Oh no! Not the Blogosphere!

The police came knocking today. I was upstairs making the bed and when I happened to glance out of the window, I saw two of them, a man and a woman, standing at my gate. They seemed very attentive, as though they were examining the house, looking for access points. You know, different ways to get in… and out.

The man raised his eyes to the bedroom window and I ducked back, like the assassin in ‘The Day of the Jackal’, but I couldn’t tell if he had seen me or not. I was in an agony of indecision; should I go down and face them or not? Did I really want to know why they were here? While my mind whirled, the decision was made for me: the doorbell rang and I had to assume from that that they knew I was in. I could always ignore them I suppose, but that would really make me seem guilty. Anyway, I reminded myself, they’d only come back. I peeked once more out of the window to make sure it really was them. There they were, at the door, still looking around. A panic swept through me, I couldn’t help it. They’ve come about a death, I thought, and I had to fight hard to retain my composure. As I stood there stupefied, the doorbell rang again and stung me back into action. I stole a quick glance in the mirror as I hurried by. I don’t know what I was looking for – signs of guilt I suppose. Dealing with the police always makes a person feel guilty, even when they’ve done nothing wrong, and I was anxious to appear relaxed if I could. You know, to brazen it out. I smoothed my dress down, then my hair and made my way down the stairs as slowly and deliberately as a debutant at the ball.