“This?”
“Before you go to bed tonight,” Charlie said, “sprinkle that on the floor in front of the sink here. You got mice, you’ll see their tiny little footprints in the morning. You don’t see anything, chances are you don’t have them.”
Brie nodded, impressed. “And just vacuum it up after.”
“There you go.” He put two of the humane traps atop the counter. “Why don’t I leave you these, and I’ll pop by tomorrow, see if you spotted any tracks, and you can decide how you want to handle this.”
She asked what she owed him, and he said they could settle up the following day, once they determined whether she actually had any mice. At that point she could decide on more humane traps, the glue ones, or poisoned bait.
She followed him out to his van and realized she’d stopped noticing the tobacco stench coming off of him. Your nose could get used to just about anything, she concluded.
As he was backing out of the driveway, Brie spotted a familiar vehicle parked on the other side of the street, about three houses down from hers. A blue Chrysler minivan. There was a man sitting behind the wheel, looking her way.
God, she thought. What the hell is Norman doing there?
If and when he came to the door, she would politely tell him to leave, that he had made his apologies and that she had accepted them, and that he should go home.
Sitting in the kitchen that evening, eating dinner alone, she listened for any rustling from under the cupboards or under the walls. Nothing.
Shortly before ten, she picked up her cell, brought up her husband’s number from her contact list, and tapped on FaceTime. Seconds later, her husband’s face appeared. He smiled warmly.
“Hey,” Andrew said cheerily. “How’s it going?”
He looks happy, she thought.
“Okay. I interrupt anything?”
“No. Greg’s already gone back to his place. Early night. We were out on the water for the better part of four hours. Got a lot of sun. Kind of drained the life out of us.”
“You look beat. Catch anything?”
“Other than a burn on the back of my neck, no.”
“How’s his leg?”
“Limping a little, but pretty much healed. Stumbled once getting in the boat. Idiot. Thinking he could jump down that far. Twenty years ago, maybe, but he’s too old for that kind of shit. We both are.”
“So, what’d you guys talk about, all that time?”
“I dunno. Usual.” Andrew shrugged.
“Work stuff?”
“Some. But mostly just reminiscing, reliving our glory years. Not exactly happy to talk about work, way things have been going.” He paused. “And I told him I was done putting you through one renovation after another. If you like where you are now, we’re staying. If you want to find your dream home, that’s what we’ll do.”
Brie smiled, as though he might actually mean it this time. “I had someone here today, a pest control guy, checking for mice. Thought I heard something in the walls. He was a bit of an oddball. Doesn’t like to kill them if he doesn’t have to. A humane exterminator.”
“Not surprising we’d have mice. Old house, they’ve probably got a hundred ways to get inside.”
She briefly angled the phone so he could see the floor. “Can you see that?”
“You spill something?”
“It’s flour. Exterminator’s idea. If I see footprints in the morning, I know I’ve got company.”
“Hey,” Andrew said, touching his neck. “Nice to see you wearing that.”
She touched the necklace and smiled. “I love it. I’m never taking it off.”
“Anything else going on?”
Should she tell him about Norman coming to the door? No, not a good idea.
“Nothing,” Brie said. “Listen, I’ll let you go. What time you getting back? Should I have a lunch ready?”
“Don’t worry about me. Probably midafternoon sometime.”
“Okay.”
“Love you,” he said.
“Bye,” Brie said, and ended the call.
She turned off the kitchen lights and headed upstairs. When Andrew was gone overnight, whether for work or pleasure, she couldn’t drop off to sleep right away. She’d read, or watch Kimmel or Colbert, or bring a laptop to bed and watch some romcom flick Andrew would never sit through.
It was Saturday, so there was no Kimmel or Colbert or Fallon. She picked up the book on her bedside table. It was the latest James Lee Burke, and as was often the case, Robicheaux was having a hard time trying to stop his friend Cletus from ripping someone’s head off. Shortly after midnight, having read only two pages, she felt her eyelids slamming shut.
She hit the light and went to sleep.
Brie woke shortly before five and couldn’t get back to sleep, wondering whether there were any tiny footprints in the flour in front of the sink. Her curiosity won out over her desire to go back to sleep, so she got out of bed, turned on some lights, as it was still dark outside, and descended the stairs.
As she reached the first floor, she felt a tingle of excitement mixed with dread. There was an atmosphere of suspense in the moments leading up to finding out whether there had been any creatures in the kitchen, but at the same time, she was worried about the consequences. Once any infestation was confirmed, she knew she’d go into a cleaning frenzy, emptying the cupboards and drawers of every pot, pan, knife, fork, and spatula a mouse might have touched and running them all through the dishwasher.
Brie held her breath as she entered the kitchen, flicked on the light, and gazed down at the floor.
There were definitely footprints. But they weren’t from mice. Not unless mice wore size-twelve boots.
Brie gasped.
At that moment, she thought she heard something behind her. She whirled around.
There wasn’t even time to scream.
Six Years Later
Saturday
One
It felt surreal.
Which was kind of crazy. It was the most commonplace of activities, shopping in a grocery store. Pushing her cart up and down the aisles. Pausing to look at all the fresh produce. Checking out a head of cauliflower. Looking for bananas that were still green. Glancing at the dozens of different boxed cereals. Sugary and delicious and bad for you, or full of fiber and yucky and good for you. About a hundred different kinds of coffee. Had she ever noticed before today how many brands there were? Maybe this was why an activity so mundane suddenly felt strange and unfamiliar. It was as though she were doing it for the first time.
Or at least the first time in ages.
She had grocery-shopped a thousand times — and that was in no way an exaggeration. A thousand, easily. Say you went out for provisions twice a week. That was more than a hundred times a year. And given that she was in her mid-thirties, and had been doing her own shopping since moving out of her parents’ home at age twenty, well, there you go. Do the math.
That’s a lot of trips to the local Stop & Shop or Whole Foods or Walmart.
But today was different because she really didn’t know what to buy. Did it even matter what she tossed into the cart? She’d entered the store without a list. The basics seemed like a safe way to go. Milk, eggs, fruit. A six-pack of beer. She wondered if a list would have been a good idea. It would have helped her pick up things Andrew liked.
Maybe what made this trip feel so strange was that she didn’t want to be spotted. Didn’t want to run into anyone who knew her. Not at this point. So she kept her head down as she went up and down the aisles. Tried to withdraw into herself. She was thinking that the next time she went out for groceries, she’d pick a place she didn’t usually frequent.