by Maris Soule
I hesitated when Wade told me to report the break-in. “And tell them nothing was taken?” Or, that I’d foolishly once again left the back door unlocked. “What do you want to bet Deputy Chambers will be the one to come take the report? You know he thinks I’m crazy like Mom.”
Wade assured me home invasion was a crime in itself.
I continued talking to him as I walked back through the living room area to my office. I knew I had a pen and paper there. I wanted to write down what happened so I wouldn’t forget anything. “Now I’m glad I have the rock with Miguel’s blood on it. At least you guys can’t tell me I imagined seeing a man come out of the house. Once his DNA is—”
I don’t know why I looked at my computer, or why I noticed the thumb drive.
Or, rather, didn’t notice it.
“Wade, he did take something. The new thumb drive is gone.”
* * *
Sure enough, it was Deputy Chambers who arrived at the door and took my report of a break-in. I tried to ignore his not too subtle hints that I might have imagined the whole thing, just as I must have imagined some car running me off the road the night before. He finally agreed to take the blood-stained rock as evidence and said he’d have it tested. I made a note to myself to have Wade make sure that happened.
After Deputy Chambers left, I stretched out on the couch. I was exhausted and sore. Because of the baby, I didn’t want to take anything stronger than Tylenol, but my neck and shoulders ached from my two car accidents, and my hip now hurt from slipping and falling in my backyard.
Baraka came over and rested his chin on my chest, the look in his eyes sympathetic. I stroked the top of his head and his ears, the hair silky soft. I felt the baby’s fist punch against my abdominal wall, and Baraka jerked his head back. I laughed at his expression. Head cocked, he looked at my stomach suspiciously. “She’s trying to pet you,” I told him.
He snorted and lay down next to the couch.
Knowing he was there, ready to protect me, was reassuring. I don’t know how long I slept. It was my cell phone ringing and Baraka jumping to his feet that woke me. For a moment I couldn’t remember where I’d left my cell phone, and it had stopped ringing by the time I made it to the dining room table. Still feeling groggy, I started to check my recent calls list, but stopped when the land line started ringing. I knew that phone was in my office, and I reached it before it stopped ringing.
It was the school.
“He’s been in court,” I explained when the principal said she’d tried calling Wade, but he wasn’t answering. “He probably has his phone turned off. Why, what’s wrong?”
I smiled when she explained what had happened. “He got in a fight with another boy? You think the boy’s finger is broken?” That wasn’t good. “But Jason’s okay?” That was good. “Yes, I understand,” I told her. “Either Wade or I will be there right away.”
Not as easily done as said I discovered when I also couldn’t get hold of Wade and realized I didn’t have a car.
Howard came to my rescue. “No problem,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”
A ride in Howard’s old blue Ford was always an experience. The exterior was scratched and battered; the interior was his personal Dumpster. “You cleaned your car up for me,” I said when I opened the passenger door. The front looked almost pristine. The back seat, however, was still littered with an array of tools, old newspapers, a heavy tan jacket, empty Styrofoam coffee cups, and a box of shotgun shells.
“Thought I should clean up for a pregnant lady. I even cleaned this.” He reached down for something stuffed under his seat. To my surprise, he pulled out a revolver with a four-inch barrel.
A year ago seeing the gun would have petrified me. Now, knowing Howard, I simply said, “Do you always carry that under your seat?”
“Yup. Never know when it might come in handy. Which is why I’m showing you where it is, in case you ever need it.”
I shook my head. “Howard, I can’t imagine my needing to use your gun, and what if Jason finds it?” Wade, I knew, had talked to Jason about gun safety, but seven-year-olds were curious. Wade was very careful about his firearms.
“Your husband and I have talked about that. We both feel it’s time for the boy to learn how to handle a gun and care for it. If he’s trained in gun safety, he’s not apt to play with one and accidentally shoot someone.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed, but I would leave that up to Wade.
“So, are you ready?” Howard asked.
I was, though I was dreading the upcoming confrontation.
It took less than ten minutes for Howard to drive to the school. I hadn’t gone with Wade the day he enrolled Jason at Zenith Elementary. Since then, I’d dropped Jason off and picked him up a few times, but I’d never been to the principal’s office. Howard knew the way and knew the secretary. April Toft greeted him warmly when we arrived, then she led us to a small conference room and asked if we wanted coffee. I said no; Howard said yes. The school principal brought Howard’s coffee when she entered the room.
Sandy Singer was an attractive woman: blond, blue-eyed, and slender. She wore a blue pantsuit with a blue-and-white checked blouse and two-inch pumps. I guessed her age around early forties. Her handshake, when I introduced myself and explained who I was and why Wade wasn’t present, was firm but not overly aggressive.
She already knew Howard.
I was beginning to believe everyone in the village of Zenith knew Howard.
“What happened, Sandy?” he asked. “I know Jason. He’s not an aggressive boy. I can’t see him starting a fight.”
“According to Danny Hart, ‘Jason—’ I quote ‘—went bonkers.’ ” Sandy Singer smiled. “Danny says he was minding his own business and Jason started hitting him, and when he tried to stop Jason, Jason bent his finger back until it broke.”
I remembered the lesson Wade had given Jason on how to stop someone from pushing him. “Did anyone see this happen?” I asked.
Mrs. Singer named three boys.
“From what Jason has told us,” I said, “Those three and the boy named Danny have been bullying Jason ever since he started school here. Danny seems to be the instigator. So did any other children, besides those four, see what happened?”
“No, it occurred behind the building, in a corner near the kitchen. They said no one else was around when Jason attacked Danny.”
How convenient, I thought. “What does Jason say happened?”
She smiled. “That he’s tired of being pushed around. He seemed rather proud of what he did.”
I didn’t know what to say. I could understand Jason feeling proud of fighting back. I’d been teased in school because of my name and because kids knew my mother had called the police claiming aliens had landed in our backyard. I never fought back, but as soon as I was old enough, I legally changed Priscilla Jayne to P.J.
Howard spoke up. “May we talk to Jason?”
“Of course.” Sandy Singer stood. “He’s in my office. I wanted to talk to you first. I’ll bring him in now.”
She left the conference room, closing the door behind her, and I looked at Howard. “Wade taught him that move with the finger.”
“Sounds like he learned it good.”
“Jason was supposed to yell for help if the boys cornered him. So maybe—”
I didn’t finish. The door opened and Jason came into the room, followed by Mrs. Singer. He smiled when he saw us, then lowered his head. “I guess I’m in trouble, huh?”
“Tell me what happened,” I said, hoping I sounded un-censoring.
Jason shrugged. “Danny kept saying things about you and Dad. Said you were crazy, that everyone knew you were crazy and that you went into that ditch the other night because you were drunk, not because of any pigs in the road.” He looked at me. “But I knew you weren’t drunk.”
“And I know there were pigs in the road,” Howard added.
“When they said those things, what did you do?” Mrs. Sin
ger asked.
“Got mad.” Jason looked down again. “Tried to hit Danny.”
“Tried?” I asked.
“I missed.” His expression was shameful.
“And then?” I wanted the full story.
“He started pushing me. Pushed me into that corner.” His gaze went to the principal’s face. “I knew I had to do something to get away. I didn’t mean to break his finger. Really, I didn’t.”
“I believe you,” she said, “but you must understand, I can’t condone fighting. Whether you hit him or not, you started the fight.”
She looked at me. “Today’s Thursday. Jason is suspended from school for the rest of today and all of tomorrow. On Monday I want you or your husband or both of you, along with Jason, to meet in my office with Danny and his parents. This bullying has to stop.” She touched Jason’s shoulder. “Do you understand?”
He nodded and the meeting was over. Sandy Singer asked to speak to me for a minute in private, so Howard took Jason to get his things and pick up any homework he should do. I told them I’d meet them at the car. Once they were out of sight, Singer again closed the conference door. “I want to give you a head’s up. Danny’s father, before he left with Danny for the emergency room, said he was going to sue your husband. Knowing the family, he probably will.”
“I’ll let Wade know.”
“If it comes to that, I think there are a couple teachers who will testify on Jason’s behalf.” She winked. “And maybe a principal.”
I thanked her and left.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Friday morning Connie called cancelling the Mothers-to-Be gathering at her house. “Sarah’s in labor. Or, at least she thinks she is.” Connie chuckled. “I think it’s a false labor, but she wants me there. And it is her first baby.”
It’s a first baby for all of us, I thought but said nothing.
“Must be something in the air,” Connie added. “Maria had her husband take her to the hospital Wednesday because she thought she was in labor. Turned out to be indigestion.”
“You said, ‘Better to be safe than wait too long,’ ” I reminded Connie.
“Which is why I’m on my way over to Sarah’s right now. But I wanted to check on you. Are you all right? No problems from that accident you were in Monday night?”
I laughed. “My problem is I can’t seem to keep a car on the road or my feet under me.” Without going into details, I told Connie about the SUV crowding me off the road Wednesday night and my fall Thursday when I tried to stop someone who had broken into my house. “Everything seems to be all right with the baby,” I said. “She moves around, kicks and punches me, just like usual. No spotting, and I haven’t had any cramping.” What did hurt were my neck, hip, and shoulders.
“Feel an urge to clean things? Put your nest in order?”
Again, I laughed. “If you could see this house, you wouldn’t ask that question. It looks like we were ransacked.”
“Which you said happened.”
“Yes, but what I’m looking at is here all the time.” My normal messiness added to by a grown man and a seven-year-old boy.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Connie said. “Any idea who broke into your house? Anything missing?”
“Nothing major.” I didn’t mention the missing thumb drive or that the burglar was an employee of Patterson’s Furniture. Until I figured out why Miguel had taken that thumb drive, I didn’t want others to know.
“Well, I’m at Sarah’s.” The background engine noise disappeared from Connie’s side of the conversation. “You take care of yourself, and I’ll let you know when the group will meet again and where.”
I said goodbye and set the portable phone back in its carriage. The mess I’d mentioned was everywhere: Wade’s bath towel draped over the back of one of the dining room chairs, shoes—two pairs of mine and one of Jason’s—scattered by the front door, Jason’s cereal bowl, spoon, and empty juice glass on the table. I’d told him to put them in the kitchen, but once again he’d escaped upstairs without doing so. I thought about having him come back down and doing as told, but the idea of confronting him sounded tiring. Easier to take care of the bowl, spoon, and glass myself, which I did. I added them to the ones in the dishwasher but didn’t bother to add soap or start the cycle. The dishes could wait to be washed, just as the bed could wait to be made and the dusting could wait and . . .
I returned to the living room, shooed Baraka off the couch, and lay down. I hadn’t slept well the night before. Besides the discomfort of aching muscles and being nine months pregnant, too many thoughts had raced through my head. Why did Miguel break into my house? Why take a thumb drive? I would understand if he’d taken the rocking chair. Juan hadn’t wanted me buying that chair. I could see him sending Miguel to get it back.
But how did Miguel know where I lived? Had someone followed me when I left the furniture store?
Some of those questions were ones Wade had asked me last night. After he finished testifying in court, he’d gone to the station and read the report Chambers filed. Wade didn’t say, but I’m sure Chambers questioned my sanity. With nothing except a thumb drive missing—and I was pretty sure Chambers thought I’d merely misplaced it—I wouldn’t blame Wade if he also questioned my sanity. But he promised they would test the blood on that rock for DNA.
How to handle Jason’s fighting had also kept me from a good night’s sleep. Wade had lectured his son on the virtue of working out differences without resorting to fighting, but then he congratulated Jason on using the bent finger method to stop the Hart kid. In my opinion, he was sending a mixed message.
This morning, however, Wade did issue Jason’s punishment. If my stepson thought his suspension from school meant a holiday, he was wrong. There would be no playing with the Xbox for one week, all of the homework his teachers had sent home with him was to be finished and ready to turn in on Monday, and he was to write an essay on why fighting didn’t solve anything.
I must have dozed off on the couch because it took me a while to realize the chimes I kept hearing were coming from my cell phone. Back when I had my old phone, the ringtone always made Baraka howl. Considering that at the moment my dog’s head was right below my ear, I was glad I’d changed the ringtone on this new phone and that Baraka didn’t howl at chimes. Now I simply had to find where I’d left my phone.
The chimes stopped before I found it, but the screen indicated a missed call from Ken Paget. I rang him back. “What’s up?”
“Hey, I heard you were in an accident. You all right?”
“Sore from being bounced around, but otherwise okay. Which accident did you hear about?”
“Which? You’ve been in more than one?”
I told him about the pigs on Monday and the SUV on Wednesday. It was the pigs he’d heard about, but he wanted to know about the SUV, especially after I mentioned seeing one parked near the house Wednesday morning. “That doesn’t sound good,” he said. “Not good at all. Do you think that night it was waiting for you to come home?”
“I don’t know. It seemed to come out of nowhere.”
“And it rammed into you?”
“Actually, I think I bumped into it. The road was slippery, and I wasn’t used to the car I was driving. That I ended up in a ditch may have been an accident. That it was a light-colored SUV may have been coincidental.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t know. Ken, some days I think I am going crazy. That night I even thought someone was following me from the furniture store.”
“Furniture store? What furniture store?”
“Patterson’s.” The moment I said the name, I knew I was about to get a lecture, and I was right.
“You were at Patterson’s Furniture store before being run off the road? The Patterson’s Furniture store where Jerry worked?”
“Yes.”
“My god, P.J., why? Why did you go there?”
Ken was beginning to sound like Wade, and I did
n’t like it. “I went there because my friend Brenda also worked there, and because the same day your friend Jerry died, she was killed. I wanted to see if I could figure out what was going on there, why the Customs and Border Protection agency, was involved.”
“And did you?”
“No, of course not.” I hated to admit it had been a foolish idea.
“You need to stay away from there, let the police investigate her death. More than drugs are involved.”
The tension in his voice held my attention. “More like what?”
“Diamonds,” he said. “They’re smuggling diamonds.”
“Patterson’s? How?” The moment I said it, I knew how. “In the crows, right?”
“Yes.” He sounded surprised. “How did you know?”
“I saw one when I was in the store Wednesday. It was on a table near the entrance. I picked it up because I thought I might buy it for Howard. Looking at it, I realized the way it was made it could be used to smuggle drugs.”
“Jerry evidently thought the same, but he didn’t buy this crow. He has, or rather had, a tendency to walk off with merchandise without paying. I know he was caught once when we were in our teens. He’s never mentioned any other times, but I’ve seen him with things in his possession that I’m sure he didn’t actually purchase. His job at Patterson’s, from what he told me, was perfect for a man with sticky fingers. He unloaded and unpacked merchandise when it arrived, worked second shift, and was there after the store closed. The perfect opportunity to take one of the crows.”
“But it wasn’t filled with drugs?”
“Nope. Diamonds.” He laughed. “I’ve had it since Tuesday, and, if I’d known what was inside, I would have been a nervous wreck.”
“How many diamonds?”
“A couple dozen. Uncut and some quite large. They were in one of those bubble-wrap bags inside the body cavity.”
“How did you discover they were there?”
“Today I broke it, accidentally. Tuesday, I came out to see what sort of a mess the trailer was in and do some cleanup. I was surprised to see the crow was still here. It was back in the bedroom and I guess the crime scene people thought it was part of my stuff. Anyway, when I left that day, I put the crow in the trunk of my car. Like you, I thought I might give it to Howard. He does like to talk about crows, and he brought that bag of Epsom salt over, even if I never did get it.
