A couple of minutes later, Abby and Leeanne came back into the sunroom together.
“I’ve got to get ready for work,” Abby said. “Greg’s got next Friday and Saturday off, and he’s coming up here.”
“Driving from Brooklyn?” asked Jennifer.
“No, he can probably get a seat on a plane for nothing.”
“Okay. And you’re working three to eleven on Friday,” Jennifer said, with a “complete this sentence” tone.
“We’re going out Friday morning,” said Abby. “And Saturday.”
Jennifer looked at me, but I didn’t know what she wanted me to say.
“Goodnight.” Abby went upstairs.
“Poor Peter,” said Jennifer.
“Who’s Peter?” asked Leeanne.
“Abby’s other guy,” I told her.
“Oh, right, the widower. Do I get to meet him tomorrow?”
“Probably him and several other young men,” said Jennifer. “Just go to the singles class with Eddie, and you’ll have your dance card filled in five minutes.”
Leeanne frowned at her and then laughed.
*****
Jennifer, Abby, and I went to Jeff’s for the boys in the morning, then drove to the church. Leeanne had informed us that Eddie was coming to get her, and they arrived at the parking lot just behind us. The boys were sent to the teen class, and Eddie, Abby, and Leeanne went to the singles class. Jennifer and I enjoyed sitting with Rick and Ruthann Bradley and feeling very settled and married.
Mike and Sharon came in and sat beside me when Sunday school was over. I was surprised, since they hadn’t been back for the last three Sundays, but thankful. Mike chatted away about the latest batch of deputy chief candidates. When the singles class let out, Eddie and Leeanne sat down in front of us, and Abby sat with Beth on the other side of her brother, Rick.
Jennifer poked me as the pianist began to play. I looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“They’re holding hands in church,” she whispered.
“Who?”
She nodded forward, and I peeked over the seat. Eddie had a firm grip on Leeanne’s hand.
I sat back and smiled.
Jennifer poked me again.
I whispered, “What? We’re holding hands. We held hands the first time we came here.”
“But we were serious.”
“Think about it, Jenny. A girl Eddie can hold hands with in church. This is a good thing.”
“I was thinking of my sister.”
“I was thinking of my brother.” Eddie was the closest thing I’d ever had to a brother, at least until I married into the Wainthrop family.
Mike leaned over and whispered, “Eddie’s dating your sister-in-law?”
I shrugged a little. “Apparently.”
Mike shook his head. “I never could keep up with that kid.”
“The worst thing is, he doesn’t even have a little black book. He keeps it all in his head.”
Mike chuckled. “Smart phones. You should know that, Harvey.”
Pastor Rowland spoke on marriage that morning. The husband’s responsibilities. The wife as a perfect complement to her husband. I’d heard it before, but it was good to hear it again. Halfway through the sermon, I noticed that Mike was holding Sharon’s hand, too.
“It’s catching,” I whispered to Jenny. She looked at me, and I jerked my head just a little toward Mike. She looked a little startled, then smiled at me and settled back against the pew, squeezing my hand.
*****
Leeanne, Travis and Randy left mid-afternoon, to be sure they’d arrive in Skowhegan before dark. Eddie put Leeanne into the car and talked to her for a minute through the window, then stood back and watched silently as she drove out. The boys waved vigorously.
I went over and stood beside Eddie, and he said, “I’m going up to Wainthrops’ Saturday, Harv.”
“Got a date, huh?”
“Yup. Going to spend the day there and take her out for supper.”
“That’s nice. Don’t stay so late you’ll be tired driving home.”
“Right. Now I’d better go see my folks. My mother’s been complaining that she never sees me anymore.”
Visiting home was a good thing for Eddie, in my book. He’d had trouble connecting with his family since he’d quit going to Mass and confession at their church. Jennifer and I waved him off. I sent up a silent prayer for him. Sometimes the people you love most are the hardest to feel comfortable with.
“It’s my last night on the late shift,” Abby said before she left for work that evening. She would have Monday off, then report for her new post in obstetrics on Tuesday.
“Congratulations, sweetie,” Jennifer said, giving her a hug.
Peter had asked Abby to sit with him in the evening service, and she had gone, sitting between him and six-year-old Andy. He’d asked her for a date for Friday, and she’d told him she was busy, but perhaps another time. He asked for Thursday, which she had off, and she agreed to go out for ice cream with him and his boys. Jennifer and I kept our mouths shut.
I liked to be in bed by ten o’clock Sunday night, because Eddie and I would be running early, so we said goodnight to Abby about nine-thirty and went into our room.
“I refuse to worry about Leeanne and Abby,” Jennifer said. “I spent way too much energy fretting about Jeff, and it’s turning out great. But I wish Abby wouldn’t keep Peter and Greg both on the string.”
“If she marries Greg, she’ll probably move to New York,” I said.
“I don’t want to think about that.”
“Stop worrying about it, then. Just pray that God will bring the right husbands to them.”
“Yeah.”
I winked at her. “And get rid of all the rejects painlessly.”
Just on the edge of consciousness, I heard Abby drive out at ten-thirty. Jennifer was lying beside me in one of my T-shirts, breathing softly, and I lay on my side with my right arm across her tummy, over the baby. I’d gotten used to sleeping that way. It was part of my fantasy ideal life, and I had pleasant dreams.
The next thing I knew, I jerked awake and lay there, not breathing, listening, trying to determine what had made my heart race. It was too dark for Abby to be home. I pushed the light button on my watch. Three-twenty a.m. I heard a stealthy sound in another room, not one I recognized. I stiffened. Another sound, like something being moved on the carpeted floor, then soft footsteps. I looked toward the door, but I’d closed it the night before. A tiny gleam of light flickered at the crack beneath the door.
Reaching out with my right hand in the moonlight, I carefully picked up my cell phone from the nightstand. Star-two.
The dispatcher was loud in my ear.
“This is Captain Larson,” I said quietly. “I’ve got a burglary in progress at my house. Send a unit here immediately, please.”
“Yes, Captain.” A pause. “137 Van Cleeve Lane?”
“Yes.” I put the phone down and sat up on the edge of the bed. Jennifer slept on. No time for clothes. I had on a pair of boxer shorts. I heard another sound, and I thought it was in the study, where our computers were. I stood up slowly, willing the bed not to creak. It didn’t. I went quietly across the rug to the dresser. I could just make out my gear, where I laid it out every night. Badge, handcuffs, keys, gun. I drew my Beretta from the holster, then tiptoed to the door.
Chapter 18
I listened. Muffled sounds. Slowly, I turned the knob. I thought the tiny noise I caused could be heard throughout the house, but nothing changed. I drew the door in toward me. When it was open a crack, I looked out into the sunroom. It was dark. I had drawn the drapes over the patio door. I waited while my eyes adjusted, absorbing every smidgen of available light.
Another sound, this time from the living room. I waited. I thought I heard a low voice, but I wasn’t sure. Someone walked away, from the living room, through the study, into the kitchen. By looking out through the sunroom, I could see a beam of light, and a shape mo
ving toward the entry. But someone still moved stealthily in the living room. I waited. The unit should arrive soon.
The person came back through the kitchen, and instead of turning into the study, shined his light into the sunroom. I ducked back beyond the door frame. The beam of light swept around the room outside. Across from me, I could see the doorway between the sunroom and the living room. A dark bulk suddenly obscured it.
“Anything in here?” The whisper was so loud I jumped. They were both in the sunroom. Could they possibly not know there was a bedroom so near? They thought the family was asleep upstairs. The add-on master bedroom wasn’t in their plan.
I braced myself, heart pounding. They shined a flashlight on Jennifer’s Van Gogh.
“Want that?” asked one.
“Nah, it’s a fake.”
The thief nearest me swung his flashlight around and focused it on the bedroom door and me.
“Hey!” He raised a pistol. The barrel gleamed.
I pulled the door open and dropped to one knee.
“Police! Freeze!”
I got one round off and dodged behind the door frame. Three bullets went past me, into the door and the room beyond.
Jennifer jerked upright on the bed.
“Get down!” I cried.
She dove over the side of the bed, onto the rug.
I held my gun ready and peeked out the doorway. One man held a weapon pointed in my direction. He took a step toward me. The other backed toward the kitchen.
I squeezed the trigger at almost the same moment a slug whizzed past my ear, then I heard his shot. I flattened myself on the floor and prayed.
My ears rang, and I couldn’t tell if there was movement in the next room or not. I took a deep breath, stood up, reached around the door jamb, and flipped the light switch, flooding the sunroom with brilliant light. I ducked back behind the wall. Nothing. Slowly, I peeked out.
One man was lying on his back on the floor, his hand to his chest, bleeding profusely. His gun lay beside him on the rug. A second man was just disappearing out the door to the breezeway.
I ran out past the fallen man, kicking his .45 across the room as I passed him. I tore through the kitchen and the entry, out the open door. A dark figure bolted down the driveway. He dodged left along the sidewalk. A light came on across the street in Bud Parker’s house.
I took off diagonally across the front yard and the driveway. The cold air hit me, and my feet touched the frost-covered grass in the yard next door. I dodged the neighbor’s bird bath and judged my stride carefully. I jumped over the fence, landing on the sidewalk just behind the fleeing man. A parked car loomed dark against the curb a few yards beyond, but I’d tackled him before he reached it. A pistol went flying off the edge of the sidewalk. He struggled, and I kneeled on his back.
“Police, you imbecile! Freeze!” Handcuffs. I needed my handcuffs. I put my Barretta’s muzzle against the back of his head and said, “Hold still or you’ll wish you had.” He lay still.
I said, “I’m going to get off you. Don’t move, or I’ll kill you.” My adrenaline surging, I eased off him. Jennifer came running down the sidewalk, panting. She’d grabbed her white robe, and it flew out behind her with her long hair.
“Harvey, are you okay?”
“Give me the belt to your bathrobe. Quick.” The man had tensed when she spoke, and I prodded him with my gun. She pulled the tie belt from the belt loops and put it in my outstretched hand.
“Go get my handcuffs,” I said. “On the dresser.”
She turned around and ran back along the sidewalk in her bare feet. I quickly secured the man’s hands behind him and stood up.
Bud Parker was coming hesitantly across the street, squinting at me.
“That you, Harvey?”
“It’s me, Bud.”
“What’s going on? Should I call the police?”
“They’re on the way, but call an ambulance.”
He turned back and ran toward his house.
Jennifer came gasping, holding up the handcuffs.
“Good girl!”
I could hear a faint siren, finally. I snapped the handcuffs onto the burglar’s wrists, untied the belt, and started tying his feet.
“Harvey, that man grabbed me.” Jennifer’s voice caught on a sob.
“What man?”
“In the sunroom. When I came out with the handcuffs, he grabbed my ankle.” She shuddered. I hadn’t factored him in when I’d sent her back into the house. Stupid of me.
“You okay?”
I stood up and held her for a second.
“I think so.”
I looked along the curb, located the burglar’s .357 magnum and kept an eye on it.
Bud was coming back.
“Janice is calling the ambulance,” he said. “What happened?”
“Burglary. Don’t let anyone touch that gun over there. I’m going back in the house. There’s a wounded man in there. Don’t let this guy get up. The cops are coming. Just keep him here until they get here.”
“Harvey—’’
“Jenny, stay here with Bud.” She was holding her white robe around her. The siren was louder. My heart racing, I ran down the sidewalk, up the driveway, and in at the breezeway, flipping on more lights. He was halfway across the kitchen, crawling with the .45 SIG in his hand. A wide trail of blood stained the floor behind him.
“Drop it.” I pointed my Beretta at him.
He started to raise the pistol.
“Drop it,” I repeated. “If you don’t, you’ll go straight to hell.” For just a moment I wouldn’t have cared. He looked at me, then lowered his head. His hand relaxed, and the gun fell onto the linoleum. His head hit the floor with a dull thud.
“Don’t move.” I went a step closer, then another. Keeping my gun trained on him, I stuck my foot out cautiously and dragged the weapon out of his reach. Then I stood still and waited, expecting him to look up at me. I was panting, not so much from exertion as from terror. I could have gotten Jennifer killed. I didn’t want to consider the trauma she had just gone through.
The squad car had stopped outside, and there was a general commotion in the neighborhood. I heard more sirens approaching.
It occurred to me that the man on the floor hadn’t moved. He could be bleeding to death while I stood there. My training said to cover him until someone else arrived. I took a cautious step toward him and kicked at his outstretched hand with my bare foot. He didn’t react.
Someone stepped through the doorway behind me.
“Okay, up against the wall.”
“I’m the homeowner,” I said.
“Just drop the gun and step up against the wall,” the officer said.
I knew I’d do the same thing in his position, although common sense might tell me the guy in boxers wasn’t the burglar. I laid my Beretta down carefully and stepped to the wall beside the refrigerator, my hands shoulder height.
“I’m Captain Larson,” I said. “My badge is on the dresser in the bedroom. So’s my ID.”
“Just hold on,” he said. Another man came through the front door.
“Captain Larson?”
I turned my head. Finally, someone I recognized. “Aaron. Good to see you.”
Aaron O’Heir said to the other officer, “Tommy, this is Captain Larson, you know.”
The officer bending over the burglar stood up. “Sorry, sir. We had to be sure.”
“I know.” I lowered my hands and stepped toward him.
“This guy’s dead,” said O’Heir.
I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about that. It was him or me.”
“We understand, sir.”
“Did you get the guy outside?” I asked.
“Yes, sir, he’s in custody.”
“Can I go get my pants now?”
The first officer went with me, apologizing.
“It’s okay.” I went into the bedroom.
Tommy stopped at the door and looked at the bullet holes in the
woodwork.
“Three rounds there, another one into the bedroom,” I said, pulling on a pair of jeans. The first three bullets had gone through the pine door or the jamb, and on through the wall on the opposite side of the room.
Tommy stepped in and looked at the wall opposite the door, over the bed. Just above where I slept, another bullet hole pierced the gray wallpaper, between a pink blossom and a trellis.
“Is that your wife outside?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah. She was in here with me when it happened.”
“Jiminy.”
I found my Portland Fire Department T-shirt and pulled it on, then stepped into my sneakers and went out with him, sidestepping the blood on the carpet in the sunroom. Two EMTs were in the kitchen, bending over the dead man.
“You call the M.E.?” I asked in Aaron’s direction.
One of the EMTs stood. “Harvey, you okay?” It was Jeff.
“Yes, just a little shook up. Where’s Jennifer?”
“I saw her out in the driveway.”
I went outside and down the driveway. She came running to meet me, clutching the white robe around her.
“Are you okay?” I choked out, squeezing her hard against my chest.
“Yes. Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Jeff’s here,” she said.
“I saw him.”
“That man in there…”
“He’s dead.”
She collapsed against me, crying then. I couldn’t take her inside. There were at least six patrol cars in the driveway and the street now. I walked slowly with her to the nearest one. It was empty. I tightened my arm around her and took her to the next one. An officer was standing beside it, and I could see the prisoner in the back seat.
“I’m Captain Larson. You make sure I get my handcuffs back, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
We walked on to the end of the driveway, and Bud and Janice stood there with a dozen other people from the neighborhood.
“Janice,” I said, “could Jennifer go over to your house and sit down for a little while?”
“Of course. Come on, honey.” Janice put her arm around Jennifer.
Bud looked at me. “You’d better come, too.”
“Just for a second,” I conceded.
Found Art (Maine Justice Book 3) Page 20