Although she was officially employed as an assistant researcher in the historical society on the third floor, when her duties were light she would come downstairs to lend a hand. The library was not crowded, typical for lunchtime on Friday, but she still imagined a dozen pairs of eyes tracing her noisy path across the room. There had been little sleep when she got home on Wednesday night. The sound of heavy steps halting for a moment somewhere on the street outside at two in the morning had been enough to stir her from a fitful dream and cause her to peek from the bedroom window for any signs of the intruder lurking outside her home. She had gone to work the next morning just long enough to report the incident and await the arrival of Deputy Lean, the police detective her uncle had contacted. Although she had seen not a trace of the intruder since two nights earlier, she could still not shake the feeling that he was nearby, watching her. Helen was finishing her reshelving when she heard the clang of the front door, followed by purposeful footsteps moving toward the front desk.
