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is supposed to be my day off, you know.”
    “Lucky man. You get to spend it with me, instead.”
    “Fixing up our fixer-upper.”
    “What could be more fun?”
    “I could think of a few thousand things,” he said. “Besides, we’re out of plumber’s putty.”
    “The hardware store will have more.”
    Wearily, he leaned against a sawhorse. Reaching out, he caught his wife at the waist and pulled her onto his lap. “Remind me why we bought this dump.”
    Curling one ankle over the other, Becky relaxed against his chest. “It was all we could afford, my dear. Besides, we like it here. Great neighborhood, close to work.”
    “You need to quit your job. Seriously. You don’t belong in a bank. You’re an artist.”
    “It’s near to your job, too.” She ran her hand through his close-cropped hair. “Plus, the neighborhood is decent and Grove Elementary is only two blocks away. Once she’s old enough, Kristin can walk to school.”
    “She’ll need to learn how to crawl first.”
    “By then, maybe the kitchen sink will be fixed.” Standing, she tugged on his arm. “Up and at ‘em, Mister Faraday. There’s work to be done.”
    Straightening, Rick said, “Did you hear that? The scraping noise?”
    “It came from the baby’s room.” Becky’s eyes widened. “Kristin!”
    Moving past her husband, she started to run. Rick said, “It’s only a noise, hon.”
    Feeling foolish, he followed her.
    Entering Kristin’s bedroom, with its paintings of pink hot air balloons drifting across aqua-colored walls, he knew instinctively that Becky had overreacted. Normally level-headed, she turned into an Amazon Warrior when she thought their daughter was threatened.
    He remembered what had happened the week before, when a bee had foolishly dared to buzz from beneath the bonnet of Kristin’s stroller.
    Careless little bee , he thought. Very squished, totally obliterated, hapless little bee.
    Becky sobbed, the noise dying in a choking sound, strangled inside her throat. Her body sagged and he slipped his arms around her for support.
    Kristin’s crib was empty. Above it, the wire-mesh screen was gone from the bedroom window.
    Grabbing at the crib’s top rail, his wife composed herself. “Find our baby,” she said, in a voice so flat and serious he knew he’d never forget it.  “I’ll call the police.”
    Clutching the window sill, he leapt through its opening. Rose bushes grabbed at his legs as Rick fell to the ground. Staggering to his feet, he shaded his eyes from the bright light above him.
    On the sidewalk far ahead, a slight figure went briskly down the pavement. Despite the warm day and its cloudless sky, the figure wore a brown suede overcoat with its hood up. The walker’s arms were crooked, as if they were holding something.
    Rick sprinted forward.
    It’s a woman , he decided, it has to be a woman, so small and slim. I can catch her, thank God for all of those 5K’s.
    Of course, I can catch her. She isn’t even running.
    The street was empty. The woman passed the only car in sight, a neighbor’s green Pontiac, without slowing at all.
    What if she’s one of the neighbors?
    It was a staggering thought. Six months ago, they’d moved to Winterhaven and found an apartment. After a brief house hunt, they were new, still, to this area. They hadn’t met many of the people on their block.
    Was this woman watching when they moved in, her fevered eyes focused on Kristin’s bassinet? Did she have an accomplice, a boyfriend or a husband, even now peering out from behind closed curtains?
    What if the accomplice had a weapon? Worse, what if this woman carried a gun or a knife in one of the overcoat’s large, rectangular pockets? Would she hurt Kristin?
    She could try. He wouldn’t let it happen.
    Still too far away for him to stop her, he saw her lower a bundle to the sidewalk. A tiny arm emerged from the baby blanket, displaying little fingers curled around an infant thumb.
    Dear God , he prayed. Dear Jesus.