The doorbell rang again before I got over my surprise.

"I wonder who that could be?" Ruth said, raising her head to glance at the
bedside clock. It blinked 07:34.

"I'll go find out," I said, giving her a quick kiss and disentangling our arms
and legs. I went to the window facing the street and looked out through a crack
between the curtains. I almost laughed out loud at what I saw. Grabbing a towel
from the bathroom, I wrapped it around my waist and headed for the doorway.

"Don't get up," I urged, "I'll find out who it is."

I padded down the hall to the stairs, then downstairs and across the entryway to
the front door. Stopping to secure my towel, I swung open the front door,
admitting a gust of damp, cold air.

"Good morning officers, is there a problem?" I said, fighting to keep a straight
face. Two police officers in bright orange rain gear stood on Ruth's front steps.

"We had a report of screams coming from this residence," said the first officer,
a woman. "If you're the property owner, we'd like permission to come in and check
it out."

"I'm a guest, not the property owner, but come on in," I said, "I think there
WERE some screams a little while ago."

The female officer must have detected the amusement in my voice; she gave me a
sharp look.

"Do you have some identification?" she asked.

"Nothing on me," I said, smiling and indicating my towel, but I've got ID
upstairs in my billfold.

"Who else is here," the lady cop asked, not amused.

"The property owner is upstairs," I said, gesturing at them to enter. They wiped
their feet automatically on the mat and walked past as I closed the door. I had a
second to look them over.

The lady police officer was about 30 and big, maybe 5'10". She could almost look
me straight in the eyes, and I'm six feet. She had broad shoulders, and the
partially open front of her rain jacket showed a substantial chest, probably
contained by a sports bra. She was a handsome, vital woman, with strong,
attractive features that showed Scandinavian ancestry, perhaps. Her pale skin
looked delightfully smooth and a wave of honey-blonde hair was visible under her
hat. In back it was gathered in a French braid. Her hands looked strong, with
tapering fingers and short nails covered with clear polish.

The other officer was a wiry, middle-sized guy who looked about 40. They both
looked tired. Her name tag said "C.S. Urbanski," and his said, "W.T. O'Neill."
Maybe she was Polish?

"Anybody here besides you and the property owner?" officer Urbanski asked.

"No, just us," I said.

"Could we see the property owner?" she prompted, after a moment.

"Of course, come upstairs."

I led the way, and halfway up the stairs Ruth called out from the bedroom.

"Who is it Mr. K-----? Is something wrong?"

"Don't worry," I said, walking into the bedroom. "Officer Urbanski and Officer
O'Neill are just here to make sure you're all right."