Kyra pressed the button.“Mrs. Bingham, a man from the drugstore is bringing up a package you forgot.”The doorbell dingdonged. She flipped the dead bolt. A shadowy male figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the flickering hall fluorescents. She squinted to make out his face.He held out a small brown paper-wrapped package.“Thank you.” She reached for it, but he pulled it away. Almost teasingly.“You have to sign for it. But I lost my pen.” His voice had a mischievous resonance.“I’m sure I can find a pen. Just a minute.” She went and foraged through papers on the worktable.“And I’m out of receipts,” he said. “You’ll have to write one.”Sighing, she found a pen and a sheet of Anne’s stationery. “What do you want me to write?”She turned. He was no longer at the door, but standing two feet from her. Light fell slantwise across the shaved skull, the brown eyes glowing with peek-a-boo, I-see-you malevolence.She took a shocked, lurching step backward.
