Not a Sound by Heather Gudenkauf

Author:Heather Gudenkauf
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Park Row Books
Published: 2017-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

13

I crank up the heat in the Jeep but it’s not until I reach the outskirts of Mathias that my hands stop shaking. What was I thinking? Now Peter McNaughton knows I’ve been snooping around his house and he obviously has something to hide. Why else would he try to conceal a scrapbook filled with pictures and news articles about a woman with whom he attended high school? Maybe Peter never fully got over Gwen. What if he tried to rekindle whatever it was he thought the two of them had together from high school and Gwen, married and with a child, told him to get lost? Maybe the rejection sent Peter over the edge and he killed her. People have murdered for less.

A deserted country road at night when there is no moon, no stars, is exceptionally dark. The only light comes from my headlights. I turn on my high beams but even that seems inadequate. I keep glancing in my rearview mirror expecting Peter’s BMW to come barreling up behind me. I press down on the gas, urging the Jeep forward. I can’t wait to get home. I want to lock myself inside with Stitch and build a fire. And if I’m honest with myself I want a drink. Badly.

I turn down my lane and when I reach the house I’m met with complete darkness. When I left this morning I didn’t bother to turn on the porch lights. I park as close to the door as possible and look at Stitch to see if he is as nervous as I am. He’s not. Though he paces the backseat, it’s not out of any sense of danger, he’s just anxious to get out of the car and to his supper. With phone and keys in hand, I slide from the Jeep, let Stitch out and hurry to the front door.

Stitch gets there first and is snuffling at the ground when I join him. He’s found something.

I shine the light from my cell toward the front step and see an envelope lying there. I pause to look around the yard to see if whoever delivered the note is still around. I pick up the envelope, unlock and open the door, pull Stitch in with me and then quickly lock myself inside.

I turn on the lights, pull all the blinds and then sit down at the kitchen counter and examine the envelope. My name is written in an unfamiliar scrawl across the front of the white envelope. There is no postage or postmark so the mail carrier didn’t deliver it. What if it’s from Peter McNaughton? What if it’s a warning to back off and stay away from him? I know I’m being ridiculous. There’s no way that Peter would know where I live. As far as I know he doesn’t even know my name and besides, my address and phone number are unlisted.

Disgusted with my skittishness, I rip open the envelope. Inside is a thick piece of stationery with the letter O in large, ornate, script.

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