Free Diva 04 _ Diva Cooks a Goose, The by Krista Davis Page B

give up and go home, I thought about the fact that she lived alone like I did—well, when Phil wasn’t there with her—and that she might need help. I stood on her stoop and debated.
    Caution won out and I tried the handle on the front door. It didn’t budge. I checked around the side of her house to see if there was an alley that would provide access to the rear. I found a cute cranberry red gate, higher than I was tall, with an arched top and a pineapple, the symbol of hospitality, carved into the wood. The gate swung open easily, and in moments, I stood in her fenced backyard, where someone had converted what had most likely been a screened porch into a cozy room with paned windows all around, making it look like a cottage.
    A fire blazed in a corner fireplace and wrapping paper was strewn across the coffee table and the floor. She must be home. I leaned closer to the glass for a better look, and rapped on it, in case she was close by and could hear.
    As I scanned the room, I spotted a shoe—beige with a pointed toe and three-inch heel—lying on its side on the brick floor. I squinted and used my sleeve to wipe condensation from my breath off the little square of window. Surely that couldn’t be her foot in the shoe. A piece of red and white wrapping paper had fallen, partially covering the shoe. The angle of the coffee table prevented me from seeing more. I squinted again and decided there was definitely a foot in the shoe.
    I whipped out my cell phone and called 911. When I hung up, I decided I couldn’t wait for them. Even a minute or two might make a difference if Bonnie was sick or bleeding. I tried the handle of the back door, but it was locked. Taking a cue from the Christmas-gift thief, I found a cast concrete kitten and smashed it into a glass panel in the door. The sound reverberated through the small garden. Careful to avoid the shards of glass that wrapped around the hole like teeth in a shark’s mouth, I inserted my arm and felt for a latch. Oh no! Smart Bonnie installed a lock that required a key on both sides. “Bonnie!” I called. “Can you hear me?”
    No answer.
    I backed up and kicked the lower part of the door with the bottom of my foot. Ouch! That didn’t work. Poor Bonnie. Panic rose in me. I had to get inside—now!
    I gazed around the garden, heaved a large terra cotta pot out of the snow, and slung it at a window. Much better. It left a gaping hole and spidery lines crackled through the tempered glass. I hurried the breaking glass along by knocking the edges with the concrete kitten. With one last tap, the remaining glass rushed to the floor in bits. The windowpanes proved to be ornamental and gave easily when I yanked them.
    I was able to step inside, glass crunching under my feet, freezing air gushing in through the huge opening. The faint smell of bleach mingled with pine and the smoky scent of fire. I rushed toward the shoe I’d seen, and found Bonnie sprawled on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table.
    I shoved the coffee table aside and kneeled by her head. Tapping her cheeks gently, I called her name, but she didn’t revive. Surely she couldn’t be dead? There was no blood, no sign of a wound.
    My throat contracted with fear as I reached for her wrist. She still wore the winter white outfit she’d worn to her party earlier. Her makeup was perfect. She looked like she ought to sit up and start talking.
    I couldn’t find a pulse. I felt her neck, hoping I was just being clumsy, and that she was alive. The doorbell rang, and I jumped at the sound. My heart beating like crazy, I ran through the adjoining kitchen in search of the front door. Fortunately, Bonnie’s house wasn’t very large. I twisted the deadbolt and threw the door open to emergency medical technicians. Thanking them for coming, I led the way to Bonnie.
    They moved the coffee table for better access, revealing a music box and a fancy ribbon with a felt snowman attached to it, as well as a jewelry-sized