By the time Mary-Clair reached the bottom of the stairs, her heart was pounding so wildly she could hear the echo in her ears.

The light in the kitchen, she realized, was on, casting a dim glow over the living room. Why was the intruder in the kitchen? Was there a big market for stolen microwave ovens?

A chill coursed through Mary-Clair as she made her way across the living room. She stopped at the kitchen doorway and peered around the edge, her trusty golf club held high in the air.

Well, for Pete's sake, she thought, frowning. The crook was making himself a sandwich? He had his back to her but she could see a loaf of bread, a jar of mayonnaise and another of dill pickles on the counter.

Good grief, she thought, swallowing a lump in her throat, he was huge. Her father and her five older brothers were all six-feet tall, but this rotten person who had broken into Esther and Bill's house, was at least six-foot-three!

The bigger they are, the harder they fall, Mary-Clair thought, knowing she was on the edge of hysteria.

She crept forward, the golf club now extended toward the man. Just as he speared a pickle with a fork, she planted the club firmly in the middle of his back.

"Put your hands up," she said, wishing her voice didn't sound like a squeaky mouse. "I mean it. Put them up, or I'll...I'll... Just do what I said, mister."

The man's hands shot up in the air, the fork with the dripping pickle going along for the journey.

"Don't make any funny moves," Mary-Clair said. "I have a vicious attack dog right next to me here just waiting for an excuse to take a bite —" her gaze slid over the man, who was wearing dark slacks and a pale blue knit shirt "— of your gorgeous tush, buster."

"Vicious attack dog?" the man said, with a burst of laughter. "Murphy? I'd bet a buck that he's snoring away on his favorite rug even as we speak."

"Huh?" Mary-Clair said.

The man turned, the fork and pickle in his right hand, and calmly removed the golf club from Mary-Clair's grasp with his left.

"Oh, hey," he said, "look at this. Nice. Uncle Bill said he was shopping for a new set of clubs and he sure went top of the line."

He shifted his gaze to Mary-Clair, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"By the way," he said, "who are you? And what are you doing in my Aunt Esther and Uncle Bill's house wearing nothing but —" he did a quick head-to-toe perusal of Mary-Clair "— a skimpy nightshirt with a picture of Donald Duck on the front?"

He paused. "Well, you can explain the whole thing while I eat my sandwich. I'm a starving man." He extended the fork toward Mary-Clair. "Want a pickle?"

To be continued...



chapter: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20