Finding Sarah (10 page)

“Not today, but she was in
yesterday and she was wandering around. I wouldn’t put it past her to do
something like this while I was in back getting her check.”

“For now, please wait for the
investigators.”

“Does this mean more fingerprint
powder?” Sarah asked.

“Afraid so. Someone should be
there soon.”

Sarah hung up and looked at
Jennifer. “I guess you can go home now. We’re closed until the police get here.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Another onslaught of cramps
clutched Sarah’s belly. Without bothering to move the files and papers, she leaned
forward and pillowed her head on her arms like a schoolchild at naptime, when
her biggest challenge was trading her tuna sandwich for peanut butter.

Jennifer came up behind her and
kneaded the muscles in Sarah’s neck. “I’ll make some tea.”

Sarah had barely started drinking
her tea when the back doorbell buzzed. Jennifer told her to stay put and
hurried out to answer it, returning a moment later with a young police officer.

“Ms. Tucker? I’m Officer Colleen
McDonald. I understand there was some trouble here.” Tall and lean, with the
red hair and freckles her name personified, Officer McDonald gave Sarah a
friendly smile. “Detective Detweiler said this wasn’t the first incident.” She
pulled out a small notebook and uncapped a pen. “Can you tell me everything you
remember?”

By the time Sarah and Jennifer
had answered all of Officer McDonald’s questions, Connor had come and gone. An
ache in her head threatened to overtake the one below Sarah’s belly and she
felt herself trembling. Officer McDonald snapped the cap back on her pen and
slid the notebook into her pocket. “I’m under strict orders to give you a ride
home, ma’am,” she said.

Sarah looked at the mess. “No
need. I’ll clean up here and I can take the bus.”

“I’ll clean,” Jennifer said. “You
go home. Get some sleep.”

“My car’s out back,” the
policewoman said.

Sarah turned to Jennifer. “Thanks.
Leave the receipts in the safe. I’ll come in early Monday and finish.”

Sarah followed the officer to the
patrol car parked in the alley. “Do I know you? You look familiar. Maybe from
high school?”

“You might have known my older
brother, Greg. He would have been a couple of years behind you. Me, I was a bit
of a hellion. My folks sent me to St. Luke’s to let the nuns straighten me out.
Guess they did—look what I’m doing for a living.” She stopped at a blue and
white patrol car. “Here we are,” she said. She unlocked the passenger door. “You
can ride up front.”

Sarah winced as she lowered
herself into the seat.

The officer must have noticed. “Are
you all right, ma’am?”

“Yes. Just killer cramps.” Glad
her escort was a woman, Sarah rested her head against the glass of the car’s
window, letting her eyes half close. “It wasn’t so bad when I was on the Pill.
But since my husband died, I haven’t taken them, and the last few months, I’ve
been miserable for about two days.”

“Maybe you ought to start again.
Make things easier on you.”

“Mmmh. Maybe.” If getting back on
the pill would mean she didn’t have to feel like this several days a month,
that was a good enough reason to consider it. As for the other benefits, well,
if it turned out they would come in handy, so be it.

Good lord, where had that thought
come from? Randy was a cop working on a case. Her hormones were really doing a
number on her.

Sarah hoped she wasn’t blushing.
She turned her face toward the window and away from any possibility of carrying
the conversation any further, making a point of studying the streets. When they
passed Loomis Drugs, she said, “Take a left at the corner. You can drop me off
in front.”

“No way, ma’am. Strict instructions
to make sure you’re secured before I leave. I don’t know how much you’ve dealt
with Detective Detweiler, but I’m sure as heck not getting on his bad side.”

The officer parked and was
opening the passenger door before Sarah could unbuckle her seat belt. Sarah
accepted the outstretched hand.

She dragged herself up the steps
to the building and opened the foyer door. The flight of stairs loomed like
Mount Hood. Gripping the handrail, she supported herself through the climb,
barely aware of the police officer’s supportive presence one step below her.

Inside her apartment at last,
Sarah let her purse fall to the floor, followed by her coat, then collapsed on
the couch with a groan. “Thanks, Officer,” she said. “You can go now.”

“Detweiler told me to give you
the VIP treatment, and I’m on duty for another fifteen minutes. You’re stuck
with me until then.” She crossed the room and began perusing Sarah’s CD
collection. “Nice variety. You like Simon and Garfunkel?”

“Brought up on it, more or less.
My mom played them all the time when … when things were rough. And when my
husband died, I found they worked for me, too.”

The policewoman roamed the room,
looked out the windows and Sarah felt a flutter of panic. “Are you my
bodyguard? Are you afraid I’m in danger?”

The policewoman came back and
settled in the armchair nearest Sarah. “We have no grounds to protect you like
that, ma’am. No threats have been made, no personal harm has been done.”

Sarah swung her legs over the
side of the couch and pushed herself up to a sitting position. A flicker of
motion from her kitchen window caught her eye. She’d have to let Maggie know
the new neighbors were in. Some other time. Right now, she didn’t care if she
ever found out who had moved in. All she wanted was to crawl into a hole. A
deep, dark hole.

“Thanks,” Sarah said. “For
everything.”

“You get some rest.” Officer
McDonald left, and Sarah locked the door behind her.

“Rest. Sounds good.” Sarah went
to her room. She undressed, pulled on an oversized t-shirt and snuggled under
the comforter. With her emotions roiling like a witch’s cauldron, some
dead-to-the-world time would be a blessing. The phone rang. Probably Chris
reminding her about dinner. She let the machine handle the call. A glance at
the clock told her she could sleep for three hours and have plenty of time to
get ready. Her eyes closed. That was the last thing she remembered until she
was awakened by the doorbell and someone pounding on the door shouting her
name.

Groggy, she staggered to the
front door and peered through the peephole. Chris. Sarah fumbled with the
deadbolt latch and yanked the door open.

“God, I fell asleep,” she said. “Come
in before Maggie has a fit and calls the cops.”

At that, Chris clamped his mouth
shut. “Did you forget our date?” He glanced at his watch. “We have reservations
at Martinelli’s in half an hour. Get dressed quick and we can make it.”

Sarah rubbed her temples and sank
onto the couch. “I can’t, Chris. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? Why
not?”

“Some of my merchandise was damaged.
At the shop. I had to call the police. Again.”

His expression softened. He sank
onto the cushion beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. “That’s
terrible. I had no idea.”

Sarah leaned into him. “I feel
lousy, Chris. I want to go back to bed.”

“I could call for delivery.
Whatever you want.”

“I don’t think I could face it.
Please. We can go out another night. I need to do some serious thinking about
the shop.”

“I’ve told you, all you have to
do is ask. Anything.”

She straightened. “I know. And I’ve
told you I’m going to make it or break it on my own.”

“You’ve become stubborn since—”

That pause again. “Say it. Since
David died. Committed suicide? I will never believe that, but he’s dead. Gone.
And I’m on my own and I’m going to manage, or it won’t mean anything.” She
looked into his eyes. He wanted to help. He wanted more, she was positive, but
she’d deal with that later. With a hollow feeling of defeat, she got the words
out. “Maybe there is something.”

He perked up. “Anything.”

Sarah worked her way out from
under his arm and found the letter Diana had given her. She brought it back to
the couch and pored over it again. “Do you remember David’s sister, Diana?”

“Can’t say that I do, but I’m
sure we’ve met. What does she have to do with this?”

“She owns twenty percent of the
shop. She says if I’m a day late with her payments, she’s going to demand her
share. Do you have legal people at Consolidated who can look at this and tell
me if she can do it?” She handed him the letter.

Chris barely glanced at it before
folding it back into the envelope and sliding it into his sport coat pocket. “Monday,
first thing.”

“Thanks.” She walked to the door
and held it open. Sometimes you couldn’t be subtle with Chris. “I’m going to go
back to bed now. I’m sorry about missing dinner.”

“I understand. I hope that cop
catches whoever did this to you. But he seems more big than brains, if you ask
me.”

“Randy’s a good cop. He’ll catch
her.” Chris’ back stiffened, his lips tightened.

“Get some rest, Sarah,” he
muttered. “I’ll call.”

Randy punched Sarah’s number into
his cell phone while he sat waiting for the light to change. Sarah’s machine
played out its message, and when she didn’t pick up after he announced himself,
he called Colleen.

“Calm down, Detweiler. I saw her
in and she was going to bed. You know how it is after the adrenaline leaves
your system. The neighbor across the hall caught me as I was leaving. She’ll
keep an eye out.”

Yes, Maggie would. He took a
calming breath. Was this event connected to the robbery, or yet another of
Sarah’s business problems? Or were they all related? He checked his watch. None
of the shops in the area would be open until Monday.

“Were there any other calls?”
Randy asked. “Anyone else report anything?”

“Negative. But the damage was
subtle. Ms. Tucker can’t be sure when it happened. It’s possible other
merchants might still find some damage.”

“I’m going to have to follow up
with the owners.” Randy hesitated. He had no right to ask Colleen to go beyond
her patrol duties for him.

“Ask it, Detweiler. What do you
need? Your partner’s on vacation. Let me pitch in even if I’m not a detective.
Yet.”

Why not? “If you could get a list
of merchant phone numbers for me, I’d really appreciate it. No immediate rush,
but if you could have it on my desk Monday morning—”

“No problem. You want me to make
the initial calls?”

“No, thanks. You’ve done plenty.
Thanks, Mac.”

“I said no problem. And
Detweiler?”

“What?”

“I like her. I can understand
your … concern.”

Randy heard the click of the disconnected
phone. Damn. Was he that obvious? Could she read him that easily? Sarah wouldn’t
have said anything to her. Or would she? Crap, that woman thing again. Solving
crimes was nothing compared to understanding women.

The light changed and he let his
mind chew on the new developments as he drove. Maybe kids had done the damage, to
see what they could get away with. He wished he could believe it.

Randy was convinced someone had
talked Gertie into robbing Sarah. Why else would she have returned to a town she’d
already hit? He turned to the positive. Woodford had Gracious Gertie, whose
name had turned out to be Louise Franklin, in custody. For some reason, when he
heard the news, not being the arresting officer didn’t rankle the way he’d
expected it to. He allowed himself a smile. Tomorrow, Sarah would ID the Franklin
woman, he’d confront her and she’d talk. And maybe she could give him the
connections he’d need to pull everything together.

Before going to the station,
Randy made a quick trip around Sarah’s block. Her apartment was dark. On
impulse, he pulled in behind Sarah’s building and went upstairs to Maggie’s
unit. He tapped on the door and had almost turned to leave when it opened.
Cooking smells reminded him he hadn’t eaten since too long ago.

Maggie stood in the doorway. He blinked.
She grinned.

“Hi, Randy. Come in. The
I
Love Lucy
look threw you, right? Can I get you something to eat? I’ve got
some leftover chicken I can reheat.”

Randy checked his watch. After
seven. Tempting, but he had work to do. “No, maybe another time. I wanted to
touch base before I went to the station.” He glanced around. “Where’s Othello?”

“He was acting sluggish, wouldn’t
eat. I took him to the vet. They want to watch him until Monday.”

“I hope it’s not serious. He’s a
nice cat.”

“It’s probably nothing. He was
out in the yard a couple of times this week. Could have picked up something
there. He’s getting old. Nearly twelve.”

“I wish him a speedy recovery.”

“I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’ll
appreciate it.” She peered into his eyes. “Christopher Westmoreland came by a
while ago, but he left. Alone.” She smiled.

“Sarah said they were going to
dinner.”

“I’m certain she cancelled after
the to-do at the shop. Sure I can’t get you something?”

“I’m sure. I want Sarah to go to
Woodford tomorrow and identify Gracious Gertie—the woman who robbed her.” He’d
never be able to think of her as Louise Franklin.

Maggie shot him a huge grin. “They
caught her? Fantastic. I’ll bet you’re thrilled.”

Randy smiled down at Maggie. “I
am. I need to get back and pull all my paperwork together.” He planted a quick
kiss on Maggie’s forehead.

“The color grows on you,” he
said. “I think I’m starting to like it.”

Maggie glowed and shut the door
behind him.

Randy stopped at Sarah’s door. He
placed both palms on its smooth surface. “Sleep well,” he whispered before
going downstairs.

At the station, Randy sat at his
desk, waded through his emails, filled out his paperwork, and read the reports
Colleen filed. He scribbled a note for Connor to put as much of a rush as he
could on the prints from today’s call, for all the good it would do. All his
suspects had been in the shop, with plenty of opportunity to leave prints all
over the place. But, there was always the possibility they’d get a hit on
someone new.

Randy stuffed the files into his
briefcase, stood and stretched, his fingertips grazing the ceiling. What he
needed was time to let his brain digest today’s new wrinkle.

* * * * *

A pizza box and six-pack balanced
under one arm, Randy propped the screen door open with his foot as he worked
the key into the lock of his front door. Inside, he set the pizza on the
counter, popped the top off a beer, and called for Starsky and Hutch.

“Hey, guys. I’m home! Sorry I’m
late. Again. Ready for dinner?” He went out to the porch to fill their food and
water dishes and clean their litter box. When he had finished and still saw
neither cat, he pushed the door to the backyard and whistled. Although he knew
they could roam the neighborhood if they wanted to, they rarely went far. He left
the porch door propped open and went back to his pizza.

The NCAA basketball season was
reaching its peak and Randy spent the rest of the night caught up in a
double-header. At the final buzzer, he realized it was nearly midnight. When he
checked the porch, everything was exactly as he’d left it.

Randy put on his jacket, took a
flashlight and whistled again, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his
stomach. As he probed shrubbery around the perimeter of the yard, he continued
to whistle softly between his teeth. The breeze rustled the foliage, the clouds
and moon played off one another, casting shadows that moved through the yard,
but the cats were nowhere to be found. As he started up the porch stairs, a
faint mewing caught his ear.

“Starsky? Hutch? That you, boys?”
He lowered himself to a crouch and shone his light under the porch. Starsky lay
across Hutch’s body, blinking as the light beamed across him. Randy stuck his
fingers through the wooden lattice frame at the bottom of the porch and jerked
away the section nearest the stairs with a resounding crack. On elbows and
knees, he crawled toward them. Shit. They were limp, barely breathing. “It’s
okay. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

Randy bundled both cats against
his chest, flew up the stairs and snagged his wallet and keys. In the truck, he
placed the cats on the passenger seat, wriggled out of his jacket and wrapped
it around them. Hell and damnation, he didn’t care about regulations. He pulled
out his flashers and turned on the siren as he sped to the veterinary clinic,
giving silent thanks that Pine Hills and the neighboring communities had enough
animal lovers to support twenty-four hour emergency vet service.

Randy screeched to a stop at the
clinic’s door and carried the cats toward the clinic. “Stay with me, guys. We’re
there.”

A young Asian woman in a blue lab
coat had the door open and was rushing to meet him.

“I heard the siren. What’s the
matter?” She reached for the cats, but Randy maintained his hold until they
were inside.

Randy set his pets on the
examining table. “I found them a little while ago, under the porch.”

The vet had her stethoscope in
her ears and was moving it slowly across Starsky’s inert body. She looked in
his eyes, pried open his mouth and ran her hands down his black and white body,
then repeated the exam for Hutch. Randy shifted from foot to foot as he waited
for the doctor to speak.

“They’re very weak. I can’t tell
what’s wrong based on a quick exam, but I’m leaning toward poison. We have
another cat here with the same symptoms.”

Randy gasped. “Othello.”

“Yes. Does he live in your
neighborhood as well?”

“No, but there might be a
connection. Will they be all right?”

“I can’t promise anything. I’m
going to try the same treatment we’re using on Othello. He seems to be
responding, but he was in much better shape when he was brought in.”

“Damn. I should have looked for
them sooner. It’s not like them to skip dinner. I thought they were busy in the
yard and then I got involved in the game—” He was aware of a hand on his elbow.
He looked down to find the doctor gone and a young woman leading him to the
waiting area.

“Dr. Lee has taken your cats for
treatment. Are you a regular patient here?”

Randy nodded. “Detweiler. Starsky
and Hutch. We usually see Dr. Stetter.”

“Why don’t you sit here for a few
minutes? I’ll pull your files.” She stopped in front of one of the hard plastic
chairs.

“I need some air,” Randy said. “Be
right back.”

Outside, Randy leaned against the
rear of his pickup and took several deep breaths, the fresh air washing the
antiseptic smell of the clinic from his nostrils. He was upset, but more than
that, he was angry. His palms burned and he realized he had clenched his fists
so tightly that he’d nearly drawn blood. Had it only been Starsky and Hutch,
Randy might have written the incident off as an isolated case of sadistic
mischief. But not with Othello being targeted as well. This was no longer a
coincidence. Sarah was the connection between him and Maggie. This had become
personal.

Randy walked slowly around the
parking lot, collecting his thoughts. Once he’d calmed enough to speak to the
vet’s assistant he went back inside, but she wasn’t at her station. Randy
leaned on the counter until she returned a few moments later.

“Dr. Lee said you should go home
and she’ll call you as soon as she knows anything.”

“Thank you.” Randy said. “Let me
give you my cell phone number.” He wrote the number on the back of one of his
cards and handed it to her.

Randy left the clinic and got
into his F-150. Not until he had trouble getting the key into the ignition did
he realize his hands were shaking. He gave the steering wheel some emphatic
thwacks with his fists and tried again. The key slid into the ignition this
time and he drove home in a fog, too angry to think.

As he went to hang his jacket on
its hook by the door, its cat smells and stains overwhelmed him, and he let it
fall to the floor. He went straight to the liquor cabinet. He swigged his
whiskey from the bottle as he paced through his house.

* * * * *

Sunlight forced its way past
closed eyelids. Randy squinted against the daylight, saw the open whiskey
bottle on the floor by his side. His fingers fumbled for the bottle, and he
lifted it to the table. Half empty. That explained the pounding in his head. He
swung his legs over the edge of the couch and pushed himself to a half sitting
position. God, who’d turned his living room into a merry-go-round? He staggered
to the kitchen and forced himself to brew a pot of coffee.

A drink of water came up as fast
as it went down, but he felt a little better. He hadn’t been like this since
his grandmother died. He knew better than to drink to excess, especially in
anger.

Careful not to move his throbbing
head, he picked up the phone. Dr. Lee wasn’t in. The tech told him Starsky and
Hutch showed no signs of improvement, but they were holding their own. The news
did nothing for his headache. He headed for the shower.

Randy started the water as hot as
he could stand it, then gradually brought the temperature down until he
shivered under a frigid waterfall. He dried off, put on khakis and a
long-sleeved polo shirt and went back to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He
brought it to the couch, reached for the remote and tolerated about ten minutes
of Sunday morning evangelists before shutting off the noise.

Sarah. He’d better wait before he
called her. He’d thought about suggesting a picnic lunch before the drive to
Woodford, but his stomach flipped cartwheels at the thought.

With a grunt, he pushed himself
up and into the kitchen. He found a box of saltines in the cabinet and fought
with the waxed wrapper, finally ripping it apart with his teeth. He nibbled on
the corner of one of the salty squares. Not bad. He chewed his way through half
a dozen and his stomach settled a bit.