Read Home Before Dark for Free Online Page A

visitor.
The domain name, homebeforedark, suggested something
vaguely apocalyptic, perhaps to do with religion or New Age
music. I was way off.
As the central image formed, mystified at first by the backdrop
of trees, lawn and picket fence, I felt a growing
excitement: for what was slowly taking shape in front of my
eyes was a building, a white American Colonial house in a
suburban setting.
I almost called out to Laura to come and look.
I wanted to know if she’d 'get it’ too, make the same connection
I’d instantly made with the 'clapboard doll’s house’ that
Bailey Grant had described so vividly from his memory of
Sophie’s sketchbook.
It wasn’t hard to see in the stylised design of the pillared
mansion on my screen where Sophie might have found her
inspiration. The graphics had that hyper-real, 3-D-ish look
of a virtual building which, like any doll’s house, can be
entered and explored room by room.
This couldn’t be coincidence. I looked back into our
bedroom and saw that Laura was napping. I didn’t feel like
disturbing her.
There were no instructions on how to navigate the site.
Access was certain to be protected, but that didn’t mean it
wasn’t worth eliminating the obvious. Moving my cursor to
the gate in the picket fence, I double-clicked on the latch
with no result. I tried the US-style mailbox; the flag was in
the up position, which looked promising, but again nothing
happened. I followed the path up to the dark-green front
door and clicked on the brass knocker.
A standard pop-up box appeared at the bottom of my
screen asking for username and password. I entered a couple
of random combinations, then gave up. I could have used
George’s help – my fifteen-year-old son was into 'gaming’
and nimble at reading visual clues. Laura had wanted to take
him out of school and bring him with us to Florence, but
for a number of reasons I’d vetoed the idea.
I dialled Bailey’s number at the atelier. A girl, who wasn’t
India, answered and said she would see if he could be
disturbed. Then put me on hold, activating a loop of the
Eagles’ 'Hotel California’.
While I was waiting, I moved the cursor slowly across
the facade of the house. The windows were all shuttered,
giving the place a deserted, rather forbidding aspect. I
clicked on each of them in turn until suddenly the shutters
of an attic dormer swung back, revealing a half-open sash
window. I let out a whoop, thinking I’d found a way in,
but the window wouldn’t budge. Behind it was only blackness.
'So
this is what you call work. I’ve often wondered.’
Laura, a towel wrapped around her, was standing by my
side looking over my shoulder at the screen. Absorbed in my
task, I hadn’t heard her come up behind me.
'You recognise it?’
Just then the Eagles cut out and I held up a hand.
'Mr Lister, I’ve got good news . . .’
I didn’t let Bailey finish. 'And I have a question. The clapboard
house in Sophie’s drawings . . . front door, left lower
panel, is that a cat-flap?’
There was silence from the other end.
    'How could you possibly know?’
I looked up at Laura. I wanted to hug her.
'Bailey, say Sophie’s killer knew about the drawings – was
there anything inside the house he might have seen as a threat
to himself?’
'You’ll have to judge for yourself. We found the sketchbook.’
I
turned to Laura. 'Did you hear what he just said?’
She nodded coolly, her gaze held by the screen. I was still
taking in the significance of all this when I felt her touch my
arm.
'If you like,’ Bailey was saying, 'I can bring it along this
evening.’
'Isn’t that someone trying to reach you?’ Laura asked, pointing
to a blue flashing message icon on the taskbar of my
laptop.
'Here, you talk to him,’ I said and handed her my mobile.
'This could be the girl . . . Sophie’s friend.’
I knew it wasn’t Sam Metcalf, but the blue light kept flashing
and I had to divert my wife’s attention.
Two rings, then it stopped.
When it rang again, she