I bent down, scooped up a pile of papers and leafed through them. Pages and pages of Maria's Phineus Frye letterhead were mixed in with Nate's Kalypso memos and reports. "He was looking for something," a voice said.
I let out a small "eek" and jumped, my breath sharply lodging somewhere between my ribs and my collarbone. Kevin leaned against the doorway, arms folded, his triceps straining against his T-shirt. His gun holster was nestled next to his ribs under his left arm, and his badge was clipped to the waistband of his jeans.
I rounded up my breath and willed my brain not to notice how good he looked despite the circles under his eyes. "Did he find it?" I asked.
"Maria says nothing was taken. Her computer, laptop, the expensive hideous sculpture . . . it's all here still, and the guy's arms were empty when he fled the house after Maria doused him."
"He could have stuffed something like this in his pants," I said, holding up a file.
"True. Maria said she won't know if anything's missing from the files until she goes through them, but I don't think she'll find anything gone."
"Why not?"
He pushed away from the door, taking a step toward me. Mentally, I restrained the feeling to go to him, to wrap my arms around him, feel him, touch him . . . Ginger, I reminded myself.
My head snapped up. He was gazing at me, a softness in his eyes. Or that could have been my imagination because when he blinked the emotion was gone, replaced with the mask he slipped on when he worked.
"He comes in," Kevin said, "comes straight to the office. Doesn't stop and poke around the boxes in the other room marked 'crystal' or 'silver.' He knows what he's looking for. Knows where to find it. Or thinks he does. But it's not here in the office, so he goes for her briefcase."
This was the most he'd talked to me in weeks.
"But that's not here either," he continued. "Which forces him to go upstairs. He knows Maria is up there—her car is parked in the driveway, the lights are on, and music is playing. I'm guessing this wasn't part of the plan, but he's willing to take the risk."
"Why?"
Kevin shrugged. "Don't know. And Maria doesn't either. So it's kind of hard to put together."
For some reason, I thought of Verona and Colin Frye . . . and the missing guest list.
Even though it was utterly ridiculous to think that the Fryes would break in to Maria and Nate's condo to look for a guest list, I found myself asking, "Do we know for sure if it was a man?"
Kevin shook his head. "No. Too dark. But it took some strength to get that door open. I'd put good money on a man."
"Women can be strong," I said.
"She'd have to be really strong," Kevin said. "That door was dead-bolted."
"Women can be really strong," I said, feeling like arguing.
"Nina . . ." He sighed.
"What?"
"Do I need to remind you about the bathroom window?" Once—once!—I couldn't lift the bathroom window. Okay, maybe twice. And I was fairly strong.
"Okay," I said, giving in, "let's just say it's a man."
"Whoever it was," Kevin said, a smile twitching his lips, "certainly didn't expect Maria to confront him with a bottle of Aqua Net."
I grinned. Maria, who wore six hundred dollar shoes and bought designer perfume and makeup, still faithfully used the same hair spray she did in junior high when she teased her hair to impossible heights. She'd never been able to break her Aqua Net addiction.
Although I hated to think about it, I had to know. "Do you think she's in any danger?" She annoyed me, but she was my baby sister, and it would kill me to see anything happen to her.
"My gut instinct?" I nodded.
"No. If she were, he'd have gone to her first."
"But he didn't get her briefcase. Won't he try for it again?"
"Maybe."
I stuffed the papers back into a box. "Thanks for the reassurances."
Absently I wondered if Ana was having any luck outside.
Kevin nudged an overturned box with his toe. "Maria's not staying here tonight, is she?"
Shaking my head, I said, "Going to the new place. It has an alarm system."
"Good."
I heard sharp clip-claps on the wooden stairs. Apparently, Maria had felt the need to put on heels.
"I'll be leaving now." Kevin turned to go.
"Hey," I said.
He looked back at me, a question in his eyes.
I forced the word out. "Thanks." Damn. That was harder than I thought. "For coming, I mean." He nodded and walked away.
Ack. My knees were knocking. I hated thanking Kevin for anything these days. I copped a spot on the floor. For weeks now, I'd managed to keep my feelings for him at bay. Denial worked miracles, but soon I'd have to deal with things. But not here. And not now. Too many witnesses.
"You two should never have broken up."
I jumped. "Jeez! Why is everyone sneaking around tonight?"
Maria had put on a hot pink silk tank and a clingy black skirt. She'd redone her makeup and pulled her hair back into a fancy twist. Pink-tipped toes peeped out from a pair of expensive looking slides.
She leaned against the door, holding a large black tote bag in her hands. A huge rolling suitcase rested near her feet.
Fanning herself with one hand, she said, "The way he looks at you . . ."
I got up. "Let's not talk about this," I said.
"Nina—"
"I have one word for you. Ginger."
That quieted Maria—for two seconds. "Ginger is a phase."
I shot her a look that said "shut up" loud and clear.
She snapped her mouth closed and looked out the window. "Is that Ana?"
On tiptoes, I peered over her shoulder. The front lights clearly illuminated Ana and Officer Hottie invading each other's personal spaces. "Yep."
"Oh. She's really desperate, huh?"
"Yep. You ready?" I said.
Delicate lines creased her eyes and lips as she frowned. "Nina, what if Nate doesn't come home?"
I paused for a second, thinking about it. What if? I shrugged, looked at my baby sister. "We'll just have to hunt him down and kill him."
A smile lit her face and she clapped happily. "Deal."
Five
The alarm beeped as I unlocked and pushed open the front door. With a few button punches, it silenced. I slipped off my Keds, padded into the kitchen.
Out of habit, I checked the locks on the windows and the dead bolt on the back door in the laundry room. I groaned loudly when I found it unlocked.
Riley. I didn't know how many times I had to remind him to keep the back door locked—and leave it locked. I flipped the bolt, headed back into the kitchen. My stomach cried for attention. Unfortunately the fridge was nearly empty.
Leftover mashed potatoes? Raspberry yogurt? Pudding cup?
After a half a second of deliberation, I bypassed the potatoes and yogurt, grabbed the pudding.
Snatching a spoon from the drawer next to the sink, I popped the top off the pudding. I licked the aluminum cover clean and then tossed it into the trash.
My pudding and I headed upstairs to check on Riley. I tapped lightly on his door with the end of my spoon. "Ry?"
Silence. I slowly opened his door. A wave of teenage boy
smell nearly knocked me over, a musky mix of sweat and dirty socks. Holding my breath, I whispered, "Ry?" The motionless lump cocooned under the covers didn't move. To the right of his headboard stood a glass fish tank. I didn't look in it. Xena lived in there. Xena was Riley's snake. Xena and I had come to a live-and-let-live agreement, but I still got the heebies whenever I saw her. Quietly, I backtracked from the room.
As I headed downstairs, I thought about Maria and Nate and couldn't help worrying. Was Nate really cheating with his boss?
Who had broken into Maria's house, and why? Could the two be connected somehow?
I was giving myself a headache, so I let it go for now.
Switching on the news, I turned up the v
olume for the weather forecast. The weatherman was predicting passing showers, and I couldn't help but groan.
Rain was the last thing I needed. It would muck up my work schedule beyond repair.
As the sportscaster teased about the latest Reds game, I tossed the empty pudding cup, set the spoon in the dishwasher, and sat down to lose myself in the tail end of a Seinfeld repeat.
The phone rang, and I jumped up to answer it before it woke up Riley. Maria's cell number glowed on my caller ID screen.
"I hear noises outside," she said when I answered. "Someone's out there. I'm sure of it."
"How do you know?"
"Something squeaked."
"It's pretty windy out. Could be the soffets. Or one of the neighbors. You know how that place echoes."
There was a pause before Maria said, "It was too loud to be wind. Do you think the person who broke into my condo earlier followed me here? Maybe he's so taken with my looks that he can't leave me alone. He did see me in my nightie, after all. Has he come back for me?"
I sat on a kitchen stool, unsure how to answer. Okay, I knew how. "No."
"You're just jealous."
I laughed. "Of what?"
"That I have a stalker," she said, but I could hear the smile in her voice. "You're nuts. You get that from Mom."
"I know." There was a slight pause before she said, "Seriously, though. I heard something."
"Did you look out there?"
"No."
"Do you think maybe you should?"
"Okay."
After a second, she said, "I don't see anything moving, but it's raining. Oh no! Is that going to put my yard behind schedule?"
"No, no," I lied. She had enough to worry about without adding landscaping troubles.
"Good."
"Is your alarm set?"
"Turned it on as soon as I closed the door."
"You should be fine, Maria. If you're worried, though, I can give you Kevin's number."
Oh, how I was hoping she'd say yes. There was nothing I'd like better than to get Kevin out of bed and make him traipse around in the dark and rain looking for someone who'd probably never been there in the first place. "No, it's late." Damn. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'll be okay. I've got my hair spray."
I wrapped the phone cord around my finger. "Any word from Nate?"
"No."
"Oh." Not much else to say to that.
"I'm thinking about ways to kill him so he dies slowly. Painfully."
Ah, okay. "Just make sure you brush up on not leaving evidence behind."
"Gotcha."
I said good-night and went back to the couch. My eyes drifted closed as I thought more about Maria. I couldn't help but think that if Nate really had run off, then the wedding would be off, and then I wouldn't have to wear that horrible gown . . . I jumped when the doorbell rang.
Squinting at the clock through sleepy eyes, I saw that it was almost midnight. I must have dozed off.
Rubbing my eyes as I pulled open the door, I blinked at the bright lights outside. Red and blue strobe lights arced across my lawn. Police cars were lined up in front of Mrs. Warnicke's house across the street. Uh-oh.
Mr. Cabrera stood on my front porch. His white hair dripped steadily and his red button-down shirt with yellow pineapples on it was soaked. Rain fell in a solid sheet. So much for passing showers. Lousy forecasters.
"What's going on?" I asked, stepping onto the porch.
"It's happened again. Another burglary. This time at Mrs. Warnicke's."
"Is she okay?"
Mr. Cabrera shook his head. Rain droplets went flying. "Went and had herself a heart attack when she found the guy standing over her. The rat ran when she woke up, and she managed to call 911."
"Oh no!"
"They took her over to Mercy. Mrs. Mustard went with her."
The poor old lady! Mrs. Warnicke was a sweet thing, barely five feet tall if an inch, with light purple permed hair and a pair of the most beautiful blue eyes you'd ever seen. She tended to smell like mothballs, but people overlooked her scent because she made the best fudge in Ohio. The rain had brought a chill to the air, and I motioned Mr. Cabrera inside. "Come in. I'll make you some cocoa."
His blue eyes lit up. "With marshmallows?"
"Of course."
I ran upstairs, grabbed a towel from the linen closet. Back in the kitchen, I handed it to Mr. Cabrera. He heaved himself up on a stool and leaned across the kitchen's island to pluck a grape from the bowl on the counter.
I filled the teakettle with water from the tap and set it on the stove. "Did Mrs. Warnicke say anything before they took her away? Was she conscious?"
"She can't see much without her glasses."
I pulled two mugs from the cupboard and thought about the burglaries in the Mill. There had been at least a dozen, if not more, during the past couple of months. All seemingly random except they took place in the Mill and the creep only took one or two things.
Stupid things too. Like an umbrella from Mr. and Mrs. Krayloc and a paperback romance from Mrs. Ansel's. Nothing of any value. The guy had even passed right over Mrs. Sieback's diamond ring. It didn't make sense.
I ripped open two packages of Swiss Miss's finest and dumped them into the mugs. "Did the guy take anything from Mrs. Warnicke?"
Raindrops dripped onto the floor as Mr. Cabrera toweldried his hair. His bushy white eyebrows rose. A grin slipped across his face, his smile so wide his dentures looked ready to pop out. "Her skivvies."
"What?!" The teakettle nearly slipped right out of my hand. I carefully set it down.
"Her skivvies. You know, her granny panties. You'd think this guy would at least break in a young gal's place and steal those thong-y thingies they wear now."
I rubbed my temples, not sure where to go with this conversation. I tried not to picture Mr. Cabrera thinking about women in thongs, but the image just wouldn't go away. Ew! Cringing, I said, "How do you know?"
"Word is, the police found the panties on the floor. Guy must've dropped them on his way out."
What kind of loon watched women sleep while holding their panties? I shuddered. Then an idea hit that turned my stomach. What if the Mill's burglar wasn't breaking in to steal things so much as to watch women sleep? While holding their skivvies . . .
I let that stew for a minute while I filled the mugs. I dropped a handful of mini-marshmallows into Mr. Cabrera's and slid it across the island to him. Mr. Cabrera said, "Got a spoon?"
I opened the silverware drawer, pulled one out. He dipped it into his cocoa, scooped up some soggy marshmallows, and slurped them down.
It was like watching a three-year-old, I swear.
From the fridge, I grabbed a can of whipped cream, loaded my cocoa with it, sipped. Mmm. "All the breakins . . . Did women live in every house?"
His forehead crunched as he thought, the many wrinkles blending into one thick line. "Yeah. Some were married, though. Like Mrs. Voehlke."
Yeah, but Mr. Voehlke wore two hearing aids, and probably not to bed. All the burglaries just so happened at night. "And Mrs. Rheindstat."
Again, a deaf husband.
Now that I thought about it, every one of the houses broken into were owned by women who were either single (one way or another) or had a husband who was deaf or near to it. "What're you thinkin'?" Mr. Cabrera asked.
My whipped cream had melted into a foamy white puddle. "I'm thinking that maybe these so-called burglaries are just a cover-up for some sicko who likes to watch women sleep." I blinked. "Actually, I wonder if this guy is taking panties! No one would notice if a pair went missing." I set my mug down. "Maybe he just wants the panties and takes other things to cover it so everyone will think that's why he went in."
Mr. Cabrera nodded like a bobble head. "I can see this."
"Yeah?"
He looked at me like I'd grown two heads. "No."
I sighed. "Why not?"
"Who wants old women's panties? That's gross."
&
nbsp; Rolling my eyes, I said, "Around here, there are only old women to choose from."
"Well, there's you," he said with a wicked teasing gleam in his eye.
Yeah, but I had a husband who wasn't deaf.
Oh.
Right.
That husband thing wasn't happening for me anymore. Great.
Aha! I had Riley. That had to count for something. Except the boy slept like the dead. I wonder if our neighborhood burglar knew that?
I was now convinced it was someone local. Very local. He knew these people, knew them well.
And it reinforced my earlier thought that Maria's burglar and the one from the Mill were not the same. For a second I let myself think about why someone would break into Maria's place. What had he been looking for?
Trouble In Spades Page 5