I reached for the doorknob of the kitchen door.

I turned it.

It was locked tight.

I pushed against the wood, but there was no give.

Mark had been thorough.

He had locked every entrance.

I sat down on the steps of the back porch, pulling my knees to my chest to keep warm.

My breath rose in white plumes before disappearing into the dark.

I thought of my mother.

She had loved this house.

She had kept it safe from developers, from creditors, and from Patricia’s quiet attempts to buy into the estate.

I could not let them take it.

I could not let Mark sign it away to pay off his bad investments.

Suddenly, a soft light flickered inside the kitchen.

I stood up quickly, retreating to the edge of the porch.

The small window in the pantry door glowed with the light of a flashlight.

Someone was moving inside.

The beam of light danced across the copper pots hanging from the ceiling.

Then, the deadbolt on the pantry door slid back with a loud click.

The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet yard.