I was home by ten-fifteen. I pulled into the garage, parked, then walked across the lawn to the back door. Unlocking it, I went inside. The house was dark, of course, so I flipped on the kitchen light, and then the ones in the living room. After picking up the mail on the floor in front of the mail slot, I went around, closing the curtains on the living room and dining room windows.
I about jumped out of my skin when Steve said from the staircase, “Did you close the ones in the kitchen? I didn’t, because it would have signaled someone was here, and your car wasn’t in the driveway.”
“No.” I hurried to do that, came back, and found him seated on the sofa.
“You’re not going to hide in a closet?” I joked.
Steve arched an eyebrow. “Not necessary. He’s not in the house. I checked. If and whe
