by J. L. Salter
Chapter Two
Beth felt a little miffed as she waited for Connie to return from drooling over the medic.
Corporal James resumed his seat in the rocker. “Okay, let’s finish up this report.” He tapped the small tablet with his pen. “Height, weight, and age...”
“Around five-foot-four, about one-fifteen until the holidays, and I’ll be twenty-eight next month.”
James stopped writing and rolled his eyes. “I meant the perp.”
Her free hand went to her face and she took in a sharp breath. It was a simple confusion which might be funny when recalled years later. But at that point in her entire nerve wracking experience, Beth broke into tears again.
James didn’t speak. He’d obviously taken reports from frazzled robbery victims before. He looked around for a tissue and settled on a paper towel from the kitchen.
Beth was grateful for anything absorbent. After a few moments to compose herself, she faced the corporal again. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t see much of the guy. He wore a hoody. Might be some DNA on his dark glasses, over there on the floor somewhere.” She pointed in the direction of the bookcase. “I smacked him with one of my fossils. His face was bleeding when he left.”
“Did he drop any blood in your house anywhere?” The corporal checked around his chair.
“Haven’t looked yet, but you’ll see when you bring in your forensics people.”
“That’s on TV, Mizz Muse. In Greene County, we do our own forensics.” He frowned, as though he’d responded to that issue before. “I’ll check for blood splatters in a minute. Right now, finish the description.”
“Well, his face was pale and sweaty... a lot. Uh, dirty jeans and leather shoes... black, I think. One shoe was built up somehow and he limped pretty bad.”
It took the corporal a while to write all that. In the meantime, Connie returned and closed the front door she’d previously left open. She sat on the couch and placed a comforting hand on Beth’s knee.
Beth clutched that hand tightly. “Oh, something else. This creep smelled awful. Kinda like smoke but also totally rank. Nasty.”
“Smelled.” James acted like it was a new descriptor. “Was he armed?”
Beth nodded. “Handgun and stun thing.”
James asked about the perpetrator’s firearm.
“He kept it in his waistband the whole time. Uh, small revolver... probably short barrel, ‘cause he wore his jeans pretty low. Dark color.”
“Likely blued. Any idea of the caliber?”
“I’d just be guessing.”
“Probably a thirty-eight.” James wrote that on his pad even though it was his own guess. “Was it a forced entry?”
“What do you mean?”
“Were your doors locked?”
For some reason Beth actually blushed. Shane had stayed on her about locking doors, but that was in California. Nothing bad was supposed to happen in Tennessee. “Uh, no.”
“But she was expecting me.” Connie bailed her out. “The movie.”
“Right.” James added a short note. “What did he do to you?” The officer’s left hand pointed vaguely toward Beth’s midsection.
“Nothing sexual, if that’s what you mean.” She teared up.
Connie draped a toned arm around Beth’s shoulder and leaned her head in closely.
James sighed and seemed genuinely relieved. For one thing, it probably simplified his paperwork. “Did the perp say anything?”
“Mostly waved his stun gun. Kept me in front of him while he searched.” She adjusted the cold compress. “All he said—to begin with—was something like, ‘You’re not part of the deal.’ Later he told me to get on the floor... face down... and keep my eyes closed.”
“Did you?”
“No! If he gets anything from me, he’s got to work for it. I’m not gonna just lie down and let him take it.” As Beth realized her words had two meanings, she shuddered.
So did Connie.
“Anything distinctive about his voice?” James flipped to a new page.
Beth slowly shook her head sideways. “Sounded like most everybody else around here.”
“You ever seen him before?”
Her mouth formed the word, “No”, but it was not audible.
James scribbled more and stared at his pad. “So this perp just tossed the place, but didn’t ask where anything was?”
“No.” Beth pointed toward the bedroom. “He looked inside my little filing cabinet, but didn’t take anything.”
“Did he go through your dresser?”
Deep breath. “No, he didn’t. That’s funny... I thought all robbers go through your drawers.” She shook her head slowly. “He knocked around in the closet and wanted to see inside my suitcase.”
“Suitcase?” It was only the second time the usually chatty Connie had spoken since Arnie left. “The one up in your bedroom closet?”
Beth nodded. “Made me open it and seemed real disappointed it was empty.”
“What do you think he was looking for?” James tapped his pad several times.
“Not a clue. I asked him more than once. All he said was he’d know it when he saw it... or something like that. Tell you the truth, he acted like he didn’t have any idea what he was looking for. Like somebody sent him here but didn’t finish the instructions.”
“So he left without taking anything at all?”
“No, he did take something—from the bookcase, I think—but I don’t know what.”
James scrawled more notes. “Maybe a book?”
Beth shrugged. “Logical.”
“Got any books worth more than five hundred dollars?” The cutoff point for felony, perhaps.
“Seriously doubt it.” Beth’s head moved sideways. “Don’t think I have anything worth that much... not by itself.” Her un-displayed figurines were worth a lot more, however. “I saw him stuff something inside his sweatshirt, so it was small enough to fit under his hoody. And he had to hold it there with one hand. That’s all I know.”
The corporal flipped back through the pages as he re-read his notes. He asked again about the perpetrator’s departure route and then retraced it. Probably looking for a blood trail. Connie followed behind James as a second set of eyes. Neither of them found anything.
“I’ll have to wait for daylight to check outside for blood... unless it rains.” James returned to the middle of the room and stood with both hands on his heavy utility belt. “I can’t take any pictures ‘cause the police photographer has an accident case—bad wreck on I-40. But it wouldn’t do much good anyway. We mainly need pix when a body’s involved or something real expensive gets busted.” The officer shrugged. “Come in to the station tomorrow morning.” James squinted at his watch. “No, make that Monday morning. And try to figure out what that guy took.” He turned to Connie. “You gonna be here for a while?”
She nodded.
“Okay, I’m gone. Call the station if there’s any more problems.” Corporal Thomas James hitched his belts a bit higher on his girth and walked rather stiffly toward his vehicle.
Connie closed and locked the door. Without verbalizing anything, she started snapping her own unofficial crime scene photos with her cell phone. Beth was actually the better amateur photographer of the two, but she was still too rattled. She and Connie had first met in a photography class at the county library shortly after Beth relocated. Using her cell phone, Connie’s photos would be practically worthless... plus she didn’t know how to download them. Or upload... whichever.
Nonetheless, it was helpful having Connie near after this experience. They’d become close friends and spent a great deal of time together, whenever Connie didn’t have a date with a new hunk.
With Connie flitting around the cottage snapping terrible photos, Beth curled again on the couch. Nobody would have broken into her place if Shane Holder were there. But he was overly jealous and seemed prone to fighting other men. Despite that combative streak, they might still be toge
ther, except for her brother’s illness.
Connie put away her phone and sat on the end of the couch.
Beth folded her legs to make room. “If Shane had been here thirty minutes ago, that burglar creep would be in a body bag.”
“You need to forget about your California biker. Jump back into dating here in Tennessee. That medic was yummy.” Connie licked her lips. “I think he might call me.”
The last thing Beth needed was another tedious lecture about dating Greene County men. Her eyes reddened. Being apart from Shane was an unfortunate reality. But the relocation and breakup wasn’t her fault and nothing could happen to change it.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Connie hugged her younger friend again. “I know it’s been real hard, especially since your brother...”
Beth nodded into the comforting shoulder and more tears fell.
Later, Connie fumbled around in the kitchen making hot tea, but neither of them took more than a few sips. She offered to stay the night.
“I don’t need a guard.” Though silently she wished that Connie had insisted.
“You going to call your folks tomorrow? Let them know?” Connie pointed in the general direction of the Interstate.
“Not sure. They don’t handle things too well these days.” Beth removed the icepack, which had warmed considerably. “Maybe.”
Connie shrugged. She was no expert on dealing with feeble parents.
After her friend finally left, a bit before eleven p.m., Beth double-locked the front door. Then she rechecked the back door locks and changed into her cotton nightgown.
Around midnight, Beth felt painfully exhausted, but wasn’t anywhere near able to go to sleep. Normally she’d be down by then. She took her laptop into the bedroom and propped up against several pillows. Might as well check e-mail and other social connection sites.
Before her brother’s illness hit so hard, Robert had e-mailed a lot and Beth enjoyed their lengthy, frequent correspondence. But once his amyotrophic lateral sclerosis was in full swing, he couldn’t do anything for himself. Nearly ten months before, Robert had died from complications of the ALS and left Beth quite alone in the place she’d moved to in order to take care of him.
Every time Beth thought her grief had fully cycled, she’d suddenly burst out crying again. She wondered how long that phase would last.
E-mail was typical spam or trivial “forwards.” On social media, mostly the same old posts. This friend got a pedicure, that cousin had a birthday, her uncle played a good round of golf. Woop Woop. Usually these posts were merely tedious, but that night they felt painful. Her mom—some forty miles away on the west side of Nashville—had just started on the social network and finally approved Beth’s friend request from last week.
Scrolling through all the dreary posts, Beth’s eyes spotted a different name: Shane Holder!
“Since when do bikers post status updates?” As her finger touched his name, she smiled.
There was no personal photo, just a picture of his shovel head Harley next to somebody else’s bike. Couldn’t be any other Shane Holders with a bike like that. The message itself was evidently spaced a few lines below the visible window, so Beth would have to scroll down to read it.
She hesitated.
This was rather unusual. First of all, she had not friended Shane... or he, her. “Can you post on my wall if you’re not a friend?” The screen didn’t reply. Friend was an odd word choice regarding Shane. Former lover, ex-boyfriend... whatever they were after three years with almost no communication except for his first few letters that she didn’t answer. What did Shane think their relationship was now? And why was he contacting her?
She scooted up against her pillows and took a deep breath before reading the short message: “How are you doing, Bethany? I miss you. Is everything all right?”
Beth started to reply, but changed her mind. Too late and my mind is too cluttered. Maybe tomorrow.
She logged off and closed her laptop. As she yawned with total exhaustion, Beth mused over the cryptic message. “Why did Shane contact me just to ask how I’m doing? And why now?”
And, what took him so long?
Chapter Three
October 2 (Sunday afternoon)
Beth Muse often visited the county library on Sunday afternoons anyway, but today, she had a special reason for going. Being alone in that quiet cottage spooked her. Also, she could still smell the burglar—her olfactory senses recognized that pungent odor, but her brain couldn’t identify it.
Beth’s injured cheek was quite sore and she’d dabbed on some foundation, even though she knew it wouldn’t completely hide the discoloration. Her bruise seemed as large as a saucer, though it was actually more the size of a silver dollar.
It was always nice to see her friend Jeff McCabe, who worked in the Reference Department. He was smart, bright, personable, and conversant on more topics than anyone could estimate. Jeff filled a void for Beth—intelligent conversation. Her interaction with Connie was often quite lively but Beth’s brain craved intellectual stimulation.
She and Jeff were friends, period; he was married and not Beth’s type anyway. Of course, Shane wasn’t actually Beth’s type either, but he was the soul mate who’d roared into her life, and she couldn’t forget him.
The main library facility was—appropriately—on Main Street, near the west end of old downtown. Beth dropped off a novel at the circulation desk and paused to scan the front page of the Verdeville Press, but it was mostly news about the upcoming election. Several local races, of course, but the main buzz was about a challenge to the incumbent State Senator Joe Fitch. Beth didn’t pay much attention to state politics, but she’d heard enough about Fitch to know that he was good for their district. Why mess with that? The challenger was Nancy Vernon Durocher—wealthy, connected, and extremely ambitious. Beth had barely heard of this candidate prior to the pre-election coverage which began heating up a couple of months before.
When Beth entered, Jeff waved. Just a few years out of library school, he was not much more than five-foot-seven and very trim. In high school, he’d lettered in baseball and track. With short curly hair and a dark complexion, he looked a lot like a younger and shorter Denzel Washington. Jeff was about as opposite to Shane as any man could be.
Though he’d earned a master’s degree, Jeff didn’t have an office since the building was one of the old Carnegie structures from the 1920s. After the county and city merged, a bond issue was raised to refurbish it—which resulted in new wiring, plumbing, paint, and fixtures—but none of the interior walls were repositioned. Meeting at his reference desk was usually fine because there weren’t typically many interruptions. Most patrons knew which materials they wanted and had learned where things were.
“What happened?” Jeff pointed to her cheek.
Her hand reflexively touched it. Beth’s eyes glistened as she explained about the burglary.
Since there was no seat near the desk for Beth, Jeff also remained standing. His eyes searched her face. “Did a doctor look at that?”
“EMT guy, late last night. He works some shifts at the hospital and some at the police station, but I think he’s based with the fire department.” She smiled. “Connie debriefed him.”
“He must’ve been single.” Jeff grinned. “I wouldn’t want that medic’s job, though. It’d be hard to know where to report for work.” His eyes softened with friendly concern. “Break-ins around your neighborhood aren’t too common, are they?”
“Don’t hear about many. Old Highlands has always been pretty safe.”
Jeff lowered his voice. “Do you have a lot of valuables at home?”
“No, hardly anything.” She lowered her voice. “Well, I told you about my figurines, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. But I’ve never seen them.”
“Right. Still packed away in my closet.” She looked around to be certain nobody could overhear.
“So what did this robber take?”
“Just one thing,
as best I could tell. Probably from my living room bookcase... or near it.”
“He didn’t try anything, uh, physical?” Jeff’s voice was hardly more than a whisper.
Beth shook her head and shuddered.
“What other reasons would he have for breaking in? Drugs maybe?”
“Well, he might have been on something, but I don’t have any drugs to steal, except some allergy meds.”
“Not even prescriptions?”
“There’s a few sleeping pills left over but I haven’t used those since January, when I was still taking care of Robert.” A lump formed in her throat nearly every time she mentioned her brother.
“What other logical motives would a burglar have?” Jeff was an amateur sleuth, among many other pursuits. “You have a big collection of firearms?”
“You know I don’t.” Shane owned several, but they were with him in California.
Jeff lowered his voice to a whisper again. “Might be time to get a gun.”
“I’m not scared of guns or anything.” Beth shrugged. “I just never thought I’d need one here.”
“You mean, until now...”
The library was not too crowded, but their conversation finally had a business interruption: a high school girl needed information for a current events report. A librarian’s bread and butter.
****
Beth normally made a weekly run to her parents’ place during late afternoon, but she didn’t think they could process the news about her break-in. At sixty-seven, Dad was having numerous mobility issues; he’d lost half a leg in Vietnam and was trying to get the Nashville veterans’ agency to pay for a better fitting prosthesis. Mom was sixty-four and her progressive type one diabetes affected every part of her life. Small wonder neither of them had been able to adequately care for her brother, Robert, in his worst stages of Lou Gehrig’s Disease.
On her way home from the library, Beth called her folks and explained. It may have been Beth’s imagination, but Mom actually sounded relieved. What’s that about? Maybe her mother was just having a bad day. Advanced diabetes could do that—make the simplest things seem impossibly exhausting.
