Free Murder in Vail by Judy Moore

back, and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t want to go back to school. I don’t want to have to go to work. I just want to keep doing what I’m doing now.”
    Glen raised an eyebrow at her. “What’s that? Nothing?”
    Gwen looked surprised, but then thought about it.
    “Well, basically, yes, I guess.”
    Glen exhaled a long breath of resignation. “I know. Me too.”

Chapter Twenty

    Two hours later, Sally jolted awake. What had woken her?
    She peered across the huge master suite toward the bay window. Snow continued to pelt it, along with swirling twigs and leaves. She could hear the groans of bending boughs as wind whipped through the trees. A branch had probably crashed onto the window, she figured.
    Thunder cracked and lightning lit up the room. She pulled the covers up to her neck, clutching the sheets. She lay still as a statue, paralyzed by the storm. Even with her entire family in the house, Sally felt afraid. The storm made the house feel so unnatural, so eerie.
    Lying in bed, dreading the next bolt of lightning, Sally’s mind went immediately to the disaster of a dinner. I wish I hadn’t lost my temper, she thought regretfully. I wanted to break the news gently about the donation, not scream it at them. She remembered the shock and hurt in their faces and felt guilty. She needed to find some way of making peace, of calming everyone down.
    Another crack of lightning pierced the winter night, this one very close, and illuminated the room. Suddenly, she thought she saw the doorknob begin to turn. Then it stopped. Then it started again. Probably one of the kids, she decided, but the way it started, stopped, and then started again disturbed her.
    “Is someone there?” she called out. The doorknob stopped turning, and she thought she heard footsteps scurrying away.
    She reached over to the lamp on the nightstand and flicked on the light. They still had power—that was a positive. Quickly crossing the room to the closet, she slipped on her robe and grabbed a flashlight from a bureau drawer.
    Slowly opening the bedroom door, Sally peeked out into the hall. She didn’t see anyone. Pulling her robe tightly around her, she tiptoed down the hall toward the staircase. As she stood at the top of the stairs, her heart skipped a beat when she saw a dark figure scurrying down the last few steps of the stairs to the foyer. She thought about the poachers and wondered if one of them might have broken into the house. Grabbing hold of the rail, Sally slowly followed the shadowy figure toward the kitchen.
    When she passed the hall closet, she reached in and grabbed the baseball bat she kept there for protection. Though everyone told her she was crazy not to have a weapon in the house, especially living alone on top of a mountain, she hated guns and refused to have one in her home.
    When she reached the kitchen, she peeked around the corner of the stove and saw that the room was illuminated by the refrigerator light. The refrigerator door remained opened, but the figure moved over to the butcher block island.
    Sally flicked on her flashlight and heard a squeal when the narrow beam fell on a loaf of bread on the island.
    “Rachel!” Sally exclaimed. “You scared me half to death.”
    Sally watched her daughter-in-law grab the bread from the roast beef sandwich she was making and start backing away. A tomato fell on the floor. “Rachel, wait. You must be starving. Finish making your sandwich.”
    Rachel watched her suspiciously and seemed to be debating whether she should make a run for it. Instead she said, “I’m fine. Please just go back to bed and leave me alone.”
    Rachel looked like such a little waif standing there with her mascara running, her tangled hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wearing a pink nightshirt that was much too big for her, making her little arms and legs look even tinier. Sally suddenly felt sorry for the girl and guilty for not being a better hostess.
    “Listen, Rachel. I’ve been thinking