I left the cat in the car as I got out. I wanted to prop open my front doors so I could more easily heft the carrier onto the screened porch and on inside. What I saw as I mounted the steps put the brakes on my victory-over-the-wildlife dance.

The resourceful raccoons must have busted through the screen to get onto my front porch. They’d taken their revenge for my garbage-can offensive by overturning a flower pot. Trampled geraniums and big clods of dirt littered the wooden floor. The welcome mat sparkled in the dim moonlight with shards of broken glass.

And then I looked more closely. The screen was intact. The flowerpot had been used with just enough force to break the front window, next to the door. Someone had carefully reached past the broken glass to turn the key in the deadbolt lock on the inside of the front door. The door stood open a crack. The house was a dark cave beyond.

I’ve seen raccoons turn a doorknob; even pull open cabinets in a kitchen. But using a flowerpot to break a window, locating a deadbolt key inside in the lock, and understanding what the key is used for? That’s different. Unless the raccoons had gained a hundred IQ points and opposable thumbs since our last encounter, this burglary was beyond their skill level. The intruder had to be human.

With my heart pounding, I backed slowly off the porch and down the steps. As soon as I felt grass beneath my feet, I spun around and took off at a run.

Martinez made it to Taylor Creek in thirteen minutes. There was hardly any traffic this far from town on a Friday night. Still, he must have beaten Jeff Gordon’s NASCAR time.

He was familiar with the location of the bridge on State Road 98, so when I called him from the safety of Pam’s car, that’s where I told him to meet me. I figured that was easier than trying to explain how to find my cottage way out in the country. And, to be honest, I hadn’t wanted to stick around alone without knowing what was in my house, on the other side of that open door.

I heard his siren a long way off, and then I saw him coming. I flashed my lights. He was going so fast, he flew right past me. By the time he stopped and backed up, I stood waiting for him on the shoulder of the deserted highway. He leaned over to open the passenger-side door.

“Are you okay?’’

I nodded, surprised—and a tiny bit pleased—to see how worried he looked.

But when he spotted Wila in the carrier, the concern on his face changed to annoyance.

“What do you think you’re doing with that?’’

“I’m not leaving her out here alone, with no top on the VW. Who knows what might try to get at her? She’s already had enough trauma for one night.’’

He grimaced, but made room for us on the front seat. “Just try to keep her quiet.’’

“Yeah, right,’’ I said, as Wila let out a long screech. “Turn left about a half-mile up, at the sign that says High Horse Ranch.’’

I directed him the rest of the way in. Left at the last fence post. Right at the big oak tree. In no time at all, we were pulling up in my front yard.

“You’re staying in the car.’’ His tone offered no room to argue, not that I wanted to.

“Don’t worry. I’m not stupid. I’m not going up against the unknown, not when my only weapon is a noisy Siamese cat.’’

As Martinez got out of the driver’s seat, his right hand slid across his chest, under his jacket. I knew he must have a shoulder holster there.

“Be careful, okay?’’ I said.

With a curt nod, he was gone.

He banged on my front wall and yelled Police! then edged the front door open with his foot. The longest five minutes in history elapsed after he disappeared inside. I watched as light replaced the darkened squares of my front windows. A dim glow spilled from the backyard. Martinez must have flicked the switch for the outdoor light at the kitchen door. I imagined him moving down the hallway into the bathroom and then on to my bedroom.

I suddenly flashed on all the housekeeping I hadn’t had time for in the last few days. It was ridiculous under the circumstances, but I hoped he wouldn’t notice the pile of dirty clothes and underwear I’d left on my bedroom floor.

Finally, I saw him walk around the house from out back. He holstered his pistol and patted its location over the outside of his jacket. I got out of the car to join him.

“All clear,’’ Martinez said. “Whoever was here is gone now. Things look fine inside.’’

“Let’s get poor Wila into the house.’’ I leaned into the car and picked up the carrier.

“Let me get that.’’ He grabbed it from me. I almost protested that I was strong enough to carry my own carrier. Then I remembered Mama’s admonition: flies, honey, vinegar.

“Thanks,’’ I said instead.

Stepping over the glass shards and through the front door, I did a quick survey.

“Aside from that broken window, everything looks okay,’’ I told him.

“Except that key in the inside deadbolt,’’ he said. “You know that’s a dumb place to leave it, right?’’

“Didn’t they teach you in police school not to blame the victim?’’ I snapped.

“Sorry. I just wish people wouldn’t invite the bad guys in.’’

I wondered whether he was talking about me or his murdered wife.

“Try not to disturb anything,’’ he said. “I’m going to bag that key. Whoever broke in had to touch it. We may still want to get somebody out here to dust for fingerprints.’’

I led the way into my bedroom. “You can put the carrier down right there.’’ I nodded toward the floor. I laid out Wila’s things—the litter box and food from Emma Jean’s, and a toy mouse I bought. Then I sprung her from her prison. She lit out, fleeing for cover under my bed.

“We won’t see her for a while,’’ I said.

“At least she’s finally quiet,’’ Martinez said.

Wila gave a short meow, just to prove him wrong.

“Why don’t you take a good look, see if anything is missing? All I noticed out of the ordinary is that pile of clothes.’’ He frowned at the floor. “Whoever broke in probably tossed your dresser drawers, looking for money or jewelry.’’

I felt my face flush. “Uhmm, that was me. It’s been a bad week for laundry.’’

In fact, I was wearing my last pair of clean undies, the ones with the droopy elastic waist and the hole in the seam by my butt. I didn’t share that detail with Martinez.