Letters in Time by Reiss Susan (i love reading books .txt) 📕

foliage. If I fell in the water, well, I didn’t want to think about that outcome or the tirade I’d have to endure if I survived. Besides, the wind was picking up, a sign that a storm might be coming. I avoided taking a nap during the day so I’d get a good night’s sleep. But my plan didn’t work.

I wasn’t surprised that I felt a headache starting to spin up from the back of my neck. The best way to salvage the night was to take some aspirin with some warm milk and head back to bed. I put Daniel’s last letter into the cubbyhole.

On my way to the kitchen, a loud knocking at the front door made me stop. Someone was here at the Cottage in the middle of the night? I quickly reached into the pocket of my robe for my cell phone, but it wasn't there. The base station for the cordless phone was in the living room. To get there, someone could see me walk past the little windows on either side of the front door. The phone might not be there. I ducked into the den. My breath was coming in gulps. What to do?

I stood silently in the dim light, hoping this person would go away. The knocking stopped. I strained my ears to hear a car engine. Funny, I hadn't heard a car drive up. But the sounds of the wind could have masked it. I stood still. Minutes went by. The person must have left. As I relaxed, the knocking started again.

A woman’s voice called out. “Emma? Please open the door. I need to talk to you.” She knocked again. “Emma. It’s me, Stephani!”

Stephani? Here? At this time of night? Something must be wrong.

I got to the front door as fast as I could and threw it open. Stephani stood in the dim lamplight. Her usually perfect hair was running with rainwater. Mascara and eyeliner smeared her right eye. Mud splattered her stylish red boots.

My fists clenched in fear. “Stephani, what’s wrong?”

Panting, she marched past me into the hall and left puddles in her footsteps. I knew there was a murderer out there somewhere. Maybe in the shadows? Was he stalking her? I slammed the door and threw the deadbolt.

“Stephani, tell me what’s going on,” I insisted. “Is someone after you?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” She gulped some air. “At least, not yet. We don’t have much time.” She looked around first towards the living room then towards my study. “Where are they?”

“Where are who?” I snapped. Her anxiety was contagious.

She heaved a big sigh. “Not who. What. The papers. I have to see the papers.”

Now, I was truly confused. "What papers? Why don't you come and sit down?" I pointed toward the kitchen. "Tell me what's going on while I make some coffee."

She caught my arm and stopped me. “I don’t have time for that. Stop playing games. If you had been straight with me this afternoon, I wouldn’t be here now. In fact, I’d probably be long gone.”

I stared down at her hand on my arm. She got the message and removed it. Even though I was tired, the rush of growing anxiety had fired up all my senses. Anger was building. I didn’t want to upset her any more than she was, but she couldn’t push her way into my house like this. By instinct, I started turning on the lights. Lamps, ceiling lights, it didn’t matter. Later, I’d have to go around and turn them off, but it felt right. Then I remembered TJ’s instruction:  If you need anything, turn on all your house lights and I’ll come. What I needed was to calm this young woman.  I can do that, I thought, as I clicked on another overhead light switch, just in case.

Stephani followed me into the living room. “What are you doing? Why are you turning on the lights?”

I had to think fast. “I’ve found that when I’m upset, light can be comforting, especially in the middle of the night,” I added pointedly. “Why don’t you tell me why you are here?”

"You really don't know. You are truly a piece of work." She crossed her arms. Her eyes traveled from the top of my head, down to my feet, and back to my face. "You got your hair cut? About time."

She walked around me, checking out the cut. That gave me hope that I could distract her and get the woman out of my house.

“It’s not bad. But not great.” She huffed out of exasperation. “I don’t care. Whatever game you think you’re playing, but you can stop right now. Give me the papers and I’ll leave.”

I shook my head slowly. “I’ll tell you one more time. I don’t know what papers you think I have. The best thing is for you to leave. You can come back in the morning.” I started toward the door.

Instead of following me, she headed into the study and turned on the light.

“What are you doing?” I said as I tried to race after her.  Daniel’s letters!

"I'm turning on more lights," she snarled as she opened the door to the plantation desk to expose all the cubbyholes, slots, and tiny drawers. She started to ransack the desk, pulling down papers and shuffling through them. In the rush of air, my folded blue butterfly fluttered down to the desktop and was smashed by a flying file folder.

"Stop it! Stop it right now," I ordered. I slammed the door of the