Free Dark Corners READY FOR PRC by Liz Schulte Page B

reported while Danny’s grandparents lived here.”
    “I thought you had something to tell me.”
    “I do. Be patient. Your neighbor, Mr. Sexton, made several attempts to buy this house after Danny’s grandparents died. He filed petition after petition with the city trying to hassle you into selling.”
    “Petitions about what?”
    “The grass being mowed, the upkeep, normal stuff.”
    “Why haven’t I heard about this before?”
    “I don’t know. I imagine your husband would have known. Basically, it means he wants the property.”
    “Well, he can have the damn thing for all I care. Hopefully he bulldozes it.” Just as I said it, the window slammed shut.
    Gabriel was at the window instantly, checking it out. I stayed seated, watching him react to the unexplainable. “Spooky,” he said.
    I laughed—he really had no idea—and continued to eat my garlic chicken, hungrier than I had been in weeks.
    “Does this window close often?”
    “This one, that one, every one—and oh, don’t forget the doors and the lights.”
    “Have you had the wiring checked? Sometimes the way these old houses settle makes it hard for the doors to stay open.”
    “I know all the excuses. Danny told me them as well. How about you live with this every day, then tell me that it is all just ‘old house’ stuff.”
    “Was that an invitation?”
    “No, but feel free to buy it after I leave.”
    There was an awkward silence that grew more uncomfortable with each second that followed. I finally felt guilty.
    “Now you see why I don’t have many friends. I can’t take a joke.”
    He shook his head. “It was a bad joke.”
    We spent the rest of the evening chatting and watching television. It was the most relaxing evening I had in quite some time—and it was kind of a miracle: two nights of human company in a row.  I felt more at ease with Gabriel than I did with Susan, though, because it didn't feel like he was judging me—or maybe it was the opposite.  He had judged me and found me innocent.  After all, his investigation left no stone unturned . . . and I was grateful, even if those stones were my life.

 
     

    Chapter Seven

     
    The words took residence; I lost track of time and space. My days were divided by time spent writing and time spent not writing—and anything done during that latter time was irrelevant. I had found the zone again, and I wasn’t letting it go. Nothing could distract me, not flickering lights, not unexplained noises, not harassing phone calls. I fired away blindly, not bothering to take the time to read what I was writing. Exhilaration filled me. My skin tingled with life, my hands ached, and my mind was blessedly quiet as it listened to the words pour from my muse.
    Gabriel continued with his periodic stops by my house to “check on things.”  Sometimes he brought dinner.  Other times he came by late, simply walking through and leaving. Tonight was one of the latter. And as he was walked through the house I realized I was getting used to having him around. There was something lonely I recognized in him. That loneliness bonded us together in ways I could not explain. He didn’t drain me of energy or patience. He could simply be there, a rare quality in a person. He was about to leave when I impulsively stopped him.
    “Do you want a drink?” My offer surprised me more than it seemed to surprise him. He followed me back into the family room. I made a beeline to the bar, which was still better stocked than my kitchen, but I was getting there. I poured myself a drink and tried not to think about what I was doing.
    “Name your poison?” I said over my shoulder
    “Uh, scotch, neat”
    The detective sat on my couch looking tired and worn, but completely comfortable in my house. And now that he’d stayed, I had no idea what to do.
    “What are you doing here?” I blurted, unable to think of anything else to say.
    “You invited me,” he said, wariness in his eyes.
    “No, that’s not what I