LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Fifteen

      It was after eleven, that same night, when Kevin Mitman turned his BMW X5 onto John Street, the kids finally dozing in the back.

      Timmy had only calmed down about the game a few minutes ago. The Rangers coming back from two goals down in the third against the Devils and won in overtime. Petr Prucha, Melissa’s favorite player, had tipped in the winning goal. The crowd went crazy. When Prucha had skated out for his star-of-the-game ovation, Tim stood on his chair and cheered, fists in the air. As they left the Garden, they even bought Melissa his number 25 jersey.

      In the front passenger seat, Kevin’s wife, Rosemary, stirred.

      “We’re home!” Kevin said.

      “Mmmm.” Ro opened her eyes. “How’re you doing, honey?”

      “Not bad. Everyone’s asleep.”

      “No, we’re not!” Tim suddenly chimed in.

      Ro glanced at the clock and groaned. “Well you will be soon, mister.”

      They were supposed to have left the night before. Up to Mount Snow for a few days of skiing on their spring break. But then some business things came up and Kevin figured they might as well go to the game, as opposed to giving the seats away, though Ro, who thought hockey duller than listening to the business channel, had to be dragged.

      “I’ll get the kids in bed,” she said. “You take out the recycling.”

      “Uh, yeah, okay,” he said with a sigh. The driveway was fifty yards long and it was twenty degrees. Doesn’t driving count for anything?

      He wound the SUV down toward their home, a large ranch on two backcountry acres, which they’d bought when Kevin had taken over the family’s printing company. It was pretty remote—a twelve-minute drive from town and the nearest market. You don’t want to forget the milk, he always joked. But they liked it. They had deer and even coyote and in the spring, the same geese always on their pond.

      Kevin was about to turn in. “We’re here, gang…”

      Suddenly something didn’t seem right. Instead of turning, he slowed at the gate.

      There was an empty black van parked on the side of the road—unusual, because no one ever parked out here. The nearest house to them was hundreds of yards away. Everyone had driveways and garages large enough to hold a dozen cars.

      He noticed something else too.

      “Ro, did you leave the lights on in the house?”

      “No,” she said, staring down the driveway. They were always strict on that one. Thousand-dollar electric bills and Kev’s business was soft. “Just in the foyer,” she said. “Like we always do.”

      From the street, they could see lights on throughout the house.

      “Shit!” Kevin pulled up on the darkened street, keeping out of sight.

      In the back, Timmy leaned forward. “What’s going on, Dad?”

      “I don’t know.”

      Melissa woke up. “Why aren’t we turning? What’s happening?”

      Kevin turned to Rosemary. They’d all heard about the string of burglaries in the backcountry. The local papers had had it all over. They were supposed to be in Vermont. He flashed through the possibilities. Who would have known? The newspaper delivery people. The mailman. The gardeners…

      He passed the house and pulled up to a stop about a hundred yards down. “What do we do, Ro?”

      “There’s no way we’re going in there, Kev.” His wife shook her head, fear in her eyes.

      He nodded. He bit his lower lip and punched in 911 on the Bluetooth. A female duty officer answered on the second ring.

      “Greenwich Emergency.”

      “This is Kevin Mitman. I live at 2019 John Street,” he said, meeting his wife’s eyes. “We just came back from a hockey game. I’m outside in the car.” He took a breath and grabbed his wife’s hand. “I think someone’s broken into our house.”