sure she and Lilly would have made it through that first year. Lindsey's constant presence in their household had been a godsend.

Her friend's daily habit of dropping in to "hang out" with Lilly every day from three to five in the afternoon until Kate got home from classes and work, rain or shine, had helped give a young girl a home base and had gone a long way toward rebuilding a foundation that had been badly shaken. Lindsey's watchful eye had also probably kept Lilly out of heaven only knew what trouble.

Kate turned, bags in hand, and stumbled over her new pet. The bag with the screwdrivers landed on the top of her foot. She managed to keep hold of the much lighter bag that contained the trash—of course—and, with a muffled curse, bent down to rub at her toes. Blood welled from a small cut at the base of her big toe. She lifted the bag and noticed a good-sized tear at the bottom, sharp plastic packaging from the screwdriver set sticking out like a mini fin.

"Son of a…" she muttered. A sudden rustling sound brought her head up. She reached out to grip the edge of the door and haul herself to her feet. What was that?

The noise sounded again, louder this time, and closer. Mice, maybe? The cat hissed but didn't relinquish his position of relative safely behind Kate's legs.

She laughed nervously. "Hey, if that's a mouse, aren't you supposed to go check it out?" She smiled down at the cat, then glanced back to the open doorway in time to catch a ripple of movement at the bottom of the white linen cloth draped over the wooden secretary in the entryway. Remembering the chewed cable cord Olivia had found the other day, Kate let out the breath she'd been holding, gathered her bags, straightened, and walked into the house.

Dropping to one knee, she reached with her free hand and swept the cloth aside to reveal … nothing.

She swiftly scanned the area around the heavy piece of furniture, frowning when nothing stirred in the entryway. In fact, the whole house seemed motionless, eerie. The silence was an oppressive, vivid thing. Beside her, the cat bristled.

Kate climbed to her feet, an uneasy feeling pooling in her stomach. "It's okay, those things are fast. We—we'll get a service out, first thing," she chattered, flipping the catch at the top of the front door and pulling it shut behind her.

A drafty chill swept across her bare arms and she shivered, switched the air completely off, and meandered into the kitchen. Hunching her shoulders and folding her arms across her chest, she contemplated the open, airy space in silence.

This room, too, was much the same as she remembered it. Rows and rows of maple-brown cabinets with bronze hardware. She advanced further into the room and opened the cabinet closest to the extra-wide single white porcelain sink. Her fingers lingered over the cool metallic handle worn smooth by years of use. Aunt Viola had loved this kitchen. She herself had loved this kitchen—once.

Kate went through the motions of brewing coffee with the only small appliance she and Lilly had brought down from Georgia, save for a three-speed blow dryer. Memories long past shadowed Kate's motions as she took cream and sugar dishes from the fridge and set them on the long, wide counter alongside a clean blue ceramic mug.

Viola combining flour and sugar in an enormous chrome bowl. The scent of roast turkey filling the air while she perched precariously on a chair and accepted fat brown eggs from Lilly, who sat on the counter top and stirred a bowl of butter while Kate cracked eggs and Aunt Viola looked on approvingly…

Kate tore off a paper towel from the holder that someone—probably Olivia—had stocked the day before. She ran it under the faucet, squeezed out the excess water, and dabbed at the blood on her foot while she waited for the coffee to brew.

A shadow fell across the counter and she glanced up, startled out of her reverie of days long gone by the thick dark clouds beginning to fill the sky. The kitchen took on a somber gray-green hue, and she pulled the shutters and latched them before carrying her coffee to the sitting room.

The first drops of rain began to ping the windows as she pulled the curtains against the gloom and switched on the pair of Tiffany lamps that framed the couch. She took a sip of coffee, pulled out her cell, and punched in Lilly's number.