I slipped my phone into my coat pocket, the screen still dark, and crept toward the doorway of the study.

The floorboard that had creaked was at the bottom of the stairs.

I looked down into the dark well of the foyer.

A cold draft was blowing up from the basement.

“Richard?” I called out, my voice barely more than a whisper.

No one answered.

I walked down the stairs slowly, my bare feet silent on the hardwood runner.

As I reached the bottom step, I saw that the back door off the kitchen was open an inch.

The latch had not caught.

It was only the wind.

Relief washed over me, cold and hollow.

I walked to the door, pushed it firmly until the deadbolt clicked, and then headed toward the front foyer.

Through the sidelight window, I saw Rose approaching the porch.

I unlocked the front door and pulled it open before she could knock.

The chilly autumn air rushed inside, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke.

“Come in,” I said.

Rose stepped into the warmth of the foyer, her shoulders hunched.