Read Town Square, The for Free Online Page A

come and check.”
    Yeah, when she thought about it, who would show up for that? “Don’t worry about it then. I’ll just…”
    And she let her voice trail off like she’d heard her mother do time and time again to get her father to agree to something.
    “No, it’s okay. Does it sound like it’s really big?”
    Laughing seemed inappropriate, but she still felt like it. Heck, what a question.
    “Small, I think,” she said, not wanting him to be too alarmed.
    “Let me call a buddy and have him come over and help me.”
    “No, wait,” she said, and then stopped herself from rushing. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might ask for backup, and her heart sped up just at the thought. “I don’t want you bothering anyone at this hour. I just want to know what it is. I can lock my bedroom door once you leave tonight, and if you find something, you and your buddy can come over to take care of it in the morning.”
    Silence again.
    “Where’s your sister?”
    “She had to go to Denver for some shopping and didn’t want to drive home at night.” Her heart pounded in her chest as a few seconds ticked by without a response.
    Then a terse, “Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Go into your bedroom and lock the door until I get there if you’re scared.”
    “Okay, and thank you, Arthur. I just…didn’t know who else to call.” Fortunately, he didn’t ask why she hadn’t called her landlord.
    “That’s fine, Harriet. We’re all neighborly around here. See you soon.”
    And with that, he clicked off. Three more clicks sounded after his.
    She hung the phone back on the receiver and moved into the family room. Took another drink.
    Well, the trap was set, and the only person getting trapped in it was Arthur.
    She didn’t care what happened to herself anymore.
    ***
    Arthur rapped on Harriet’s front door for a minute, but when she didn’t answer, he realized she might be too scared to leave her bedroom. It wasn’t like a raccoon, squirrel, or bat could open the attic door. But fear wasn’t a rational thing.
    He turned the knob and found the door unlocked.
    “Harriet,” he called out as he entered.
    She didn’t appear, so he walked into the mostly dark house and decided against hanging his coat on the brass rack on the wall since the attic would be freezing. When he entered the family room, the hardwood floor squeaked in places as he moved. He’d never been in old Mrs. Kennion’s house, but the soft glow from the antique brass lamp was kind to the house’s age. Still, the plaster walls had a few cracks, the lace curtains were brittle and yellowed, and the mauve settee looked faded from too much use. Fortunately, the house didn’t smell. He’d heard tall tales about the many cats she’d owned when she died, anywhere from ten to twenty, and how she’d regularly served them red Jell–O as a treat.
    He called her name again, and finally heard, “Up here.”
    So she was holed up in her bedroom after all. Funny how the knowledge tightened every muscle in his body and swept a wave of heat from head to toe, making him wish he’d chucked his coat. Knowing it was a stupid idea, he headed toward her room. It was on the way to the attic, after all. Part of him, the unprofessional part, wanted to see where she slept. See if the hyacinth fragrance he always smelled on her skin was more intense there.
    He’d tried not to fantasize about her and failed miserably.
    The floor squeaked as he walked up the stairs. The red floor runner was also worn in spots.
    The door to her bedroom opened when he appeared on the landing, but he didn’t see her. Just saw the faded brass frame of a bed in a yellow–painted room, a pink velvet bedspread pulled back like at a fancy hotel.
    He moved to the doorway and froze.
    She stood on the other side of the bed by the window, dressed in a black slip that highlighted her creamy shoulders and pert nipples. Her red hair was down for once, curling around her shoulders. Those