Free In the Event of My Death by Carlene Thompson Page B

know where Kurt is?”
    “What do I look like? His social secretary or somethin’?” Laurel had never known anyone who could end almost every sentence with “or somethin’.” “Alls I know is he went out a couple a hours ago.”
    “Oh. Well, maybe I’ll wait a few minutes.”
    “Suit yourself,” Mrs. Henshaw said and slammed her door.
    Thank you so much for inviting me in, Laurel thought sourly. Kurt always said she was the most disagreeable person he’d ever met and that her wimpy little husband had probably died at forty-five just to get away from her.
    Laurel sat down on the stairs, her eyes fastened on the door leading outside. What would she do if the driver of the other car came in after her? God, she didn’t even know what the other driver looked like. But if anyone who seemed threatening entered the building, she’d…she’d what? Bang on Mrs. Henshaw’s door and hope the woman would take pity and let her in? What if she wouldn’t? Monica said they should carry Mace. She had none. She had nothing with which to defend herself.
    She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes had gone by and still no Kurt. And here she sat, backed into a corner, totally defenseless. She waited another five minutes, then decided she couldn’t take it any longer.
    She crept down the stairs, opened the main door, and peered out. Cars were parked along the street but she didn’t see anyone in any of them. No one strolled along the sidewalk—it was a cold night. Clutching her keys, Laurel ran for her car. When she opened the door she checked the back to make sure no one was hiding on the floor. Then she jumped in.
    As she drove toward home, she glanced in the rearview mirror every few seconds. Nothing but ordinary traffic. After what seemed like an hour she turned into her long driveway. Trees lined the drive so it would be difficult to hide a car along the way, but a person could easily conceal himself.
    She pulled up to the garage, planning to open the door, pull in, then dash inside the house door leading to the garage. She pressed the automatic opener. The garage door didn’t respond. She pressed again. The door remained down.
    Oh, hell! Laurel thought furiously. The last few days the door had been sluggish, meaning that the battery in the opener was weak. Now it was dead. Why couldn’t I have taken five minutes to buy a new battery? she berated herself. Just five minutes.
    But thinking of what she should have done was no help at all. Reluctantly she separated her front door key from the car keys, took another look around, drew a deep breath, and ran to the front of the house. She was stabbing the key at the lock when her eyes lifted and she froze.
    The cheerful Christmas wreath she’d hung on the door two weeks ago was missing. In its place hung a wreath with white silk lilies and a large black satin bow.
    A funeral wreath.

Four
    1
    Laurel nearly fell in the door, slammed and locked it. Both dogs rushed to her, alternately barking and whining, Alex bouncing on his hind legs the way he did when he was excited. They were upset. They led solitary lives with Laurel gone six days a week and rarely entertaining anyone except Kurt. The dogs’ agitation meant they had seen or heard something unusual. Laurel looked at the couch. Its back, usually covered with a bright russet, green, and gold afghan, faced the big front window. The afghan lay in a heap on the seat of the couch. Both dogs had stood on it, bracing their front legs on the couch’s back. They’d seen whoever had come to her house and put the wreath on the door. Maybe the person had even tried to break in.
    Although her legs were still trembling, Laurel knelt and pulled the dogs to her. “Did someone scare you?” she asked. “Did someone look in the window at you or try to open the door?”
    April nuzzled as close to her as possible but Alex continued to bounce, making little talky noises as if he were trying to explain.
    “This isn’t the first time I’ve