Finding Sarah

by Terry Odell

  Maggie’s voice was more subdued now. Her pride in being a good observer had been questioned and Sarah could tell she was doing her best to be as accurate as possible with her description. Maggie stood and tilted her head upward. She raised her hand a few inches above her head. “There,” she said. “That’s the way I had to stand to look him in the eyes.”

  Randy looked at Maggie. “So, I’m guessing about five-nine, five-ten.”

  Maggie sat back down. “That seems about right. His eyes were light brown, fair skin. He had on a baseball cap. Plain, navy blue. He was wearing jeans, brown leather boots, and black gloves.” Her eyes opened wide. “Wait. They were too thin to be work gloves. I should have noticed.”

  “You’re doing fine. Keep going.”

  Maggie put her hands to her mouth and looked at Sarah. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I was that stupid. No tool box. I am such a fool. If I hadn’t been in a hurry, I’d have wondered and at least checked with Mrs. P.”

  “People see what they expect to see,” Randy said. “It’s natural. Go on.”

  Maggie shook her head. “A black turtleneck and an olive green windbreaker. No company logo, no name, but a lot of the people Mrs. Pentecost calls are independent workers and don’t wear uniforms.”

  Maggie’s face blurred. Sarah put her hands to her cheeks—her fingertips were ice cold.

  Maggie’s warm hands clutched Sarah’s. “You’re white. Did you forget to eat again?”

  “Things were busy.”

  Maggie poured more tea into Sarah’s cup and added a liberal amount of honey. “Drink this. I’m sure just this once the tea gods will forgive me for adding honey to Jasmine Pearls. You need the sugar. And have another cookie.”

  Sarah sipped the hot, sweet beverage and listened while Maggie continued. “If you want, I could go look at mug shots.” She sounded excited. “If you still do things like that, I mean. I have time and a pretty good memory—”

  “Thanks for offering,” Randy said. “I’ll let you know.” Sarah could tell he’d figured out that if he didn’t jump in, Maggie would keep on talking.

  “How are you feeling, Sarah?” he asked. “Maggie’s right. You’re pale.”

  The look of concern in his eyes brought a catch to Sarah’s chest. “It’s nothing. Really.” She set her cup on its saucer, glad it didn’t clatter.

  “I’d like to check out your place if you’re up to it,” Randy said.

  Sarah took a deep breath and stood. The room hardly spun at all.

  Chapter Five

  At Sarah’s door, Randy pulled on a pair of latex gloves, took out his penlight and crouched to examine the antiquated lock. It wouldn’t have presented a challenge to any third-rate crook. He rose from his crouch and held out his hand. “Key?”

  The spark when Sarah’s fingers touched his palm unnerved him. Dealing with a female victim was not a new scenario, but it had never been like this. He cleared his throat and slid the key into the lock, then unsnapped his holster. He heard a sharp gasp and sensed Sarah pulling back.

  “A precaution,” he said. “Standard procedure.”

  Wide-eyed, she nodded. “I understand. You don’t think he’s here now, do you?”

  “No, I’m almost positive he isn’t.” She stepped closer to him, and he took a deep breath. He placed his hand on the grip of his pistol. The feel of the cold metal reminded him he had a job to do. “I’m going to take a quick look inside, just to be sure. Wait out here. I’ll be right back.”

  She gave him a weak smile and stepped across the hall. “Yes, Detective.”

  Randy stepped inside and gazed around the orderly space for signs of disturbance. Everything looked exactly as it had the first time he’d been here. If anything, a little neater. The same silk flowers and candlestick lamp on the table by the door. To his left, the rust colored sofa and two patterned upholstered armchairs. Maybe a few more magazines on the coffee table. He took in the rest of the space. A side table held an old-style answering machine. His eyes roamed beyond the polished dining table with its four chairs into the open kitchen. A small home office occupied what would otherwise have been a breakfast nook. No indications anything was amiss.

  Beyond the kitchen, he found a small service porch, more a laundry and storage space than anything else. He unlocked a door to a flight of stairs that led down to the backyard, noticing a matching staircase from Maggie’s apartment. Randy rattled the knob, swearing softly under his breath. Might as well not be a lock at all.

  A quick check of the closet and bathroom showed no signs of an intruder. Telling himself it was cop nerves that had his pulse racing and his mouth dry, he retraced his steps to the hall where Sarah waited. She raised her eyebrows at his approach.

  “Nobody’s here,” he said. Her eyes were fixed on his holster and he resnapped it. “You were here last night, right?”

  “Yes. I had no reason to think there was anything wrong.”

  “Did the man Maggie described sound like anyone you know?”

  “No. I mean, I’m sure I’ve met dozens of people who fit that description, but I don’t know them personally.”

  “Let’s try to go over everything you did. When we go inside, I want you to take your time, look around, and see if there’s anything that seems out of place or doesn’t feel right.”

  “Even thinking someone was in here gives me the creeps.” He saw her shudder and took her elbow to support her.

  She smiled up at him. “You can relax. I’m not going to pass out on you.”

  Randy removed his hand, far from relaxed. Sarah entered the apartment, stopping inside the door, and recapped her movements of the evening before. “Nothing seemed unusual except the computer message.”

  “What message?”

  “An error message when I logged on about not shutting down properly. I didn’t think that much about it—it’s not the first time I’ve forgotten the computer’s stupid rules.”

  “Would you remember what files you worked on?”

  “Sure. The shop files and my email. I made some tea and went to bed.”

  “Anything seem out of place anywhere else?”

  Sarah stood in her entryway and stared through her apartment, and Randy knew she was trying to look beyond her familiar surroundings. “Nothing seems different,” Sarah said.

  “What about the kitchen. Anything wrong there?”

  Sarah crossed to the room and opened a few cabinets. “No, it looks normal. I cleaned up, which means I probably removed any evidence if he’d been in here.”

  “Bedroom?” Randy followed her to the short hallway that separated the living area from her sleeping quarters.

  Sarah checked the closet and looked in her dresser drawers. “I put my stuff away last night and got dressed this morning. Nothing seemed weird. I have to admit, I’m not the neatest when it comes to putting away my laundry, but I don’t think anyone’s taken anything.”

  “So you’d say your clothes are where they belong?” He hesitated, but he had to ask. “Your underwear?”

  She jerked her head around and stared at him. “Why are you interested in my underwear?”

  “I’m not, but sometimes—”

  “Sometimes what?”

  Randy couldn’t answer right away.

  “Oh, God.” She yanked the top drawer open again. “You think he might have been someone who got his jollies from women’s underwear.”

  “It’s not uncommon. But in this case, no, I think he came here to get what he could from your computer and left everything else pretty much alone.”

  The expression on Sarah’s face said she didn’t believe him, but he kept his gaze steady and moved on with his questions. “When you logged on, aside from the error message, were your files intact? The same as they should have been?”

  “I entered the day’s receipts and everything seemed normal enough. I have backups of everything on disc.”

  “If you don’t mind, I can look to see if I can tell when these w
ere last opened.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Randy sat down in front of the computer and powered it on. “You used the computer last night. I’m sure your prints have obscured any that might have been left on the keyboard or mouse even if he took his gloves off. Besides, other than the fact that we’re pretty sure someone was in here, nothing was taken or damaged.” He turned and focused his eyes on her. “I can call the lab and they’ll come by and make a big mess out of everything. Or, we can assume that whoever was here was only interested in your computer files.”

  “What’s your recommendation? You’re the pro here.”

  “I have to be honest. Since nothing was taken and nobody was hurt, I’m afraid it might take quite a while to get someone out here. This kind of thing is low priority.”

  “I don’t think I can face another round of fingerprint powder, especially if it’s not likely to give us anything. Do you think I’m being stupid?”

  “No, I think you’re being realistic.” When Randy reached for the mouse, she began to pace the living room. He noticed her rush down the hallway, but kept his attention on her computer files until she came from the bedroom carrying an armload of flimsy garments.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said. “I’m going to wash these things. Probably twice. I can’t afford to replace them and there’s no way I’m wearing them until they’re clean.”

  “You know, he probably never touched them.”

  “Probably isn’t good enough. Just the thought … yuck.”

  Randy watched Sarah try to open the porch door without dropping any of her bundle. He started to offer help, but didn’t think she’d want him dealing with her underwear, either. He focused on the computer screen, reminding himself that this was supposed to be a professional relationship.

  All he knew was he couldn’t let her down. His gut told him he was dealing with something deeper than a series of coincidences, even if he didn’t have much evidence beyond a probable breaking and entering.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sarah wasn’t back. It shouldn’t take that long to start a load of wash.

  Randy pushed his chair back, crossed through the kitchen and stopped in the porch doorway. Sarah leaned against the washing machine, head down. Randy’s heart tugged. First the robbery, then the break-in. She was hanging on by a thread.

  He hesitated, then walked up behind her and let his fingers brush her shoulders. Sarah stiffened at his touch. She kept her head down, her soft trembling resonating through the woolen bulk of her sweater. He turned her around and gathered her against his body, inhaling faint traces of peach.

  The washing machine clunked and she pulled away. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  Randy tilted her chin up with his fingers and looked into her eyes. Sarah looked down, avoiding his gaze. “It’s a normal reaction.” He told himself that his automatic response to holding a woman in his arms was a normal reaction, too. And hoped she’d been too upset to notice.

  “You must think I’m such a wuss.”

  He pulled her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “No, I think you’re someone who’s had a run of trouble. And I’m here to make things right.”

  “Did you find anything in the computer?” Sarah asked, sniffling and wiping her hands on her skirt, a resolute expression on her face.

  Randy returned to the business at hand. “Not much. I didn’t see anything modified yesterday except your shop files, but I’m hardly a computer geek. All we have is Maggie’s word that someone was in your apartment.”

  Sarah pushed past him and went toward her bedroom, returning with a CD, and slipped it into the drive. “These are the backup shop records.” She opened several files, then turned back to him. “Everything looks the same, so, I guess he didn’t change anything. What should I do?”

  “Do you bank online? Do a lot of online shopping?”

  “No, the bank is close to the shop, so I never bothered with that. I don’t use the Internet much—this computer is a dinosaur, anyway.” She shrugged. “I have plenty of real-life stuff to keep me busy.”

  Randy nodded. A new computer and paying for broadband were probably unnecessary luxuries given her current financial status. “I know what you mean. I spend enough time on the computer at work.”

  “Well, I do play a few games. But not on line. Just me and my computer.” She tilted her head. “What should I be doing about the break-in?”

  “I suggest tomorrow, first thing, get a locksmith in here. That lock on your front door is barely adequate and the one on your back porch is worse. Change them and make sure you get good deadbolts. And see if the owners will put a security system on the foyer door. There’s no excuse for such easy access to the building.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “And, I’d like to make sure he didn’t bug your phone.”

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Another precaution, but if nothing was taken, maybe something was left. If the landlady can let the techs in, you don’t have to be here.”

  Her head slumped into her hands. “Whatever.”

  “Look, it’s getting late. You haven’t had anything to eat, and neither have I. Let’s get some food, and I’ll tell you what I found out.”

  Damn. He wanted to surround her and crush her to him, protect her from all the evil in the world. Instead, he looked at her with what he hoped was a professional expression. “What do you feel like eating? Italian? Thai? Barbecue?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll let you pick.” She made no move to get up from the chair.

  Randy stepped beside her and pulled her up. His hands touched hers and that tightness in his chest came back. Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, held that same trust he’d seen when he first met her. He was a heartbeat away from breaking every rule in the book when doorbell chimes, followed by Maggie’s voice, shattered the moment. Thank God. What was he thinking?

  “Sarah? It’s Maggie.”

  Sarah worked her hands from Randy’s grasp. “I’m coming, Maggie. Just a second.” Swiping the back of her hand across her eyes, she hurried to the door.

  “Hello, sweetie. I know you didn’t have lunch today and I figured the two of you would be busy looking for clues, so I nuked some of my lasagna.” She bustled past Sarah into the kitchen and set the casserole on the stove. “If you wait two minutes, I’ve got some salad, too. And some brownies for dessert. Nothing like chocolate to get the brain in gear, I always say.” She was almost out the door when she turned back and looked at Randy. “I brought enough for both of you, of course.”

  “How can I resist? It smells wonderful,” he said.

  “Please join us,” Sarah said. “It looks like more than enough for three.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t have anything more in the way of clues to offer. Besides, Othello and I are going to watch a movie on the tube tonight. Thomasina. He absolutely adores it.” And she was out the door.

  “She is something else,” Randy said to Sarah.

  “That she is. But she’s a wonderful something else. After David died, I don’t know what I would have done without her. She took care of so much. And she is a great cook. Why don’t you set the table while I get some rolls?” She indicated a cabinet.

  Maggie was back with the salad and brownies before Randy had finished laying out the silverware. After depositing the food with Sarah, Maggie went to the living room and returned with the bowl of silk flowers from Sarah’s entry. She plopped the bowl down in the center of the dining table. “You make sure she eats,” she said, giving him a stern look, then whisked away. Randy stared after her, shaking his head.

  “So, let’s eat,” Sarah said. She sat down and Randy was glad to see she’d served herself a portion almost as generous as the one she gave him. The two ate their lasagna, their silence paying tribute to Maggie’s cooking. When they finished, Sarah suggested coffee and dessert in the living room.

  “It’ll have to be decaf,” she said.

  “Not a
problem.” As she began clearing plates, he pushed back his chair. “Let me help you.”

  “No, you relax. I know where everything belongs.”

  Randy remained at the table, leaning on his elbows, watching her work in the kitchen. Her movements reminded him of the way she’d worked with the seniors last night. She moved with a feline grace, rinsing dishes, measuring coffee, wrapping leftovers. Once again, he forced himself back to reality. He was on a case. She was a victim. He collected his thoughts and moved to the living room. Sarah followed with the platter of brownies.

  “Now,” she said. “Tell me what you found out today.” The meal had wiped away her look of fatigue and despair. Her expression held a look of expectant optimism.

  Randy settled himself into a corner of the couch. “I spoke with Anjolie, and she is not a happy camper. A Mr. Brandt told her Pandora’s would double her profits if she’d pull her things from your store. But when she brought her pieces to the shop, they denied everything.”

  Sarah’s eyes popped wide open. “Now I’m totally confused. If Pandora’s isn’t trying to lure away my artists, then who is?”

  “The call to Anjolie came during the robbery.” Randy flipped through his notebook. “From a pay phone at a rest stop on Interstate Five. However, nobody at Pandora’s has heard of Brandt. Have you? Unhappy customer?”

  Sarah’s brow wrinkled. “No, sorry.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “This is too confusing. Let me get the coffee. Maybe that and another brownie will make things clearer. How do you take it?”

  “Black, please.”

  When Sarah brought the coffee, he took a mug, and he swore her fingers lingered a second or two longer than necessary. A faint blush colored her cheeks. She sat down facing him from the opposite end of the couch.

  “What about Gertie’s clothes? Can’t you use them for DNA or something?”

  Randy smiled. “It’s not quite like television. Pine Hills doesn’t have that kind of a lab, but we could send samples to the state if we thought we had something. But they’re busy with murder cases, so a robbery like this one could take a year to process—maybe longer. Plus, nobody has any DNA from Gertie to match it to, so it wouldn’t do us any good. We checked her clothes, but nothing was remarkable enough for us to track down.”