Father had taught me to hunt when I was little. He’d taught me to walk on the tips of my toes so as not to make noise and to move with the grace of an elk slipping through the forest. I called upon that skill now, and without the slightest sound to betray me, I made my way across the kitchen and leaned against the door frame in order to get a view down the hallway.
The living room fell off to the right with a small bathroom across on the left. There were two other doors down at the end of the hall—no doubt belonging to the two bedrooms.
I closed my eyes and listened.
Rustling.
The shuffling of papers.
A drawer sliding open.
More rustling.
The noise came from the bedroom on the right. I didn’t know if that was the Carters’ room or their guest room, not from this distance.
My palm was sweaty from holding the knife too tightly.
I knew better.
A sweaty knife would be difficult to control. It might slip, miss its mark.
I wiped my hand on my jeans and took a deep breath, willing my pulse to slow, calming my body. I surrendered to my instincts.
I surrendered to the hunt.
I began down the hall, with my knife hand pressed against my chest, the blade facing forward. Father taught me this particular grip. If necessary, I would launch the knife forward with the full strength of my arm muscles and the accuracy of a loaded gun. Unlike an overhand thrust, a jab would be difficult to block. This hold also allowed me to go directly for the heart or the stomach, with either an upward or downward motion, respectively. With an upper-hand grip, coming from above, you could only strike down—such an attack was more likely to glance off your victim than penetrate deeply.
Father was very skilled.
I pressed tightly against the wall, melding with the plaster as I moved, inching closer to the open door.
More rustling, then a hushed curse.
I saw a shadow moving within the room, a glimpse in the early light as the intruder shuffled about.
I reached the edge of the door frame.
Father once told me if you sneak up on someone, you have a second or more to attack before they are able to react. The human brain processes this activity slowly; your victim freezes for a moment as they try to comprehend the fact that you’re standing there, particularly in a room where they believe they are alone. He said some victims will continue to freeze, just watching you as if they were watching a television program. They stand there, waiting to see what happens next. Sometimes, not knowing what comes next is better.
The sound of one drawer closing and another yanked open.
With a deep breath, I tightened my grip on the knife and swung through the open doorway, rushing toward the intruder.
Mother sidestepped me, her right hand crashing down on my arm while her left snagged the knife from my hand. I tried to stop moving, but my momentum was too strong; I slammed into the bed and tumbled over the side, finally coming to a stop against the far wall.
“Always best to sneak up slow and steady,” Mother said. “Particularly when you have surprise working for you. Slow and steady, and you may have gotten me. As it stands, I heard you huffing and puffing long before you started your little gallop at me. Sure, some might not have time to react, but anyone with a bit of reflex in their step wouldn’t find it much of a bother.”
I had banged my head on the floor, and my earlier headache came back with a vengeance. I gathered myself and stood, wiping my hands on my jeans. “I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t expect anyone to be over here.”
She tilted her head. “And what exactly did you expect to find? A house empty for the pilfering?”
“Father asked me to pack a bag, make things look like the Carters went away. I’m supposed to put some stuff in their car. He’s going to move it somewhere when he gets home tonight.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s all, huh?”
“Honest Injun.”
“Well, get to it, then. Don’t let me stand in your way.”
I rubbed the back of my head; a nice-size lump was making an appearance. “Can I have my Ranger back?”
“You need to earn your knife back. Maybe next time you won’t part with something precious so easily.”
“Yes, Mother.”
There was a closet to my left. I pulled open the bifold door and found a battered suitcase tucked into the corner. “Perfect!” I heaved the bag up onto the bed.
Mother had returned to the dresser drawers. She carefully sorted through the contents of the third one of five in a large, dark oak bureau. It contained sweaters. “What are you looking for?”
She closed the drawer and opened the fourth. “Never you mind.” She glanced at the suitcase on the bed. “Be sure to throw some shoes in there. Women travel with shoes, at least two pairs, sometimes more. Unlike men, who are comfortable with only the ones on their feet, regardless of their destination. Perhaps a jacket too.”
“A jacket? But it’s summer. It’s too hot for a jacket.”
Mother grinned. “That’s the beauty of packing one. If you find a suitcase with a jacket packed inside during the middle of summer, you gotta wonder where the owner is running off to, don’t you think? Keep it random and you keep people guessing. If I found a suitcase like that, I would think they were off to someplace exotic, like Greenland.”
“Or Antarctica.”
She nodded. “Or Antarctica.”
“I should throw in a bathing suit too; that would really be confusing.”
“Well, that would be silly. Nobody goes to a place where you need a jacket and bathing suit.”
“What if the hotel in Antarctica has an indoor pool?” I countered.
She thought about this for a moment. “I don’t think you’d find a hotel like that in Antarctica. Maybe in Greenland, though.”
I started pulling random articles of clothing from the closet and adding them to the suitcase—shirts for Mr. Carter, some dresses from Mrs. Carter’s side, a few pairs of slacks, a tie.
“Don’t forget their unmentionables. And socks, lots of socks. People always overpack socks.”
“Which drawer?”
She nodded to a small dresser beside the closet. “Second and third in that one.”
I walked over and tugged at the drawers. Both were stuffed full—one his, one hers. I grabbed an armload from each and dumped them in the suitcase. I was nearly out of room.
“Leave a couple of the drawers open; disorganization will give the impression they left in a hurry,” Mother suggested.
“Bathroom stuff?”
Mother nodded and pulled open another drawer. “Toothbrushes, razors, deodorant . . .”
I found a small travel bag in the closet, then made my way back down the hall to their bathroom. Mrs. Carter kept a tidy house—not a speck of toothpaste on the sink, and the mirror was spotless. Everything was neatly arranged on the vanity.
I plucked both toothbrushes and a tube of paste from a green ceramic cup and dropped them into the bag. Then I added an electric razor, a can of Right Guard deodorant, a pink roll-on that smelled slightly of lilacs, a jar of Noxzema face wash, dental floss, and a women’s razor I found on the bathtub’s edge. From inside the medicine cabinet, I also pilfered some aspirin, two bottles of multivitamins, and three prescription bottles—lisinopril, Imitrex, and a blister pack of birth control.