I stretched my fingers toward the rim of the detector to turn it. The moment my hand came within three inches of the plastic cover, the green light stopped flashing.
The room went completely quiet.
I held my breath, waiting for the next pulse of light to hit the dark plaster.
Nothing happened.
I pulled my hand back, but the little green eye remained dark, staring down at us.
“Did it stop?” Martha asked from below.
I looked down at her face, then back up at the tiny plastic dome while the room grew dark.
“Hand me the silver butter knife from the nightstand drawer,” I said, balancing on the edge of the needlepoint seat.
Martha reached into the small pine table, her fingers clicking against the metal handle before she passed the flat blade up to me. “Do not strain your shoulders, Roger.”
I pressed the dull edge of the knife into the seam on the side of the plastic housing, expecting the cover to pop open with a simple twist of my wrist.
