No Alibi. Valerie Hansen

okay, boy. Go ahead. Eat.”

      Still, the big, black dog refused. He tensed. The hackles on his back rose and Julie Ann heard a throaty growl begin to rumble deep in his chest. Bubbles was impressed enough to pause and glance at him but only for a moment.

      Heart racing, Julie Ann scanned the kitchen. Nothing looked out of place. “What is it? What’s the matter, Andy?”

      The dog was staring at the back door the way a hungry wolf eyed a juicy meal. Had she locked that door? Of course not. She didn’t usually bother with such silly precautions. Nothing had ever happened in Serenity to make her fearful or to cause her to change her habits. Until today.

      Andy’s low, menacing growl continued. Julie Ann thought she saw the doorknob turn. She froze. Her breath caught and she held it, hoping, praying that her overactive imagination was responsible.

      No. The knob actually was turning. What now? What should she do? If she ran to the door, would she have time to throw the dead bolt? And even if she accomplished that, would it be enough deterrent, or would it merely make her prowler mad and cause him to force his way inside?

      Time stood still. Julie Ann’s whole body was trembling. So was Andy’s. What began as another growl ended as a deep, warning bark. The movement of the knob ceased.

      That was enough incentive for Julie Ann. She lunged toward the door.

      Andy, barking louder in response to her affirmative actions, was right beside her. Even Bubbles finally joined in with rapid yaps and frantic, scrambling dashes back and forth across the slick kitchen floor.

      Julie Ann put out her hand. Grabbed the dead bolt. Twisted it locked.

      Just then, the doorknob quivered and made a half turn. Julie Ann knew she’d locked the door just in time because if she had not acted, whoever was outside would now be standing in her kitchen, facing her.

      By this time, Andy was in full attack mode. Barking and growling, he hit the wooden door with his front feet, making the whole thing shake.

      Julie Ann didn’t try to stop or restrain the dog. She wanted her prowler to be good and scared, hopefully enough that he’d go away or at least answer when she shouted, “Who’s there?”

      All noise and movement suddenly ceased. Andy cocked his head. His ears lifted. Then, he suddenly wheeled and raced back to the living room with Bubbles in scatterbrained, halfhearted pursuit.

      By the time Julie Ann realized the new avenue of threat, her protective dog was already barking at the front door, once again ready to defend her.

      Smith had told her to lock that door. Had she? She didn’t remember. And now Andy was clearly warning her. How long would it take a person to circle her house and reach the front porch? Longer than it took her to go directly there from the kitchen, she reasoned. But not that much longer.

      With trembling hands and a shaky grip, she engaged the locking mechanism on that door, then proceeded to the windows that were the easiest to access from the porch and secured them, as well.

      She hadn’t actually spotted anyone prowling outside but they were there just the same. She felt it. And once the sun set, she wouldn’t be able to see any farther than the circles of illumination cast by her porch lights.

      Andy stayed close beside her every step of the way, often so near that she had to nudge him aside to reach the windows.

      “What’s this world coming to when a person has to lock everything just to feel safe?” she muttered.

      Andy’s only response was to nuzzle her hand.

      She paused just long enough to give him another pat, then finished with the windows that sat higher off the ground than a man could normally reach. If her prowler had a ladder and tried to open one of those, he’d be thwarted then, too.

      The whole scenario was beginning to make her angry. How dare anyone try to get into her home? How dare they frighten her this way? She didn’t deserve to have her salon window broken or her tires flattened, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow herself to become a further victim. Not if she could help it.

      Grabbing her phone she dialed the emergency number. Instead of the part-time dispatcher she had expected, Harlan answered the call.

      “Sheriff’s office.”

      Julie Ann was surprised to hear his voice.

      “It’s me. Julie Ann Jones,” she said, gripping the phone tightly. “There’s a prowler outside my house.”

      “What makes you think so?”

      His question was irksome. “Because the dog is barking, the door rattled and the knob turned, only nobody said a word when I hollered at them. Isn’t that enough?”

      “It’ll do,” the sheriff answered. “Sit tight and stay inside. I’ll send Boyd right over.”

      “Okay.” Julie Ann nodded as she ended the call. Her brain had been spinning wildly during the crisis but she was now thinking more clearly. As long as she was stuck in an isolated house at least a half mile from her nearest neighbor, she was far too vulnerable. Harlan had only one full-time deputy and the county owned two patrol cars. Period. How much time could he and Boyd afford to devote to looking after her? Very little, especially since her farm was so far out of town.

      She had only two choices, she decided easily. She’d either have to phone Smith and admit she needed protecting or go to Grandpa Willis’s trunk, dig through the personal items he had willed her when he’d died, and find the revolver they had shared when he’d taught her how to shoot.

      As much as she hated the idea of running around the house armed like a gunslinger from a western movie, she wasn’t going to just sit there and become a helpless victim.

      And she certainly was not going to phone Smith Burnett and admit she needed protection, particularly his. She was a country girl, born and raised. She could take care of herself. At least she hoped she could.

      FOUR

      Smith was still concerned and thinking about Julie Ann when he drove past his office near the town square. A sheriff’s car, lights flashing and siren wailing, raced by him going the opposite direction. His heart leaped and felt as if it were lodged in his throat. The patrol car was heading in the direction of Julie Ann’s!

      He tried to shrug off his misgivings, found he couldn’t, and decided to make a U-turn and follow. If he got as far as her neighborhood and didn’t spot the police, he’d go on home and try to forget he’d been so impulsive. The last thing he needed was to have her so mad at him for disregarding her wishes that she purposely tried to thwart his efforts to look after her.

      As he rounded the final bend on Squirrel Hill Road and glanced up at the hillside, his breath caught. The rotating beacons of the blue and red lights were right in front of Julie Ann’s house.

      What’d happened to her?

      Smith accelerated and began to drive as if he were racing against an unseen nemesis. Thank goodness his SUV was built to take the punishment of pothole-filled, rock-strewn, dirt roads. His hands held the wheel in a death grip. His jaw clenched. He should never have left her without insisting he check that house first. Never. No matter how much she’d protested against it.

      As he skidded to a stop behind the sheriff’s car, he spotted two figures standing in the shadows. He bailed out, ready to do battle. Julie Ann was easy to recognize but the tall, skinny guy with her had better have a very good reason to be there.

      Jogging toward the porch, Smith realized that the other man was Harlan’s deputy. That did little to relieve his disgust with himself for leaving Julie Ann alone and his anger at her for insisting she’d be fine.

      “What happened?” Smith immediately demanded, shouting in order to be heard over the noisy barking coming from inside the house.

      Boyd shook his head and answered. “Don’t