Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

gloom, the oil lamp suddenly flickered as a draft swept the kitchen. Doug crossed to the window, which had been left open, and slid it shut. “This is weird, too,” he said, frowning down at a layer of snow that had accumulated in the sink. “Who leaves their windows open when it’s freezing outside?”
    “Hey, look. There’s food in here!” Arlo had opened the pantry cabinet to reveal shelves stocked with supplies. “There’s flour. Dried beans. And enough canned corn, peaches, and pickles to last us till Doomsday.”
    “Leave it to Arlo to find dinner,” said Elaine.
    “Just call me the ultimate hunter-gatherer. At least we’re not going to starve.”
    “As if you’d ever let that happen.”
    “And if we light that woodstove,” said Maura, “it will heat up the place faster.”
    Doug looked up toward the second floor. “Assuming they didn’t leave any other windows open. We should check the rest of the house.”
    Again, no one wanted to be left behind. Doug poked his head into the empty garage, then moved to the foot of the staircase. He lifted his oil lamp, but the light revealed only shadowy steps rising into blackness. They started up, Maura in the rear, where it was darkest. In horror films, it was always the rear guard who got picked off first, the hapless character at the end of the column who caught the arrow in the back, the first blow of the ax. She glanced over her shoulder, but all she saw behind her was a well of shadows.
    The first room Doug stopped at was a bedroom. They all crowded through the doorway and found a large sleigh bed neatly made up. At the foot was a pine hope chest over which a pair of blue jeans had been draped. A man’s size thirty-six with a worn leather belt. Across the floor was a dusting of snow, blown in through yet another open window. Doug closed it.
    Maura went to the dresser and picked up a photo with a simple tin frame. Four faces gazed back: a man and a woman, flanking two young girls of about nine or ten, their blond hair neatly bound into braids. The man had slicked-back hair and an unyielding gaze that seemed to dare anyone to challenge his authority. The woman was plain and pale, her blond hair braided, her features so colorless she seemed to recede into the background. Maura pictured that woman working in the kitchen, wisps of white-blond hair escaping her braid and feathering her face. Imagined her setting down plates and forks and dishing out food. Mounds of mashed potatoes, helpings of meat and gravy.
    And then what had happened? What would make a family abandon their meal and leave it to harden to ice?
    Elaine grabbed Doug’s arm. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
    They all went dead-still. Only then did Maura hear the creaking, like footsteps moving across the floor.
    Slowly, Doug moved into the hall and toward the second doorway. Holding his lamp high, he stepped into the room, revealing another bedroom.
    All at once Elaine laughed. “God, we’re idiots!” She pointed to the closet, where a door was creaking back and forth, propelled by gusts that blew in the open window. In relief, she sank onto one of the two twin beds. “An empty house, that’s all this is! And we’ve managed to scare the hell out of ourselves.”
    “Speak for yourself,” said Arlo.
    “Oh right. Like you weren’t freaking out.”
    Maura closed the window and stared out at the night. She saw no lights, no sign that anyone else in the world was alive except them. On the desk was a stack of school workbooks.
Independent Home Study Program. Level 4
. She flipped open the cover to a page of spelling exercises. The pupil’s name had been printed on the inside cover: Abigail Stratton. One of the two girls in the photo, she thought. This is their room. But gazing around at the walls, she sawlittle to indicate that preteen girls lived here. There were no movie posters, no photos of teen idols. Only two twin beds, neatly made up, and those schoolbooks.
    “I think we can now say this house is all ours,” said Doug. “We’ve just got to sit tight until someone comes looking for us.”
    “What if no one does?” asked Elaine.
    “Someone’s bound to miss us. We had reservations at that lodge.”
    “They’ll just think we stood them up. And we’re not due back at work till after Thanksgiving. That’s nine days from now.”
    Doug looked at Maura. “You’re supposed to fly home tomorrow, right?”
    “Yes, but no one knows I came with you, Doug. They won’t