Erica Spindler - Cause for Alarm

Kate sighed. She had been so certain she was doing the right thing, so certain that tonight she would be telling Richard how she had repaired the rift in her, Luke's and his friendship, certain that she would be feeling so pleased and proud of herself.

Now, she wished she had told him. Now, she felt like a fool. An optimistic, naive idiot. Some things couldn't be changed. They couldn't be made better by time or good intentions. Just as some wounds never healed, they festered instead.

Emma whimpered and snuggled closer to Kate's shoulder, trying to get comfortable. It had been a long day for them both, Kate thought, carrying Emma to her nursery. She laid her carefully in the crib, then as quietly as possible, raised the guard rail. Through it all, Emma didn't even stir.

Kate drew in a deep, shuddering breath and curled her fingers around the crib rail, gazing down at her sleeping daughter, at her beautiful, peaceful face. It wasn't true, what Luke had said to her about Richard's reason for proposing to her. They had been married for ten years. They were happy. They had a good marriage. The kind built on love, not on some juvenile competition. He took his wedding vows seriously, just as she did.

Kate turned away from the crib and busied herself straightening the nursery. She had left in such a hurry that morning, she hadn't had a chance to clean up from her and Emma's play.

She bent, collecting the rattles, shakers and stuffies from the play mat, then carried them to the basket she kept for them next to the rocking chair. Her mind drifted once more to her confrontation with Luke, to the things he'd said. And what of herself? she wondered. Had she been motivated by something other than love? By greed, as Luke had suggested?

She dropped the toys into the basket. He thought she was a gold digger. That she had married Richard for his money, for his standing in the community.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she made a sound of annoyance, struggling to remember, to go back to that thrilling but tumultuous time of her life. To recall her feelings and examine them. All of them. Honestly.

She had loved Richard. She had loved him from the moment she met him. Sure, he had behaved badly sometimes. He'd been young and cocksure and accustomed to having his way. And yes, he had broken her heart more than once.

But even with his faults, she had longed to marry him; she had prayed he would ask her. Because dating him had been thrilling. Because most of the time, he had been charming and attentive, fun-loving and generous. He had made her feel special. And cared for.

Had his money, his affluence and influential family colored her feelings for him? Sure they had, Kate admitted. How could they not? They were a part of who Richard was. That didn't mean she hadn't loved him. It didn't mean she was a gold digger.

Kate crossed to the baby's dresser and began straightening the framed photos and knickknacks that decorated its top. She frowned. Her favorite photo was missing. The one of Richard holding Emma her first day home.

She looked on the floor, behind the dresser, in the crib. When she didn't find it in any of those places, she stopped in the middle of the room, hand on hips, frowning. It had to be here. She had looked at it this morning, after Richard left for the club.

She brought a hand to her head, trying to remember. She and Emma had been in here, playing on the quilt. Richard had come in to say goodbye; she had stood and kissed him. As she had turned to return to Emma, the photograph had caught her eye, and she'd smiled.

So, where was the photo now?

From the hallway outside the nursery came the creak of a floorboard. A soft whoosh, like a soft breath being expelled.

Kate froze, suddenly, completely terrified. She brought a hand to her throat, her mind filling with the image of her bed from that morning, of the indentations in the pillow. Of her lingerie hanger peeking out from under the bed.

She turned slowly to face the doorway. And found it empty. Legs shaking, she crossed to the door and peered out into the hallway. It, too, was empty.

"Richard?" she called. "Is that you?"

Silence answered her. She held her breath, straining to hear the slightest sound, a stirring or a rustle, even as she told herself she was being silly. Old houses creaked. They groaned and sighed.

But photographs didn't go missing on their own. Hangers didn't walk from the closet to the bed.

She wasn't alone.

Heart thundering, Kate crossed to the crib and picked up her daughter, careful not to jostle her. The infant moaned and stirred, then snuggled into Kate, still deeply asleep.

Kate carried her out of the room and toward the front of the house, moving as quietly as she could. She had left the car carrier and diaper bag in the foyer. She reached it and hands shaking, squatted beside the carrier and gently laid Emma in it. She snapped the harness, then stood and turned toward the door.

A man stood just beyond the beveled glass, a dark silhouette against the gathering dusk. She made a sound, high and surprised, and took an involuntary step backward.

"Kate?" The man rapped on the door. "It's Joe, from around the corner."

She brought a trembling hand to her mouth and laughed, feeling both relieved and foolish. Old Joe, as everyone in the neighborhood called him, was eighty if he was a day and more than a bit of a busybody. He was also about as harmless as a person could be.

"You startled me," she said, crossing to the door. She opened it. "I was just leaving."

"Sorry about that." He glanced past her, into the house. "Nothing wrong, is there?"

As he asked the question she realized how silly she had been behaving, how she had let her imagination run away with her. The house creaked and she'd been ready to run for the hills. "Of course not." She laughed again, her cheeks warming. "Come on in."

He stepped across the threshold and glanced around. "Richard's not home from his golf game yet?"

She bit back a smile. "Not yet. He was going into work straight from the course. Did you need to speak to him?"

"Nope." He drew his bushy eyebrows together. "How's the baby?"

"Fine." She motioned toward the carrier. "Sound asleep."

"Sorry to hear the pretty little thing was ill. What did the doctor say?"

Kate shook her head, confused. "She hasn't been… Where'd you hear that, Joe?"

"From your friend. This morning. She said you'd gone to the doctor with the baby."

"Friend?" Kate repeated, searching her memory. "Someone from The Uncommon Bean?"

"The friend who was visiting. She was on your swing, waiting for you to return."

The hair on the back of Kate's neck stood up. "There was a girl on our swing?"

"A pretty young thing. Maybe twenty. She looked mighty surprised when I called out to her." He cocked his head. "I asked her what she was doing in your yard."

The missing photo. The tousled bed.

The sense of being watched. Of not being alone.

Kate began to shake. She worked to hide it from Joe. "What did she say when you confronted her?"

"That she was a friend of yours, visiting from the city. Said you'd taken the baby to the doctor. She didn't say her name, and I figured it was none of my business and didn't ask." He frowned. "Maybe I should have?"

"She wasn't a friend of ours." Kate swallowed hard. "About what time was this, Joe?"

"I was walking Beauregard." He scratched his head. "It was about noon, I suppose."

By noon, she had been in the city and Richard deep into the second nine.

Joe made a sound of frustration. "I knew something about her wasn't right. At the time, though…I mean, she knew your names and that you had a baby. So, I figured she was on the up-and-up. Sorry I didn't do more."