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breath catches in her throat when she hears it again. The sound seems to be coming from the master bedroom.
    Constantly looking over her shoulder, she creeps down the dark hallway. Her shaky hand hovers over the door knob for a second. Swallowing hard, she listens intently.
    Slowly, she pushes open the creaky door to the master bedroom. Her fingers fumble for the light switch.
    As her eyes adjust, she swiftly looks around the room for what could have made that noise. She startles when she hears it again.
    “What the hell?” she mumbles as she frowns up at the ceiling in the corner. A huge brown spot surrounds a large portion of sagging ceiling. The roof must be leaking quite a bit to cause such substantial damage. Looking down to the floor beneath the water stain, Myra sees a puddle of standing water in the center of several warped and damaged wooden floorboards.
    With a sigh, she cleans up the water and puts pots on the floor to catch the drips. Finally, she slips back into her room and into bed. Unfortunately, sleep only comes in short spurts.
    * * *
    The next morning, after downing several cups of coffee, Myra finds the jeans she wore the day before and digs out the card Jim gave her. She quickly dials a number.
    “Myra! Did you make it back to Philly safely?” Porter asks in a booming voice. She can picture his salt and pepper gray hair and big smiling face.
    “Yeah, but I’m back in Nyssa. I just moved into Grampie’s house.”
    “No kidding? That’s great. Jack and Davis would be so happy. I’ll let the boys here know you’re in town so we can all keep an eye on you, make sure you’re safe and all.”
    “Thanks. Jim gave me the name of a contractor because the house needs some work. I hate to ask this, but could you run a background check on him? It’s that cop’s daughter thing coming out in me.”
    Porter chuckles. “Jack trained you well. Never hire anyone without getting them checked out first. Give me the info and about an hour and I’ll get back with you.”
    “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
    * * *
    Myra’s phone rings an hour later.
    “Hi,” she answers softly.
    “I’ve got good news,” Porter says. “This Mr. Lawson checked out fine. No criminal record and I haven’t been able to find any complaints filed against him. He’s originally from Boise. I also checked him out with some of the locals. Does excellent work from what everyone says. Not the friendliest of people; kind of a loner, but I feel safe having you hire him. And Jim’s an excellent judge of character. But if he gives you an ounce of trouble, you let me know immediately, okay?”
    “I will. Once again, I can’t thank you enough.”
    “Anything for you, Myra.”
    * * *
    Myra pulls the business card out of her pocket and dials the number on it.
    “Lawson,” a brusque voice answers.
    “Yeah, I wanted to get an estimate on getting some work done on my house,” Myra says.
    He sighs. “Can you hold?” he asks in an annoyed voice.
    “Sure.” Myra frowns when she hears what sounds like tools are being moved around and some shuffling noises followed by a mumbled curse.
    He huffs when he gets back on the phone. “Name?”
    “Myra Sommers.”
    “Address?”
    She rattles off her address to him.
    “I can do tomorrow afternoon,” he says gruffly. “Two?”
    “Yeah, that’ll work,” Myra replies.
    “Two o’clock,” he repeats before hanging up.
    “Bye,” Myra says to the dial tone, noting that Porter appeared to be quite right about the not-friendly thing.
    Myra wonders how Dylan Lawson manages to get new business if he’s as short with all his customers as he was with her. She decides that his demeanor means nothing so long as he can do a good job on the repairs. Smiling at the prospect of once again turning Grampie’s place into a home – her home – Myra gets back to the business of unpacking boxes.

CHAPTER 4
    ORANGE, FRUSTRATION
    Myra stares down at the toilet, plunger in hand. “ No ,” she