“It’s a good thing you’re useful in other ways, Sir Maximillian, because as a therapist? You kind of suck.”
By the time she finished with the training room, Daisy was in full-on cleaning mode, so she decided to tackle the rest of the house. Her dad’s room had a slightly stale smell from disuse, and she left the door open to let it air. It was close to one in the morning by the time the house was done.
Feeling grubby, Daisy took a shower and then crawled back into bed. She knew she wasn’t tired enough to sleep, so she grabbed a book off her nightstand. It was by one of her favorite urban fantasy authors, and it was a sign of how crazy her life had gotten over the past few days that she hadn’t finished it yet. It had been a long time since her real life was as interesting as what happened in her books.
After rereading the same page over and over for a half-hour, she gave up on the book. Her brain was spinning with so many things—the training session, Chris’s recent weirdness contrasted with his consideration, the renewed possibility that Deputy Macavoy might actually have been hauling a dead body around at three thirty in the morning, the Gray case and the fact that the other women were interested in getting her, Crazy Daisy’s, opinion about it, and even the pros and cons to making brownies for Monday night, if her dad returned in time to make an egg run. How could a book, even a good one, compete with all that?
Daisy sighed. Since she wasn’t going to be able to sleep or read with all the thoughts crowding into her brain, she didn’t want to stay in bed. She turned off the bedside lamp and moved to the window seat, once again feeling that twinge of guilt. It wasn’t a strong enough pang to keep her from opening and raising the blinds, however.
As usual, Ian and Rory’s house was shuttered, with no hint of light showing. Daisy waved at the dark building, feeling a glow of pleasure that she’d actually met them, worked out with them, laughed at their jokes. The Storvicks’ place was dark as well, but Daisy had no urge to meet any of those family members.
As if magnetized, her gaze moved to the white house with the for-sale sign in the yard. She wished it would sell, so she’d have a new family to watch, rather than scouring the darkness for the possibility of a second body removal. Shaking her head, Daisy reminded herself that there was a very, very slim chance that Macavoy’s burden had been a person.
Leaning against the window, Daisy shivered at the touch of the cold glass. She debated whether to take the ten steps it would require to fetch a blanket, but pulled her knees to her chest instead. It was a poor substitute, but she was feeling lazy.
The clouds were moving quickly, and Daisy watched, mesmerized, as they scurried through the night sky. She quit trying to control her thoughts and just let them run through her brain. Chris popped up more than she’d hoped, but, for once, she didn’t fight it. Ever since she’d stopped leaving the house when she was sixteen, he’d been a regular visitor. He’d always acted like an older brother, teasing and overprotective, but she’d never felt like his sister.
Thinking about the early days of their friendship made her mind drift toward thoughts of her mom. She slammed a mental door, blocking any memories of that day. Shifting on the window seat, she hugged her legs harder and replayed the training session in her head again instead.
A shadow shifted, moving from the trees to the far side of the empty house. Daisy straightened so quickly, she knocked her head against the wall. Absently rubbing the back of her skull, she peered into the blackness.
Before she could even begin to blame her imagination and the poor illumination, the shadow moved again. The light from the closest streetlamp reflected off a pale face.
“Should’ve worn face paint, whoever you are,” she muttered, moving to her knees and leaning close to the window. When her breath started fogging the glass, she reluctantly shifted back a few inches and used her sleeve to clear the condensation. “Or one of those black bank-robber face masks.”
The figure disappeared, and Daisy made a sound of annoyance. She didn’t move, as if a shift in position would ensure that she didn’t see the trespasser again. She stared so hard at the spot where she’d last seen the shadow that her eyes began to itch and burn. When she finally allowed herself to blink, her vision blurred with tears, and Daisy hurried to rub away the wetness.