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of the stairs.
       Carrying two bags of groceries I started up that long, dark void.
       I was half way up when I realized there was something at the top. Something hunkered against my front door. I have seen cats, dogs, possums and a raccoon mistake my stairs for a nice place to live. Twice bats have dive bombed me.
       Whatever or whoever was up there was large enough to cover the bottom third of the door. Not a bat. Using the trick of looking to the side of the object I couldn’t identify it, just a darker shade of dark.
       It wasn’t moving.
       I backed up carefully and made it to the bottom stair.
       Setting the grocery bags on the bench at the foot of the stairs I tried to make out what was against the door.
       I hoped it wasn’t a bear.
       I pulled my keys from my pocket. There is a mini mag light on my key chain, one of those little ones that come free in advertisements. I shined it up the stairs at the door. It was a feeble light but better than nothing.
       Something black hung from my doorknob.
       Something with a zipper.
       Easing up the stairs I reached out and touched it. Lifted it off the doorknob and carried it back down to the light.
       My sweatshirt.
       Last seen around the torso of the guy at the beach.
       Somehow, he had found me.
     
       I went back up and unlocked the door, turned on the porch light and retrieved my groceries. Back inside, I locked the door behind me.
       With the lights on I felt better.
       I put the groceries away and started some water for tea. While that was heating I picked up the sweatshirt.
       It smelled fresh and clean, that distinct, unique scent of laundry dried outdoors. This guy either lived with his mom or in a campground. Checking the pockets I found nothing.
       Just a freshly laundered sweatshirt returned.
       With the lights on I opened the front door and checked the stairs again. Still nothing. I double locked the door.
       I still didn’t sleep well that night.
       Bright sunshine the next morning put things in a better perspective.
       I had my sweatshirt back. While not a fortress my apartment was secure. More so than many places because of the facility’s gates and camera system. The security software was also loaded on my home computer so I could check the grounds from home without having to go back to the office.
       How he found me I had no clue. The only possibility I could think of was something left in the pocket of the sweatshirt, something with my address on it.
       When I opened the office I backed up the cameras and checked last night’s footage. There is no camera on the stairs or that corner of the building. The other cameras yielded nothing out of the ordinary.
       My late visitor avoided all the cameras.
     
       Everyone who works with the public understands what a pain in the fanny it is to have someone come in five minutes before closing. One more reason I don’t own a gun.
       I had already closed out the computer for the day when a beach god wandered in. Being a beach community we’re used to the slim hipped, heavy shouldered great looking guys with the sun tipped hair and the warm golden tan no spray booth ever gets right.
       This one had thick rust colored hair with gold highlights, just a little long, touching the collar of his sweatshirt. He flipped his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head.
       Launching my standard ‘sorry, we’re closed, come back tomorrow speech’ I was cut off mid-sentence when he lifted the bottom of his sweatshirt and displayed the gold badge clipped to his waistband.
       “I assume you’re not here to rent a unit,” I said.
       “No, ma’am. I’m John Kincaid, with Monarch PD. I’m the local liaison officer with the county drug force. I believe Detective Miller told you I would be contacting you. Just wanted to drop by, introduce myself and see if you have anything to add to the report you filled out.”
       “No, sir,