P Is for Peril

I counted myself lucky Mariah Talbot had showed up when she did. Otherwise, I'd be renting from a couple of stone-cold killers. I crossed Lonnie's lot and trotted up the stairs to the third floor. I let myself into the law offices, which were lighted but empty. I went down the silent inner corridor and unlocked my office door.
    I crossed to my desk, opened the bottom drawer, and picked up the two packs of blank index cards still in their cellophane wrap. I opened one and began to make notes. For the next hour, I felt safe, absorbed in my work. At 7:15 I put a rubber band around my note cards and tucked them in my handbag along with the extra pack of blank cards.
    I locked the office and let myself out again, trotting down the outside stairs. At the first turn, I glanced out through the opening in the stairwell. It's not a window in any true sense of the word, just a slot, one foot wide and maybe two feet high, intended to help with ventilation. From the second floor, I had a clear view across the alleyway to the rear of the Heveners' cottage. The back door now stood wide open. In the office to the right (which I still thought of as mine) the shutters stood open. The light was on, but the window now had the blank look of unoccupied space. Something seemed off, but I wasn't quite sure what it was. Maybe someone had gone out for a moment, leaving the backdoor open for convenience. Whatever it was, I had no intention of going over there to snoop around.
    I continued down the stairs and crossed the small parking lot to my car. I drove home by way of the supermarket, stopping long enough to pick up toilet paper, wine, milk, bread, eggs, Kleenex, and a tall stack of frozen entrees. Once in my neighborhood, I was forced to park a block and a half away, which annoyed me no end. With my bag and two loads of groceries, I had to struggle to let myself in the gate. Halfway across the patio, I caught a flash of movement to my right and someone stepped out of the dark. I jumped half a foot, barely managing to suppress a scream as I dropped one grocery bag and clutched at the other one. Tommy Hevener stood there, hands in his raincoat pockets. "Hey."
    "Goddamn it! Don't do that! What are you doing here?"
    "Let's talk."
    "I don't want to talk. Now get out of my way." I hunkered to pick up my keys. One bag had ripped. I began to toss items back into the other bag. Half the carton of eggs were broken and the bread was mashed flat where I'd grabbed it in haste. I had no idea how I'd get into the apartment, lugging the few items that were still intact. "Oh, forget it," I said. I found my keys and crossed to my door, aware that Tommy had moved to intercept my path. He stretched out an arm, hand flat on the door, his body crowding against mine.
    I turned my face to one side, trying to avoid contact. "Get away from me." I thought about my gun.
    "Not until you tell me what's going on."
    "If you don't get off me, I'm going to scream."
    "You won't scream," he murmured.
    "HENRY!"
    "Shh!"
    "HENRY!!"
    Henry's back light went on. I saw his face appear in the door.
    "HELP!"
    "Bitch," Tommy said.
    Henry came out the back door with a baseball bat. Tommy glanced at him, turned, and walked away at a leisurely pace, showing his contempt, showing he wasn't intimidated. Henry came across the patio at a quick clip, bat raised, looking as angry as I've ever seen him. I could hear Tommy's heels clatter down the sidewalk, sound diminishing. "What was that about? Should I call the police?"
    "Don't bother. By the time they get here, he'll be gone."
    "Did he hurt you?"
    "No, but he scared the shit out of me."
    "I think you should file a police report. That way they'll have something on record in case he does this again."
    "I'll talk to Jonah on Monday."
    "Do more than talk. That guy's dangerous. You need to get a restraining order out against him."
    "For all the good it will do. Really, I'm fine. Would you help me get this stuff in?"
    "Of course. Open the door and we'll get this picked up in no time."
    Sunday was full of hard rain and gloom. I spent the day in my sweats, stretched out on the couch under a quilt in my sock feet. I went through one paperback novel and picked up the next. I had another two for backup, so I was in good shape. At five o'clock, the phone rang. I listened to the message, waiting to hear who it was before I picked up. Fiona. I felt such relief I almost warmed to her. She said, "Sorry I didn't have a chance to speak to you after the