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By Root 1047 0

it. It was protected here, though, and there was almost no snow near the walls. I stood on a narrow concrete walkway, and looked at the door. There appeared to be a fresh dent in the white steel storm door casing, and fresh pry marks on the wooden main door. I tested it with a gentle push, and it stayed firm. I pushed a bit harder. No result. Out with the glasses again, which I dropped in the snow. Made them wet, and very cold, but at least they hadn’t broken. I peered at the marks on the door. Looked to be about quarter- or half-inch screwdriver marks. There was also a pretty good footprint near the lock. I grinned. Burglars almost never noticed the print they left when they tried to kick a door in. At night, when it was fresh, it probably just looked wet. But everything outside has a coat of dust, and with snowy boots making wet dust, and with wet dust making very fine mud, you’d frequently get a very fine shoe print. At least after it froze or dried. I angled my flashlight more, and could even make out a possible section of lettering from the label on the sole. Cool.

I pushed the door once more, very hard. Nothing. Tough door. Most good modern doors were. I noticed the rubber doormat had been pushed away from the door. A couple of drops of white paint on the concrete, and three or four pink ones. Sloppy painters, I thought. I removed my glasses, which were beginning to freeze to my face, and put them back in my pocket. I stepped back, out into the reflected light from the headlights.

Perfect. They’d tried the back door, found it difficult to pry, and had come up to the front, where the sliding door offered much less resistance. Happened often at burglaries. The suspect would go for the obvious entry point, and find it blocked. Proceed to another, hoping it would be easier. It also fit, since it was reasonably likely that the cousins hadn’t closely scouted the Borglan place before going in. That brought up another question, which was how they’d know Borglan’s was empty in the first place. The answer was, of course, that they probably wouldn’t know. Ah, but living within five miles, good old Fred sure would. Grumbling slightly to myself, I struggled back up the slope, breathing hard in the cold air. I was puffing by the time I reached the top. “Better lose some weight,” I puffed to myself.

I went to the sliding door, and opened it. I shouted, “Anybody home?” It never hurts to ask. Especially as I was looking for the two lost cousins. Well, ostensibly, anyway. “Police officer, anybody home?” I waved at Mike, stepped inside, and closed the door behind me.

It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust, coming from the brightly lighted snow to the dark room. I fumbled for a moment, located a light switch, and turned on the lights.

The first thing that struck me was the bright blue carpet. Wall to wall, it had a fine nap, and was the same shade of blue I remembered seeing in copper sulfate solutions in high school chemistry. It was a nice place. Matching blue and white recliners close together in sort of random positions in the middle of the room, and a large three-piece couch, with really big pillows. Red and green throw rug in front of a modern fireplace, where a dog might lie in front of a fire. Huge TV set and stereo in a nearly ceiling-high oak entertainment center. Photographs of family-type people all over the walls, with many, many children. Grandchildren, I suspected. A large oak gun cabinet with a flying duck etched in the glass door. Every slot was filled; six shotguns, two 9 mm auto pistols, and two .357 revolvers. That was a surprise. I stepped closer. No signs of a break, and there simply wasn’t an empty slot in the cabinet. That struck me as strange, as the guns were very nice, and in the other burglaries, they’d taken guns and cash.

I was also struck by how warm it was. Well, probably not more than fifty. But quite a contrast with the outside. I slipped off my winter coat, and hung it on a big brass hook just inside the door. Much better. Off with the gloves, sticking them into the pockets of my down vest.