Classic Revenge by Mitzi Kelly Page B

pink sponge-rollers, and she was grasping the bottom
of her purple nightgown in one hand, revealing one
bare foot and one slippered foot. Trish gaped at her.
    Millie pushed inside, slammed the door, and then
leaned against it. "Call the police!"
    "Wha-TI
    "I've been broken into! Somebody was in my house!"
    "Are you all right?"
    "I'm fine. Just call the police, please!"
    This was serious. Millie never said "please." Trish ran
to grab the phone and dialed nine-one-one. Hurriedly,
she explained the situation to the emergency dispatcher,
and then gave the address. She replaced the phone and rushed back to Millie, who was peeking through the
front windows at her house across the street.

    "What happened?" Trish demanded as she, too,
peered out into the darkness.
    "Something woke me up, a noise or a feeling, or ...
something. I don't know," Millie answered, her voice
calmer and even a little angry. "After a while, I thought it
had just been my imagination, or maybe a storm was approaching. Since I was awake, I got up to get a drink of
water. That's when I saw my back door standing wide
open. It still didn't register that somebody had broken in
until I stepped on the glass. Somebody busted out one of
the panels on the door and unlocked it. All I could think
about was that somebody might still be in the house. I
hightailed it out of there, and when I saw your lights on,
I came over here"
    What a scare she must have had, Trish thought as she
squeezed Millie's shoulder. An eighty-year-old woman
living alone was easy prey for an unscrupulous character. Thank goodness Millie wasn't hurt. Material things
could be replaced, but the life of her friend was much
more valuable than any thing.
    Trish stared out the window looking for some kind of
movement, a shadow crossing under the moonlit sky, or
something else that would give them a clue as to the person, or persons, who had done this to Millie. But there
was nothing. The branches in the trees weren't even stirring in the calm night air.
    Suddenly, the hair stood up on the back of her neck.
What was happening to this neighborhood? First there'd
been a murder, and now a break-in, both incidents serious crimes, not the work of bored adolescents. Trish shuddered and glanced sideways at Millie, who was
single-mindedly staring across the street at her house,
her lips drawn into a tight, thin line.

    They say everything happens in threes. Trish turned
again to look outside, a sense of dread coming over her.
What would happen next?
    The police siren sounded in the background. "The
police will be here soon," Trish said unnecessarily. Millie was obstinate, Trish reminded herself, not deaf.
    "Good. It's about time."
    Trish looked at her quizzically. It had been what,
maybe five minutes, since she had hung up the phone. It
had been a pretty good response time by any standardsexcept, of course, by Millie's. Before she could stop her,
Millie dropped the curtain and raced out the front door,
while Trish rushed to catch up. For a little old lady, Millie
sure could move fast.
    Millie was standing out by the curb, practically hopping from one foot to the other in her impatience for the
police to arrive. The noise from the siren was louder
now, and several porch lights up and down the block
flipped on as concerned neighbors peeked out their front
doors. This was probably the most excitement any of
them had witnessed since living in this neighborhood, or,
at least, since Susan Wiley's untimely death.
    Just then a patrol car rounded the corner and stopped
in front of Millie's house, the red and blue flashing lights
lighting up the whole street. Trish was surprised to see
Henry Espinoza step out of the car. Surely the chief had
enough seniority that he didn't have to work the graveyard shift!
    Millie charged across the street, obviously uncon cerned about the fact she was only wearing one slipper.
Trish followed, uncomfortably aware that her soft pink
nightgown,