Val Guthrie answered her door very cautiously. She’d only been back from the hospital for forty minutes. Her husband had told her everything, because Val had been through the Trouble and had the sawdust to take anything.
She looked through the peephole and frowned, recognizing a neighbor standing on the porch looking a bit dazed and confused. Val opened the door as far as the chain would allow. She had the barrel of a Glock 26 pressed up against the panel, aimed right at the man’s heart.
“Burleigh?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
Burleigh Hopewell rubbed the back of his neck. “I … I really don’t know, Val.”