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neither Chablis nor Merlot. But what I did see was my overturned lamp, its ceramic base shattered on the floor.
    I stared, wide-eyed. No way could this be happening again.

Six
    F ive minutes later, I swerved into my drive, sped up to the garage and slammed on the brakes. Everything seemed so quiet, so normal— normal meaning the front door wasn’t broken down. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe Merlot had knocked the lamp over and the noise had sent him and Chablis running for cover. Merlot—who could pass for a jungle animal—had certainly knocked over things before.
    Just as I got out of the car, a Mercy patrol car pulled up behind me. Candace and Morris. I’d called Candace’s cell on my way home, hoping she was the one who would respond to the alarm. When she’d told me she was on her way, I felt a small bit of relief. Not bothering to close my car door, I started for the house. “There’s a lamp knocked over. Something’s happened again.”
    Morris’s hoarse whisper stopped me from taking another step. “You stay right here while we investigate.”
    Why wasn’t I hearing the alarm? I couldn’t remember if Tom told me the noise cut off on its own after the system called the police station. And how did this new thing send the alert anyway? A phone call? A buzzer? What? Why couldn’t I remember?
    Candace motioned she wanted to go around to the back of the house, so I walked ahead and pointed out the gate. As she ran by me, I saw no one racing away down the slope toward the lake and heard no sounds coming from the house.
    Morris reappeared and whispered, “Your key?”
    I gave it to him, thinking that at least that meant the lock wasn’t broken.
    Then I stood impatiently in the cold, trembling more from fear than from the weather. Were my cats all right?
    After what seemed to be hours, Morris and Candace came out the front door, guns holstered, expressions relaxed.
    Morris said, “I don’t see any problem ’cept for a broken lamp. Bet that big old cat knocked it over.”
    “You saw my cats?” I said.
    “Both of them,” Candace said.
    “And the alarm went off, right?” I looked at Candace. “That’s why you said you were on your way when I called you from the quilt shop?”
    “What alarm?” Candace said.
    “You didn’t get an alert at the station about a break-in at my house?”
    “Um, no. I sorta always say we’re on our way when upset folks call me.” She looked embarrassed. “That’s how I calm them down. You said you’d seen evidence on this cell phone doodad that someone was in your house, but you never mentioned an alarm.”
    “There’s an alarm?” Morris said. “We didn’t get no notice from Tom that you had a phone hookup to the station,” Morris said. “Did he fiddle with your telephone line when he put in the system?”
    “I—I don’t know.” Gosh, did I feel stupid.
    “Then you’re not hooked up straight to us yet,” Morris said. “Sometimes Tom calls us right when he finishes the work, but sometimes it takes a day or two.”
    “Wish he would have told me that important piece of information, but if my cats are okay, then so am I. Can I go in?”
    “Sure. You’re spooked after that broken window the other day, is all,” Morris said. “Bet everything is fine.”
    “Um, maybe not,” Candace said. “Like I told you, Morris, the back door wasn’t locked.” She looked at me. “Did you have your new system turned on?”
    “Of course. I locked every window and door. If you found the back door open, someone must have broken in after all.” Now I wanted to see my cats more than ever. I retrieved my keys from Morris on the way to my front door.
    Then I heard Candace’s footsteps behind me. “Where’s the control box for your alarm?” she asked.
    I opened the door and stepped inside, calling for Merlot and Chablis before I answered her. “Inside the pantry by the back door.”
    “I only checked to make sure no one was hiding in here. But if you locked your