It was Mia, her upstairs neighbor.
Frowning, she pushed the answer button.
“This is Harper.”
“Harper? It’s Mia.” Her neighbor sounded strange—her voice was too loud, and there was a loud persistent siren in the background.
“Your burglar alarm’s going off. You better come home.”
15
Five minutes later, Harper pulled up on East Jones Street and slammed on the brakes.
Even before she opened the car door she could hear the alarm—a high-pitched, panicked wail that grew deafening as she ran to the house.
Her eyes scanned the building for signs of damage but the narrow Victorian building looked just as she’d left it. The front door was closed, the windows were sealed tight.
Her phone buzzed again—the alarm company had called twice but she had nothing to tell them, yet.
She was so focused on the house, it wasn’t until she drew near that she saw a shape in the darkness at the side.
Someone was standing on the side steps.
She froze, midstep, her heart pounding.
“Harper?” Mia’s voice sounded faint beneath the shriek of the alarm. “It’s me.”
Her upstairs neighbor was wrapped in a white bathrobe that fluttered around her ankles as she ran to join her.
“Christ,” Harper said. “For a second there, I thought you were the burglar.”
When she got close, Mia grabbed her arm. Her oval face looked pale in the darkness.
She was tiny—barely five feet tall—and Harper had to look down at her.
“I called the cops,” Mia told her, leaning close to be heard above the noise. “They’re on their way.”
“Did you see anyone?” Harper asked, raising her voice.
Mia shook her head.
“I thought I heard footsteps running away right after the alarm went off. I looked out the window but it’s so dark out here. That was when I called you.” She gave her a puzzled look. “The thing I can’t figure out is, how did you know someone would try to break in?”
Harper never had to think of a response, because flickering blue lights had appeared at the end of the street. Seconds later, a police cruiser rounded the corner, moving slowly and with purpose. The spotlight mounted to the driver’s door sent a wash of white light into the shadows, exposing every house and driveway until it found the two of them, enveloping them in a blinding glare.
The women shielded their eyes.
“You the folks who called this in?”
The gruff, official voice emerging from the dark depths of the car sounded familiar.
“Riley?” Harper took a step forward, squinting into the light. “Is that you?”
“Oh. Hey, Harper.” Riley flipped a switch and the spotlight turned off. “I forgot this was where you lived.”
“Yeah, that’s my alarm,” she said, still raising her voice to be heard above the din. “I haven’t been inside yet.”
He stopped the car at the curb and climbed out with a jangle of gear and keys. He left the blue lights on and strolled toward them, a Maglite in one hand.
Mia watched him with unbridled interest.
Patrol Officer Eric Riley was about thirty years old, tall and muscular, with a graceful, long stride. Like them, he lived in the historic downtown, making him rare among the cops, most of whom preferred suburban life.
He was unusual in more ways than that—he did yoga, practiced meditation, was vegetarian. In general, he was everything cops usually ridiculed. But somehow he got away with it. He was known for his laid-back attitude and notorious parties.
“Hello,” he said, suddenly noticing Mia. “Do you live here, too?”
“I … I’m Mia Flores,” she said, stumbling over her words. “I live upstairs.”
Belatedly, she gestured at the house behind them. Even in the dark, Harper could see her cheeks flaming. All of her usual poise had abandoned her.
“Mia called this in,” Harper explained, stepping in to rescue her before she said something idiotic. “I was out when the alarm went off. Mia thought she heard footsteps running away.”
As she spoke, Riley switched on his flashlight and swung it over the house, stopping at the door and each window.
“Did you check the backyard?” he asked, directing the beam down the side path that led to Mia’s door.
“No … I mean…” Mia stammered cutely. “I came out that way. That’s my door down there.”
Riley looked at her. “Did you lock up when you came out?”
She drew in a breath.
“No,” she said, stepping toward him. “You don’t think…? But I’ve been out here the whole time. I would have seen, wouldn’t I?”
She looked beautifully frightened, Harper thought. Small and fragile, with those big, brown eyes.
Riley seemed to be more interested in her than the potential crime.
It was like the worst Tinder hookup in the world.
“Maybe you should check the back?” Harper suggested, raising her voice more than she needed to be heard above the shrieking alarm.
Riley straightened.
“Stay here,” he told them. “I’m going to do a quick search.”
Pressing the button on his shoulder, he gave his call number and a series of codes. Standing in the dark, Harper translated the code numbers in her head automatically.
Officer on foot. Entering residence. Possible burglary. No backup required at this time.
The dispatcher’s reply buzzed from the radio at his hip. “Copy that.”
The two women watched as he made his way down the side of the house, flashlight bobbing in the dark. After a brief search of their backyard, he disappeared inside Mia’s place.
“He is so cute,” Mia said. “How do you two know each other?”
Harper didn’t have time for this right now.
“We don’t date,” she said shortly. “I know him from work.”
Her tone was more dismissive than she’d intended. Mia recoiled.
“Of course,” she said, hastily. “I wasn’t suggesting anything.”
In her robe, caught in the flickering blue lights, she looked fragile.
Harper could have kicked herself. After all, Mia had kept her word—she’d called her the second anything went wrong.
“Look,” she said. “Riley’s a good guy. And he’s single. So, if you’re interested, I’d go for it.”
Mia gave her a grateful look.
“Thanks.”
At the side of the house, Riley’s flashlight lit up the path from Mia’s apartment. They both fell silent.
“I’ve searched the top floor and the backyard,” he called above the alarm’s noise. “It’s all clear. No fresh footprints in the mud.” He swung the light at Harper. “Y’all really need to cut that grass, by the way.”
“I’ll talk to the landlord,” she said. This whole night was starting to give her a headache. The shrill shriek of the alarm was like a knife to her brain.
“I’m heading to your apartment now, Harper,” he told her. “Could you let me in and turn that damn alarm off?”
She followed him up the front steps to her door. The noise was even louder here.
Leaning over, he examined the doorframe before turning the knob to test the lock.
“Locked,” he shouted, stepping aside for her to unlock it.
When she’d done it, he motioned for her to stay where she was.
Pushing the door open with the butt of his flashlight, he stepped inside.
Too impatient to wait, Harper followed.
The entrance hall light was on, as she’d left it. Her baseball bat still leaned in its corner, next to the door.
With his back to the wall, Riley moved cautiously into the living room.
The alarm was a constant shrill call to panic that drowned out all other sounds. She waited for what seemed like forever before he strode back into view.
“All clear,” he shouted. “God, that thing is
annoying. Would you turn it off?”
She dashed to the alarm box and punched in Bonnie’s birth date.
The quiet that followed was so sudden and complete it was like falling into a deep well of nothing.
“No sign of break-in?” Harper’s voice sounded far too loud above the ringing in her ears.
“Nothing at all,” he said. “Was that your cat I saw in the garden? The gray one?”
Harper nodded.
“Could have been the cat set it off.” He leaned against the wall, flashlight loose in one hand. “Or a palmetto bug. Some of those things are as big as robbers. Honestly, though, I doubt it was a bug. Your kitchen is insanely clean.”
“I don’t like mess.”
“I can see that.”
Riley pressed the call button on his microphone. “Unit three-nine-six. Residence is clear. Alarm disabled. No further action.”
“Unit three-nine-six copy,” the dispatcher replied.
“So,” Riley said casually. “We all got a talk from the lieutenant the other day. Said everyone needed to lay off you.” He gave her an encouraging look. “I think things might get better now.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I’m doing my best to get life back to normal.”
“Good.” He swung the long flashlight in one hand like a baton. “My parties aren’t the same without you and Toby getting drunk in the kitchen and arguing with everyone about politics or books or whatever.”
Harper’s lips curved. “I hear you.”
Riley looked through the doorway to where Mia stood alone in the front yard, the robe tight across her waist.
“Harper, your neighbor’s hella hot.”
“Well, coincidentally, she told me she thought you were, too.” Harper nudged him with her foot. “She’s also sane, single, and gainfully employed. And I’m going to be inside for a minute talking to my alarm company if you want to make your move.”
Grinning, he stepped past her and headed for the steps. His parting words floated back up to her.
“Nice to see you, Harper.”
When he was gone, Harper walked into the living room and flipped on the lights. Through the open door, she could hear the murmur of Riley’s and Mia’s voices as she sank onto the sofa and pulled out her phone. The alarm company had called her seven times.
With a sigh, she hit the call-back button.
Given the hour, the call was answered quickly.
“This is Gerald, how can I help you?”
“My alarm went off tonight, but there doesn’t seem to be a break-in.”
“Have you called the police?” Gerald sounded concerned.
“I have. They’ve been here and checked the place—there’s no sign of intrusion.” Harper fought back a yawn. Now that the crisis was over, she felt drained. “Could you tell me what set off the alarm? Maybe someone tried the door?”
“Let me check for you.”
She could hear the sound of typing. Leaning back against the soft back of the sofa, she closed her eyes. As she waited, her mind kept replaying the conversation with Luke. The strong vibe between them, especially when they’d said goodbye.
Had she misread that? Was it all wishful thinking?
Surely it couldn’t be that? In those last moments by the car, it was as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.
Was it possible he’d forgiven her?
“Miss McClain?” Gerald’s Midwestern voice returned to the line.
“I’m here,” she said.
“I’ve identified the problem,” he said cheerfully. “Looks like you punched in the wrong code at twelve thirty-six tonight?”
Harper shook her head without lifting it from the sofa back.
“No,” she said. “I was out.”
“Perhaps a family member or roommate was home?”
“No,” Harper said. “I live alone.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. According to my system, we had two failed attempts at that time.”
Harper opened her eyes.
Slowly she sat up, her hand tightening on the phone.
“Are you certain about that?” she asked.
“Positive,” he said. “At twelve thirty-six Eastern time tonight someone punched in the wrong code in at your address twice, setting off the alarm.”
Harper went cold.
At 12:36, she’d been in the Library, talking to Luke.
Who had been in her house?
16
That night, for the second time in a week, Harper slept with the baseball bat next to her.
After talking to the alarm company, she’d gone down to tell Riley what she’d learned.
He’d been worried enough to stop flirting with Mia and recommend she get her locks changed.
“You give your keys to anyone?” he asked. “A friend? A guy?”
She shook her head. “Nobody has keys except the landlord and my best friend, and before you even suggest it, there’s no way it’s either of them.”
“Well, change those locks tomorrow,” he told her. “I can add you to the patrol rotation for the night shift—they’ll swing by to keep an eye on things.”
“That’s so scary, Harper.” Mia looked at her, wide-eyed. “Who could it be?”
“I had a break-in last year,” she said, glancing at Riley.
“I remember that.” His brow furrowed. “They never caught the guy?”
She shook her head.
“Well, at least the alarm worked,” he said, and she could hear how hard he was trying to spin this positively. “But if I were you, I’d want a CCTV camera on my front porch.”
When Riley had gone and Mia was up in her own apartment, Harper paced the floor.
She kept thinking of the smell of cigarette smoke the other day—the overwhelming sense that someone had been in her apartment.
She’d changed the alarm code after that. That was two days ago.
She hadn’t told Riley about it because she didn’t have any proof—there’d been no sign of a break-in.
Because he had keys.
Except that it didn’t make sense. She had a limited number of sets of keys.
One set to Billy in case of emergencies, a set to Bonnie in case she needed her to be able to get in. That was it.
She kept a spare set in the kitchen, and she’d seen those keys this morning, right where they always were, next to the coffee cups.
Still. In order to punch in the wrong code, someone first had to unlock her door and walk into her apartment.
And that someone might have had the right code once, before she changed it.
The thought made her skin crawl.
She called the locksmith’s emergency number before going to bed.
When she got up the next morning, the red-and-white Rocky Locks van was waiting outside the door.
It was Sunday. But Rocky, the owner, was an ex-con with a heart of gold, and he’d known Harper for years.
He had the look of an old rocker. His short, graying hair had been tufted into spikes; tattoos covered his arms from his wrist to his neckline. Tall and buffed, he’d have been an intimidating figure to pass on a dark street at night, but he grinned when she opened the door.
“What the hell, Harper,” he said. “You haven’t had another break-in, have you?”
He had a thick Georgia accent and a hoarse voice—as if he’d been choked at some point and never fully recovered. Which could well have been the case, under the circumstances.
When Harper told him what had happened the night before, he didn’t waste any time.
Kneeling, he examined the door closely, thick muscles bulging as he lowered himself all the way to the ground and peered underneath it.
When he’d finished, he climbed back to his feet and dusted off the knees of his faded jeans.
“If he got in, someone gave him a key. Ain’t nobody tampered with these locks, or I’d know.”
This confirmed what she’d begun to suspect herself.
“I haven�
��t given anyone the key,” she told him. “If he has the key, he stole it.”
“Happens all the time.” At ten in the morning, it was already hot, and he wiped the back of his hand across his damp forehead. “You say you think he got in here before and took nothin’?”
She nodded. “I’ve got no proof, but I know he did. I know when someone’s been in my house.”
“Instincts,” he said. “Better than a college degree, you ask me.”
He began pulling tools out of a large, plastic case, and laying them down neatly on the porch at his feet.
“Then you changed the alarm code, and a few days later, he punches in the old code and shazam.” He waved a hammer. “He finds out you’re on to him.”
Harper leaned back against the metal rail on the front step.
“That’s my theory.”
“So he had your key, and he had your alarm code. And you didn’t give those to nobody.” Rocky squinted up at her, the sunlight gleaming on the flat bridge of his nose. “Whoever broke in? That ain’t no burglar.”
“How do you figure?”
“First off, what the hell kind of burglar breaks in and takes nothing? I go to all the trouble of getting in your house? I’m takin’ somethin’. You got a computer, aintcha? And a TV? Got some electronics, probably a bit of jewelry. That’s cash money right there. How come he didn’t take nothing?” His expression was dubious. “Someone breaks into a house and takes nothing? That’s an ex-husband.”
Harper made a face. “You know I’ve never been married, Rocky.”
“Only because you keep sayin’ no to me.”
He grinned but she wasn’t finding any of this funny. Seeing her dark expression, his own smile faded.
“It could be an ex-boyfriend, an ex-lover,” he said, turning serious again. “Or it could be someone who wants something from you.” Picking up an electric screwdriver, he switched it on, nodding with satisfaction as it whirred smoothly, the narrow blade a blur. “Maybe it’s someone who has a thing for you and wants to watch you up close and personal. Either way, this is the worst kind.”
Leaning forward, he began removing the screws holding the locks in place.
“Because ain’t nothin’ you can do about no stalker.”
* * *
A Beautiful Corpse--A Harper McClain Mystery Page 12
