Intruder

Miss Tootsie glanced at the three women who sat in front of the fireplace with her. The small blaze still put out some warmth but they were all three wrapped in quilts or afghans. The chill Miss Tootsie felt seemed to have seeped all the way into her bones.

                “You know, never in all my years, have I seen such a cold spring or a wild and noisy night,” she murmured.

                Carrie smothered a yawn. “Maybe that’s what is wrong with Maple Ridge right now. The unusual weather has upset the normal run of things and people have taken to killing each other.”

                Bertha snorted. “That’s just silly. The weather has nothing to do with it and people aren’t running around killing each other. It’s just one person who’s a threat. Or, at least, I hope it’s only one.”

                Miss Tootsie sighed. “There’s really no use in staying awake. We could all go to bed and be more comfortable.”

                “No, thank you,” Carrie said. “If I’m going to die, I want to see who it is that finishes me off.”

                “Why?” asked Bertha.

                “Why do I want to see who finishes me off? Well, just for the satisfaction of the thing,” Carrie said.

                Miss Tootsie giggled in spite of the macabre conversation. “Does anybody want more hot chocolate?”

                Her only answer was Marianne’s soft snore as she sat in the rocking chair, wrapped in a quilt.

                Cocoa, wedged between Miss Tootsie and Carrie on the sofa, yipped softly in her sleep and wriggled closer to Miss Tootsie. Cleo snoozed between Cocoa’s paws.

                Miss Tootsie pulled her crocheted afghan around her shoulders. She wished Drew had not scared the living daylights out of them all. The storm was enough to keep them keyed up, without adding the threat of a possible murderer stalking them. Maybe she should put a sign on her porch that said, “I do not have the note nor do I know what it said. So, go away!” She leaned her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes.

                Miss Tootsie’s mother’s tall grandfather’s clock that stood in a corner of the living room chimed twice.  She rubbed her neck which was stiff because of her unnatural position. When had she dozed off? Evidently, sleep had overtaken the others too and the room seemed eerily quiet. Beside her, Cocoa suddenly raised her head and growled.

                “What is it, girl?” She dropped her hand onto Cocoa’s soft head. Her little dog growled again, hopped down from the sofa and trotted toward the kitchen.

                A cold prickle of fear ran down Miss Tootsie’s back. What had disturbed Cocoa? What did her little dog hear or smell? Should she wake the others? Deciding to wait until she was sure that Cocoa hadn’t heard an owl or a coyote back in the woods, she grabbed the nearest weapon she could find, a stick of wood beside the fireplace, and tip-toed after Cocoa.

Feeling her way to the kitchen in the dark house, she paused. Was that a figure near the cabinet?  

                The shadowy shape of a man moved toward her just as Cocoa launched herself forward and Miss Tootsie brought down the stick of wood on the intruder’s head. The man staggered and swore. He shook Cocoa off his arm. Miss Tootsie screamed and he staggered to the door, Cocoa hot on his heels.

                “Cocoa! No. Come back, girl,” she cried. When Cocoa stopped, Miss Tootsie scooped her up.

                Three frightened females rushed into the kitchen. “Tootsie! Are you all right?” Bertha shouted.