There was a cold wind blowing that night. It was one of those Santa Ana winds that relentlessly taps at your windows, and then once rebuffed, slips in silently under the door to cool your blood. On nights like that Alice always liked to light a fire and get comfortable with a book and a full glass of wine. Unfortunately she wouldn't be afforded that opportunity. She was there for one reason and couldn't be distracted.
Alice thumbed the edge of the carving knife and studied the door. It was one of those nights where anything could happen.