There was no car in the driveway-a promising sign that no one was home. He liked the look of the rectangular kitchen window. It was partly hidden by a big azalea bush, and it looked like the kind of window that opened out at the bottom, with a catch to keep it from opening too far. It was about six feet off the ground. Louis was tempted to look under the garden gnome for a spare house key, but he decided to have a look at the window instead. Using a key was unsporting; besides, the exercise would be good for him. If you are a burglar, your physique is your fortune.
He walked a lot, too. Tonight Louis had parked his old Volkswagen a couple of streets away, not so much for the exercise as for the fact that later no one would remember seeing a strange car in the vicinity. The long walk back to the car limited Louis’s take to the contents of a pillowcase or two, also from the burgled home, but he felt that most worthwhile burglary items were small and lightweight, anyway. The pillowcases he gave as baby gifts to new parents of his acquaintance, explaining that they were the perfect size to use as a cover for a bassinet mattress. Even better than a fitted crib sheet, he insisted, because after the kid grows up, you can use the pillowcases yourself. Louis was nothing if not resourceful.
He stayed close to the boxwood hedge as he edged closer to the house. With a final glance to see that no one was driving past, he darted for the azalea bush, and ended up crouched behind it, just under the rectangular window. Perfect. Fortunately it wasn’t too cold tonight-temperature in the mid-thirties, about average for the Virginia Christmas season. When it got colder than that, his dexterity was impaired, making it hard to jimmy locks and tamper with windows. It was an occupational hazard. Tonight would be no problem, though, unless the window had some kind of inside lock.
It didn’t. He was able to chin himself on the windowsill and pull the window outward enough to get a hand inside and slip the catch. With that accomplished, another twenty seconds of wriggling got him through the window and onto the Formica countertop next to the sink. There had been a plant on the windowsill, but he managed to ease that onto the counter before sliding himself all the way through. The only sound he made was a slight thump as he went from countertop to floor; no problem if the house was unoccupied.
Taking out his pen-sized flashlight, Louis checked out the kitchen. It was squeaky clean. He could even smell the lemon floor cleaner. He shined the light on the gleaming white refrigerator. Some people actually put their valuables in the freezer compartment. He always checked that last, though. In the corner next to the back door was a small washing machine and an electric dryer, with clean clothes stacked neatly on the top. Louis eased his way across the room and inspected the laundry. Women’s clothes-small sizes-towels, dishcloths… ah, there they were! Pillowcases. He helped himself to the two linen cases, sniffing them appreciatively. Fabric softener. Very nice. Now he was all set. Time to shop around.
He slipped into the dining room and flashed the light on the round oak table and the ladder-back chairs. Two places laid for breakfast. Weren’t they the early birds, though? The salt and pepper shakers looked silver. They were in the shape of pheasants. Louis slid them into his pillowcase and examined the rest of the room. The glass of the china cabinet flashed his light back at him. Bunch of flowery plates. No chance that he’d be taking those. He looked around for a silver chest, but didn’t see one. He’d check on it later. He wanted to examine the living room first.
Louis flashed an exploratory light at the fireplace, the chintz couch covered with throw pillows, and the glass-fronted bookcase. There were some candlesticks on the mantelpiece that looked promising. As he crept forward to inspect them, the room was flooded with light.
Squinting at the sudden brightness, Louis turned toward the stairs and saw that he wasn’t alone. The overhead lights had been switched on by a sweet-faced old woman in a green velvet bathrobe. Louis braced himself for the scream, but the old lady was smiling. She kept coming daintily down the stairs. Smiling. Louis stared, trying to think up a plausible story. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, and her blue eyes sparkled from a wrinkled but pleasant face. She patted her white permed hair into place. She looked delighted. Probably senile, Louis thought.
“Well, I’m glad to see you!” the woman said brightly. “I was afraid it was going to be my daughter Doris.”
Definitely senile, thought Louis. “No, it’s just me,” he said, deciding to play along. He held the pillowcase behind his back.
“Just after midnight, too, isn’t it? That’s grand, that is. Otherwise I’d have to ask you to go out and come in again, you know.”
Louis noticed her accent now. It was sort of English, he thought. But she wasn’t making any sense. “Come in again?”
“Ah, well, being an American you wouldn’t know the custom, would you? Well, you’re welcome all the same. Now, what can I get for you?”
Louis realized just in time that she meant food or drink, rather than jewelry and savings bonds. “Nothing for me, thanks,” he said, giving her a little wave, and trying to edge for the front door.
Her face fell. “Oh, no. Please! You must let me fix you something. Otherwise, you’ll be taking the luck away with you. How about a piece of cake? I made it today. And a bit of strong drink? It’s New Year’s, after all.”
She still didn’t look in the least perturbed. And she wasn’t trying to get to the telephone or to trip an alarm. Louis decided that he could definitely use a drink.
The old lady beamed happily up at him, and motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. “I’ve been baking for two days,” she confided. “Now, let’s see, what will you have?”
She rummaged around in a cupboard, bringing out an assortment of baked goods on glass plates, which she proceeded to spread out on the kitchen table. She handed Louis a blue-flowered plate, and motioned for him to sit down. When she went in to the dining room to get some cloth napkins, Louis stuffed the pillowcase under his coat, making sure that the salt and pepper shakers didn’t clink together. Finally, he decided that the least suspicious thing to do would be to play along. He sat.
“Now,” she announced, “we have Dundee cake with dried fruit, black bun with almonds, shortbread, petticoat tails…”
Louis picked up a flat yellow cookie, and nibbled at it, as his hostess babbled on.
“When I was a girl in Dundee-”
“Where?”
“Dundee. Scotland. My mother used to bake an oat bannock-you know, a wee cake-for each one of us children. The bannocks had a hole in the middle, and they were nipped in about the edges for decoration. She flavored them with carvey-caraway seed. And we ate them on New Year’s morning. They used to say that if your bannock broke while it was baking, you’d be taken ill or die in the New Year. So I never baked one for my daughter Doris. Oh, but they were good!”
Louis blinked. “You’re from Scotland?”
She was at the stove now, putting a large open pot on the burner, and stirring it with a wooden spoon. “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “We’ve been in this country since Doris was five, though. My husband wanted to come over, and so we did. I’ve often thought of going home, now that he’s passed on, but Doris won’t hear of it.”
“Doris is your daughter,” said Louis. He wondered if he ought to bolt before she showed up, in case she turned out to be sane.
“Yes. She’s all grown up now. She works very hard, does Doris. Can you imagine having to work on Hogmanay?”
“On what?”
“Hogmanay. New Year’s Eve. She’s out right now, poor dear, finishing up her shift. That’s why I was so glad to see you tonight. We could use a bit of luck this year, starting with a promotion for Doris. Try a bit of the Dundee cake. It’s awfully rich, but you can stand the calories, from the look of you.”