by J. L. Salter
Beth made a stop at the grocery but left in a hurry. Something spooked her, a sixth sense that she was in danger.
Back at her cottage, she checked every room before she could settle down. She wondered how long that creepy feeling would last. She also thought she could still smell the filthy and smoky robber, but that was probably just her imagination. Why was that stink so familiar?
She sat on the couch and stared at the dozens of books scattered on the floor. Hanna Homemaker would have gotten up and straightened things, but Beth Muse just shoved the coffee table back in place with her foot and watched television for a while. The Chick Flick Channel.
The movie was not too captivating, because Beth fell asleep before the TV couple found their way to the bedroom.
****
Beth’s phone woke her. She first checked to be certain each door was still locked and then consulted the wall clock. Four-fifty p.m.
Then she looked at the incoming call. She recognized Long Beach’s 310 area code and realized it was Shane’s number!
“Why would Shane be calling me? Sunday afternoon at...” She calculated two time zones away. It would be two-fifty in California. “How did he get my new number?” And why now?
Beth couldn’t remember how many rings before it automatically routed to voicemail. She couldn’t decide whether to answer or to wait and find out what he wanted. Her insides tingled like the first time they’d kissed. “Hello? Shane?”
“Hi, Bethany. I was afraid you weren’t going to answer.” He sounded slightly out of breath. “Is everything okay over there?”
“Yeah, I guess. Well, no, actually.” She frowned. “How did you get my new number anyway?”
A brief silence on his end. Maybe he’d expected a warmer greeting.
“Shane?”
“On Face—” He sputtered. “Ah…it was on your info page.”
“I thought all that profile info was restricted to approved friends only.”
Another brief pause. “I’d like to be your friend again.” That noun seemed to stick in his throat. “But evidently your security settings allow anybody who’s a friend of somebody who’s your media friend... to see your info.” Shane must have just read that somewhere. “You might ought to check about that.”
“Well, too late now.” It probably sounded colder than she’d intended.
There was another awkward silence... so long that Beth checked to see if their connection was still active.
“So how’s your brother doing, Bethany?”
Why’d he have to mention Robert? She closed her eyes before answering quietly. “Robert died just after the new year. Mid-January.”
“I’m sorry, Bethany. I didn’t know... really.”
Shane was the only one who called her Bethany; she’d been Beth since she moved to Verdeville.
“Are your folks okay?”
“About the same. Mom’s a little worse, I guess. Dad’s fighting to get a leg that doesn’t inflame his stump so much. You’d think...”
“How are you?”
“Why do you keep asking that?” On her neck the tiny hairs bristled.
“I worry about you, Bethany. Way across the country. Strange place.”
“Not nearly as strange as Long Beach and L.A.”
It sounded like Shane gulped. “I’m just concerned, that’s all.”
“It’s been nearly three years, Shane. What makes you so interested now?” It sounded cold, and she knew it.
Silence on the other end.
It bothered Beth that she’d been intentionally rude.
“I’ve been worried the whole time, Bethany. But when you didn’t answer any of my calls or letters, I figured you... uh, didn’t...”
“I’m sorry about that, Shane. I should’ve answered. Those two years helping Robert just sucked all the life out of me.” She began crying softly. “He got where he couldn’t do anything for himself. Nothing.”
“Your mom and dad?”
“Not only didn’t help…” The sobs intensified. “But they needed nearly as much attention as Robert did. Different reasons. Emotional, I guess. I don’t know. Shane, it was horrible.” Her voice became nearly inaudible. “I don’t ever want to live like that. If I get ALS, just drown me and let me get it over with.”
Shane obviously didn’t know what to say.
How could he? How could anyone? A forty-two-year-old man wasn’t supposed to be as helpless as an infant. How could anybody comprehend what that’s like? “Shane, this isn’t a good time...”
“What’s wrong, Bethany? Besides remembering Robert, I mean. Is something else...”
“Well, if you must know, I had a break-in.”
“When?”
“Last night.” Beth’s tears had ceased, but she shivered.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
Beth patiently explained everything. It seemed like she’d done nothing but talk about this incident—to Corporal James, to Connie, to Jeff, and then to Shane. Way too much wallowing in her own misery. When Shane began asking specific questions, Beth had to shut it down. “I can’t talk about it anymore. I’m sorry, Shane. Don’t take it personally. I’m just too drained.”
“Okay. I understand. Maybe we’ll talk later. But tell me one more time that you’re okay.”
“Yeah. I’m okay. Just rattled, and there’s a bruise on my cheek. I’m fine.” She paused. “No more questions tonight.”
“Just wanted to hear your voice, Bethany. I worry about you, you know.”
Beth wasn’t certain she wanted to know. Shane was part of her past and she was nearly on her way to forgetting him. Almost. Sometimes.
“Good night, Shane.” She disconnected quickly, before she could hear if he said anything else.
Chapter Four
October 3 (Monday morning)
Beth called the office a full hour before her boss would be there. She wanted Steve Packard to receive this news as voicemail. She simply couldn’t endure another conversation about the burglary. In her message, Beth asked for the morning off and explained she had to go to the police station to file a formal report. Then she made a pot of coffee, inspected her door locks again, and turned on the television for background noise. Finally situated, she checked e-mail and other sites.
When her phone rang about an hour later, Beth jumped like a flushed quail. She’d have to get her normal nerves back... the sooner the better. This was ridiculous. She let the call go to voicemail.
As expected, it was her boss. Steve said she could take the whole day off because he understood trauma... blah-blah-blah. And if she needed another day to recover, she could take Tuesday off, as well. Steve was a good enough supervisor in their two-person CPA office. But he was not a people person. If he offered to let her take off two days for a break-in, Steve must have had a reason. He’d probably dock her pay.
Who cares? Beth’s emotions were too raw right now to deal with clients. Plus, the first week of October didn’t have much business anyway.
Beth drank a bit more coffee, checked the doors again, and took a quick, nervous shower.
****
As per the corporal’s instructions, Beth visited the police station about ten o’clock. It was the west side of old downtown, on the corner of Main Street and Highway 231. Everybody called that highway Dock Road because it went northward to the old Greene’s Landing, once a booming commercial port on the Cumberland River.
Beth had never been arrested or even reported a crime before, so she didn’t know what to expect. First stop was the desk sergeant in the middle of the main space. It didn’t look like any precinct station she’d ever seen in a movie. This particular sergeant was named Travis and everybody in Verdeville knew he used to be the First Sergeant of Easy Company, back when the National Guard unit was still in Verdeville. He’d retired when they closed the local armory and consolidated his remaining men into the Nashville Battalion.
After eying her quickly, Travis made Beth wait while he finished typing som
ething with two fingers. Then the sergeant looked up with a dour expression.
“Uh, I’m here to file... um, a report... about my break-in Saturday night. A Corporal James told me—”
Travis held up his hand, turned his head only slightly, and yelled in his booming First Sergeant voice, “Tom, your vic is here from the weekend B an’ E.”
Beth didn’t like being considered a victim and certainly didn’t appreciate it being broadcast all over the police station, even though it was nearly empty of citizens.
Corporal James waved casually from his desk, near the far corner to the right.
He could at least have come over to escort her like the movie cops usually did. Small town. Beth squared her shoulders and headed toward James.
The corporal pointed to the single chair at the side of his medium-sized, impossibly cluttered desk. “Mizz Muse.”
She nodded and then sat on the front half of the seat. She could imagine what kind of low-lifes had previously pressed their rumps against this chair.
Then he recited her address from the outside of a thin folder.
Beth nodded again.
“You got anything to add to what you already told me?”
It galled her to be treated like an interruption. “You told me to come in.”
“Right, right.” When he nodded, his jowls vibrated. “I meant, did you remember anything else? Details, descriptions... anything the perp said.”
“Oh. Well, no, I don’t.”
“You got a nice bruise going there.” He pointed.
Beth touched it self-consciously. “Am I supposed to look through mug shots or whatever?”
James’ reaction was a cross between a slightly sad smile and a sigh. “You could look, but it wouldn’t help. This perp’s not on our radar... yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t do stuff like Interpol, Mizz Muse.” When he sat back in his chair, it groaned so loudly a nearby officer looked around. “I put the word out after I got back to the station, uh, Saturday night. Unless he’s an out-of-towner—which isn’t too common except for robberies around the Interstate—then one of our officers probably came across him at some point.”
Beth took a slow breath and held it briefly before responding. “So you’re not even out looking for him?”
The corporal’s chin jiggled when he shook his head sideways. “You don’t understand, Mizz Muse. This perp is distinctive looking. Nobody at the station’s even heard of a local criminal with a built up shoe.”
“Maybe it was a disguise. You know, to throw you guys off his trail.”
James apparently couldn’t help smiling. “No criminal with any sense would use a disguise that would slow down his getaway. More chances to get himself caught.”
“Can’t you check the computer files? Run a cross reference of known burglars against a list of stinky criminals who limp and sweat a lot... and wear a hoody?”
“That’s TV stuff, Mizz Muse. Out here it’s knocking on doors and asking people questions.”
Beth looked around the station. “Is that what your people are doing?”
The corporal’s silence provided that answer.
“So what do you do? Wait for him to turn himself in?”
James frowned slightly as he leaned forward again, elbows on top of his messy desk. “The word’s already out. If anybody sees or hears about a limping perp, we’ll bring him in.” He pointed to the folder, evidently Beth’s case file. “If we find him, we’ll be in contact and you can eyeball him.”
“A lineup?” Her hand rushed to her throat. “One-way mirrors and bright lights on his side?”
“Mizz Muse...”
Apparently the local practice was to toss the perp in a holding cell and bring in the vic to point at him. Beth shuddered.
James watched her closely and then opened the folder. “Is there anything you left out, Mizz Muse? From your report that night?”
“What do you mean?” Her fingers softly touched the area near her bruise.
He cleared his throat and lowered his voice slightly. “Most crimes have a motive, Mizz Muse. Men break in on single women because they want money, drugs, merchandise... or, uh, passion.”
“Rape is not about passion, Corporal James.” Her voice sounded higher and louder than she’d intended. “Rape is a crime of violence and control. And over two-thirds of rapists are people known by the victims. This break-in was not about rape. Like I told you, he even said he wasn’t there for me.”
James laid his palms flat on the cluttered desk. “No offense intended, Mizz Muse. We have to ask. It’s a different case than burglary. We use a special unit out of Nashville.”
“He covered my mouth, clutched my arm... and shoved me around a bit. And when he took off running, he whacked my cheekbone.” She inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “That’s assault, I’m sure, but he didn’t do anything else.”
“Sorry.” James shrugged and held out his hands. “I had to nail that down, ‘cause we don’t have a motive.”
“Well he had a motive, all right. I just don’t know what it was.” She paused. “But he was looking for something in particular.”
“And you say you don’t know what he wanted. No idea whatsoever.”
“You make it sound like I supposedly do know what he wanted. But I don’t.” She felt her fists clinching and tried to calm herself. “Like I said, he took something from the area around the bookcase. Period. Most likely a book. But I didn’t see it.”
“Okay.” James closed the folder slowly and then sat back again. “I think that’s everything for now.”
She didn’t move. That couldn’t be everything.
“If you’re able to figure out what’s missing, or if you remember anything else, gimme a call.” He handed over a card. It was the generic station card with his name and phone extension handwritten on the front.
Beth took the card but did not move from the chair.
“Anything else, Mizz Muse?”
“I’ve been checking my door locks at least every hour... maybe more.” Though trying to keep her voice level, she felt its quaver. “I hear noises. Can’t sleep. Don’t want the lights off.” A few warm tears oozed from each eye and Beth brushed them away with both hands.
James reached into his side drawer and pulled out a crumpled box of musty tissue.
“Thanks.” It took a few minutes for Beth to collect herself. She’d expected to achieve some sort of closure on this stressful matter, but all she got was a small town run-around and even a hint of suspicion that she was holding back information.
His face looked concerned and considerably kinder than before. “You wanna talk to a chaplain?”
“Your station has a chaplain?”
“Well, not here. We have a list of the local guys. Uh, pastors. You know, referral.”
Somehow that clarification made her cry even more.
“You need a minute?” He didn’t wait for a reply. The corporal groaned as he stood and waddled away rather stiffly. He stopped to talk to the desk sergeant briefly and then paused at the huge coffee pot in the other corner of this side of the main station area. James brought back two coffees and—after clearing a barely sufficient space—set one of the small white foam cups beside her.
“Thanks.” She looked around.
The corporal opened his middle desk drawer and produced three packets of sugar.
“Do you have the blue sweetener?”
James shrugged and looked in his middle drawer again. “You can look over yonder.”
Somehow Beth didn’t think she could walk to the coffee area and back without crying even more. “Never mind. That’s okay.” She sipped it and made an awful face. “I’m planning to go black anyhow. Good time to start.” Another sip. Yuck.
“Break-ins can be hard.” He settled back into his groaning chair. “You’ll be okay. Might take a few days or so.”
“What do people do... to get over it?” She sipped again and grimaced. “I
mean, besides talking to their pastor.”
“Well, I didn’t get a good look at your place that night, but the so-called experts who brief us say exterior motion detector lights are good deterrents... front and back. You got lights already?”
“No. I’m just renting. Cheap landlord.”
“I know somebody... give you a good deal.” James pointed to a thick stack of business cards surrounded by a dried-out rubber band. “Maybe your landlord will foot it. Or split with ya.”
“I’ll ask him when I pay the rent.” Beth took another sip and then slid the cup slightly forward. Enough of that. “Anything besides lights?”
“You got a shotgun?”
“Uh, no.”
“Want one? I know somebody... good deal.” He pointed to the cards again.
Beth shook her head. “My boyfriend.” Shane had several firearms and knew how to use them all. But she’d only practiced a few times with his smallest .38 caliber revolver.
James peered into her face possibly wondering why her boyfriend wasn’t around. Then he shrugged. “Well, we’ve got our monthly ladies’ self defense class coming up. That might be a good start.”
“One of those deals in a classroom where some expert tells you to yell ’Fire’ if you’re attacked by a mugger?”
He leaned back in the creaking chair. “No, not classroom. This is the good stuff. All the ladies get to kick the business out’ve a guy in a padded suit.”
“Something I’ve been wanting to do all morning long.”
James’s eyes bulged slightly.
“I mean it sounds like good therapy. When is it?”
Though James didn’t reply, he rose from his chair and moved slowly toward the bulletin board near the coffee pot. While he peered through the notices and calendars, Beth found herself unable to tune out a conversation between a tall uniformed officer and one of Verdeville’s few plainclothes detectives two desks away.
“I’ve heard that Mizz Nancy Vernon Durocher considers Greene County the tie-breaker battleground to get elected.” The tall patrolman had a distinctive drawl. “She’s already bribed everybody she could buy in the surrounding counties.”
