finally got ready for bed. All was still dark under the carport when I climbed under the covers, and only when I was just about to drift off to sleep did the back-porch light flash on again.
Climbing out of bed, I peered out the bedroom window, which had a clear view of the table under the carport. Five raccoons of various shapes and sizes circled the table, all looking up at it, bewildered. “So there,” I whispered. “I finally got you little thieves.”
The babies were very cute, and they stood on their hind legs and stretched as far as they could to reach the top of the table, but they were just too small. I felt a little guilty watching them try so hard, but mostly I felt victorious. My face broke into a smug smile, but it didn’t last long. The largest raccoon pushed the babies out of the way in a “let me show you how it’s done” move, then stretched its front paws until the long black claws just hooked the top edge of the table. I chewed my bottom lip as I watched him dangle, lifting one hind leg then the other, trying to get a third set of claws on the tabletop. He lost his grip twice and fell, rolling like a volleyball, but that didn’t stop him from trying.
Cringing, I held my breath, hoping and praying he’d give up before he succeeded, but in the back of my mind, I knew better. These animals were more tenacious than a car salesman working on commission. They’d never give up. When he finally got one claw from one hind leg caught on the edge, I knew I’d been beaten, again. Part of me wanted to cheer for him because he’d worked so hard, but then he shoved a bowl of food over the side and the feeding frenzy began.
Storming out the back door, swinging a kitchen broom like a broadsword, I scattered the mob of raccoons. I swept up the spilled food, snatched the cat-food bowls and stomped back in the house, cursing with every step.
Pacing up and down the hall, I waited till I calmed down, then made a cup of chamomile tea and drank it in the dark. I tried to go back to sleep. As I stared at the ceiling, the back porch light finally turned off since there was no more raccoon party going on under the carport. Taking deep breaths, I let my thoughts drift.
I wondered about Beth Messina and why the killer put her in my cave. He must have been familiar with my property and known the cave was there. And he must have known about the pond, too, since he’d dumped her things in it. All I could figure was that he never expected a farm laborer to wander away from the vines and look in the cave. And if no one found the body, then no one would have reason to search the pond. Then I wondered how he got past the buzzards. I supposed anyone who could kill a person in cold blood would have no qualms about shooing a few birds out of his way. Adult buzzards were big, I thought, and I wondered how aggressive they could be, especially with two babies in the nest.
As I pondered the logistics of the cave, the motion sensor lights flicked back on.
“Damn it!” In a dramatic sweep of my arm, I threw the covers off and headed for the kitchen to get my broom. Then the side yard light came on. The scoundrels must’ve heard me coming and run around the house.
I peered out the living room window and came face to face with a man dressed in black, with a rifle in his hands. I screamed.
Someone pounded on my front door. Out my window, there were more men dressed in black, surrounding my house. One of them turned around and in the floodlight I saw the word SWAT stenciled on the back of his jacket.
More pounding on my front door drew me to peek through the curtain. A slight woman in a Navy-blue pant suit and a large man in a police uniform stood on my porch. She knocked again.
Tense, I unbolted the door and cracked it open. “Yes?”
The woman cleared her throat. “Daphne Zucker?”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said, letting out my breath
Climbing out of bed, I peered out the bedroom window, which had a clear view of the table under the carport. Five raccoons of various shapes and sizes circled the table, all looking up at it, bewildered. “So there,” I whispered. “I finally got you little thieves.”
The babies were very cute, and they stood on their hind legs and stretched as far as they could to reach the top of the table, but they were just too small. I felt a little guilty watching them try so hard, but mostly I felt victorious. My face broke into a smug smile, but it didn’t last long. The largest raccoon pushed the babies out of the way in a “let me show you how it’s done” move, then stretched its front paws until the long black claws just hooked the top edge of the table. I chewed my bottom lip as I watched him dangle, lifting one hind leg then the other, trying to get a third set of claws on the tabletop. He lost his grip twice and fell, rolling like a volleyball, but that didn’t stop him from trying.
Cringing, I held my breath, hoping and praying he’d give up before he succeeded, but in the back of my mind, I knew better. These animals were more tenacious than a car salesman working on commission. They’d never give up. When he finally got one claw from one hind leg caught on the edge, I knew I’d been beaten, again. Part of me wanted to cheer for him because he’d worked so hard, but then he shoved a bowl of food over the side and the feeding frenzy began.
Storming out the back door, swinging a kitchen broom like a broadsword, I scattered the mob of raccoons. I swept up the spilled food, snatched the cat-food bowls and stomped back in the house, cursing with every step.
Pacing up and down the hall, I waited till I calmed down, then made a cup of chamomile tea and drank it in the dark. I tried to go back to sleep. As I stared at the ceiling, the back porch light finally turned off since there was no more raccoon party going on under the carport. Taking deep breaths, I let my thoughts drift.
I wondered about Beth Messina and why the killer put her in my cave. He must have been familiar with my property and known the cave was there. And he must have known about the pond, too, since he’d dumped her things in it. All I could figure was that he never expected a farm laborer to wander away from the vines and look in the cave. And if no one found the body, then no one would have reason to search the pond. Then I wondered how he got past the buzzards. I supposed anyone who could kill a person in cold blood would have no qualms about shooing a few birds out of his way. Adult buzzards were big, I thought, and I wondered how aggressive they could be, especially with two babies in the nest.
As I pondered the logistics of the cave, the motion sensor lights flicked back on.
“Damn it!” In a dramatic sweep of my arm, I threw the covers off and headed for the kitchen to get my broom. Then the side yard light came on. The scoundrels must’ve heard me coming and run around the house.
I peered out the living room window and came face to face with a man dressed in black, with a rifle in his hands. I screamed.
Someone pounded on my front door. Out my window, there were more men dressed in black, surrounding my house. One of them turned around and in the floodlight I saw the word SWAT stenciled on the back of his jacket.
More pounding on my front door drew me to peek through the curtain. A slight woman in a Navy-blue pant suit and a large man in a police uniform stood on my porch. She knocked again.
Tense, I unbolted the door and cracked it open. “Yes?”
The woman cleared her throat. “Daphne Zucker?”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said, letting out my breath
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