by Mary Maxwell
Beep! The recording suddenly ended and I was left listening to fuzzy static. With an annoyed grumble, I dialed Olivia again and hurriedly finished the rest of my tale of woe in a second message. Then I wandered around for a few more minutes, eventually coming to a stop in the kitchen when I saw a message scrawled across the chalkboard on the wall: We want the file for Alexander’s last case. Leave it on your front porch by midnight tomorrow. Or else!
Since I’d envisioned the chalkboard with its bright yellow sunflower border as a repository for shopping lists, household chores and impending social engagements, seeing the inexplicable message made my heart shudder madly in my chest.
“That’s pretty freaky,” I muttered softly.
With my eyes glued to the threatening note, I dug in my apron again and found my phone. I dialed 911 and waited until a woman’s voice came on the line.
“Emergency Dispatch,” she said calmly. “What’s the exact location of your emergency?”
I focused on the threatening message, swallowing and reaching for the counter as a wave of dizziness suddenly hit me. “My chalkboard,” I blurted. “I mean, my apartment. This is Kate Reed at Sky High Pies. Someone broke into my apartment while I was downstairs working.”
“How do you know they broke in?” the woman asked.
“Because the place has been trashed!” I spun around, taking in the tangle of books and DVDs and magazines on the living room floor. “Angus told me that a service tech was here to do an equipment check or something, but I didn’t call the cable company! Can you please…” I stopped, gulped in some air and continued my rant. “So you’ve got to put out a—”
“Ma’am?” the operator interrupted. “Can you pause for a moment and take a deep breath?”
Her reassuring tone filtered through my jittery nerves. During all of my years in Chicago, I’d never once been the victim of a crime. But less than a week after returning to the pastoral community of Crescent Creek my apartment has been burgled and my sense of security shattered.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m still here,” I said.
“Okay, just hang on and do your best to stay calm. We’ve got a patrol car on the way to you now.”
I stumbled toward the front door. “How long will it take?”
She said something that I didn’t catch, so I asked her to repeat it.
“They should be there any second,” she told me as the high-pitched drone of a siren sounded in the distance. “Officers Dalton and Bennington were in your—”
“I hear them!” I yelped. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am,” the operator replied. “And, by the way, my grandmother loves your Very Berry Cobbler. She was a longtime fan of your goodies.”
I stepped onto the small balcony outside my front door as the patrol car swerved into the parking lot from Pine Street.
“That’s really kind of you to share,” I said. “I’ve had such a long day and this nightmare is the last thing I needed. But you’ve been great. And I really appreciate you telling me about your grandmother.”
“Yeah, Granny Speltzer can be a true curmudgeon,” added the dispatch operator. “Don’t take anything she says personally, okay?”
I smiled at the mention of Blanche Speltzer and briefly marveled at just how small the world was in Crescent Creek.
“I’ve already been down that road,” I said as two uniformed officers climbed out of the cruiser below. “Your grandmother was in this morning.”
The operator giggled. “I hope she wasn’t too hard on you. One of her least favorite things is change.”
“The officers are here now,” I said. “Why don’t you come by for a slice of pie sometime?”
After promising that she would and telling me her name, I clicked off the call and dropped the phone in my apron pocket.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” the first man said as he came up the stairs to my apartment. “We understand you wanted to report a burglary?”
“Well, I didn’t want to,” I said, trying to rekindle my sense of humor. “But I had to.”
I stepped out of the doorway and motioned for the two men to go inside. After they walked over the threshold and began to look around, I heard someone in the parking lot call my name. I glanced over the railing and saw Trent Walsh getting out of a gleaming black SUV. He waved and headed for the stairs.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” I called.
“I was listening to the scanner,” he said, walking toward me. “When I heard your address, I thought I’d stop by and see if there’s anything I can do.”
When he joined me on the balcony, he gave me a quick hug. Despite all of the years and distance, his arms felt as warm and strong as I remembered from our high school romance. I pushed back from his embrace and nodded through the open door.
“Two officers are already inside,” I told Trent. “I should get in there before they start making fun of the Granny panties scattered all over the bedroom.”
Trent shook his head. “I’m glad to see that some things never change, Kate.”
“Like my love of Granny panties?”
“Like your bad jokes,” he answered, stepping into the living room.
The two uniformed officers were standing on the far side of the wreckage.
“Heya, Trent,” the taller one said. His name badge read DALTON. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I heard Kate’s address on the call,” said Trent. “Figured I could kill two birds with one stone; welcome her back to Crescent Creek and see if you boys need any help.”
“Bennington?” Dalton said to the second officer, a redhead with chubby cheeks and what appeared to be a mustard stain on his shirt. “Do we need any help?”
“Nope,” mumbled Bennington. “Looks like a pretty simple B&E to me.”
I glanced at Trent. “There’s something in the kitchen that you all should see,” I said.
“Some pie from downstairs?” asked Bennington.
His partner glared and shook his head. “You’ll have to forgive my colleague,” he said apologetically. “We were right in the middle of lunch when the call came over the wire.”
“Thus the mustard stains?” I asked.
Bennington shrugged. “Sorry about that, ma’am. I usually look a little less disheveled.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said, walking toward the kitchen. “Because my place usually looks a little tidier than it does at the moment.”
Trent and the two patrolmen followed me across the disorderly room and into the tiny kitchen. I stood beside the chalkboard and pointed at the frightening note.
“Who’s Alexander?” Trent asked, taking a picture of the message with his phone.
“Or what,” Officer Dalton added. “I mean, it could be a thing instead of a person, like a company or a product or—”
“Or a pet,” the redheaded cop said. “Maybe Alexander’s a dog and—”
“I don’t have a dog,” I said, cutting off his haphazard suggestion. “Rodney Alexander was my boss back in Chicago.” I paused to steady my voice. “He was murdered about a month ago.”
Trent made a quick note in his pad. Then he suggested that I consider staying somewhere else for a few nights.
“Like a motel?”
“Or with a friend,” he said. “This message is pretty straightforward, Kate. And it’s obviously meant as a threat.”
“Yeah, I got that from the whole ‘do as I say or else’ vibe,” I scoffed.
He raised one finger, like a parent getting ready to scold a child. “I’m not kidding,” he said. “You should take this seriously.”
“I am.” I looked at the note again. “But if I let some random creep chase me out of my home, then the bad guys win.”
“Why do you think it’s a random creep?”
“Well, I don’t,” I said, feeling defensive. “But I don’t have any of Rodney’s files, so there’s no—”
“Whoever ransacked your place doesn’t
know that,” Trent said. “I’d say he’s confident enough about that to risk committing a crime in broad daylight while you’re downstairs in the café.”
I wasn’t budging. While the baffling incident didn’t make any sense, I wouldn’t allow it to intimidate me. During my years working for Rodney, I’d been in some truly harrowing predicaments: car chases, staring down the barrel of a gun, late night stakeouts in truly scary parts of the city. Coming home to find my apartment completely trashed and a menacing note scrawled on the chalkboard didn’t rank at the top of the list by any means.
“Can I just thank you for your concern?” I said to Trent. “And the suggestion that I find another place to stay?”
He nodded.
“But can I also exercise my prerogative to sleep in my own bed?” I continued. “I obviously can’t leave something on the front porch by midnight tomorrow if I don’t have it, right?”
Trent smiled. “Yes, but that—”
“And I’ve got a baseball bat in the closet,” I announced. “Along with two things of pepper spray, a Taser in the bedroom closet and an ample supply of chutzpah. I think that’ll be enough to hold my own in case the little twerp decides to try anything stupid tomorrow night.”
“A Taser?” Trent said. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m a woman on a mission,” I answered. “Working cases in Chicago could get pretty dicey. I needed to keep myself safe.”
“So a Taser instead of a handgun?” he said.
I flashed a shrewd smile. “Who said that I don’t have both?”
“I figured as much,” Trent said. “And I’m assuming you’ve got a concealed carry permit?”
“You’ve got that right,” I answered. “I’ve got enough trouble running Sky High. I don’t need to invite any more by breaking state gun laws.”
We stood and gazed at the chalkboard for a few minutes. Then Trent asked if they could look around the apartment.
“Of course,” I said. “But no cracks about what a lousy housekeeper I am.”
With a gentle pat on my shoulder, Trent walked back into the living room and down the narrow hall to my bedroom. Officer Bennington followed a few seconds later, but Dalton stayed in the kitchen. He’d pulled a small notebook from his pocket to record observations about the situation.
“How long have you been back in Crescent Creek, Miss Reed?”
“About a week,” I answered.
“When did you leave?”
“Twelve years ago,” I said.
His eyes widened. “Well, that’s a heck of a long time. Where were you?”
“Chicago. I went there for school. Ended up staying a lot longer than I ever imagined.”
He looked up and smiled. “What’d you study?”
“Painting,” I answered. “And art history.”
He frowned. “You mean like house painting?”
“No, my degree is in fine art,” I explained. “I was going to be a painter. But I never quite managed to get it going after graduation.”
“I know how that goes,” Dalton said. “I was going to be an astronaut.”
I couldn’t stop the smile that popped up. “Seriously?”
He nodded.
“You mean like go to Houston and join NASA and fly to the moon?”
He narrowed one eye. “More like Mars,” he said. “But, yeah. That was my plan in a nutshell.”
“So what happened to your dream?”
Dalton shrugged. “Me and Grace got pregnant.”
“Wow! That’s a pretty good reason not to go to Mars.”
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “There are some days I’d like to be in outer space.”
“Boy or a girl?” I asked.
“Which time,” he said, smiling. “We’ve got three little ones now. Billy’s six and the twins are three.”
“Boys or girls?” I asked
“Girls,” Dalton said. “Charlotte and Sophia.”
“Ah, those are beautiful names,” I said. “How lucky you are!”
He shrugged again. “Like I said, being on Mars sounds pretty sweet some days. Especially when the three of ’em get to screaming at the top of their lungs.”
“I know how that goes,” I said. “I have a brother and sister, too. We’re not twins, but we could get pretty rowdy when we—”
“Kate?” Trent called from my bedroom.
“Will you excuse me?” I said to Dalton, but he was already turning to follow me down the hallway.
“Is this how your room was before you left this morning?” Trent asked when I stepped through the door. He was pointing at the scattered bras and panties, studying them as intently as a fox creeping from the shadows toward the chicken coop. “Or did the perp leave them this way?”
CHAPTER 6
“What do you think?” I said, feeling a tickle of irritation in the back of my throat.
He flashed a lopsided grin that did nothing to defuse my annoyance. “You’re asking me? I don’t know what kind of housekeeper you are, Kate. It’s been a million years since the last time I was in your bedroom.”
I caught the infantile look that Dalton and Bennington shared before they realized that I’d glanced back at them.
“Uh, I’ll be in the living room,” Dalton said. “Call if you need me, Trent.”
“You bet,” Trent replied. “You can help him out there, Bennington. I’ve got things covered back here.”
The cop smirked slightly before he turned and retreated to the front of my apartment.
“Can you do me a favor?” I asked Trent.
He nodded.
“Can you refrain from mentioning that you were ever in my bedroom?”
“But it’s the truth, Katie. Don’t you remember that night? Your parents were over here at Sky High meeting with a banker or something, and we—”
“Their lawyer,” I corrected. “They were getting ready to launch a line of frozen pies and tarts. They met with Mr. Gruber here so he could taste the products as they reviewed the contracts with the place that was going to be mass producing everything.”
“Wow!” Trent laughed. “Your memory is amazing! I don’t remember all of that other stuff. I thought they were talking to banker they night we—”
“Attorney,” I interrupted. “And please just drop it, okay? I’d prefer it if we kept everything professional.”
He smiled, raised one hand and pressed it against his forehead in an exaggerated salute.
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, Miss Reed.”
I groaned and picked up a black lace strapless bra. “And you can cut that crap, too,” I said. “No need to be a jerk, Trent.”
“I’m just teasing you, Katie. I didn’t mean—”
“So did you have a question for me?” I asked.
He blinked a few times. “Huh?”
“Well, you called my name when I was in the living room. I figured there was a reason.”
He slowly glanced around the room. His eyes shifted from the puddle of hiphugger panties and camisoles to the pile of push-up bras spilling from an overturned dresser drawer.
“Looks like your taste in undergarments has gotten a little more sophisticated,” he said.
“Trent!” I glowered and raised one finger. “I’m serious about what I said. I want to keep our relationship professional. The past is just that—the past. I’m back in Crescent Creek now and I want to start with a clean slate.”
He started to raise his hand again.
“Deputy Chief Walsh!” I blurted. “Can you please stop doing that?”
Footsteps thundered down the hall toward us until Officer Dalton appeared in the doorway.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Trent told him we were fine.
“Well, I heard raised voices,” Dalton said, swinging his gaze between Trent and me like someone at a tennis match. “I just wanted to check and make sure no one was in distress.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, someone’s in distress alr
ight.” I pointed at myself. “But I’ll feel much better as soon as you guys can find out who broke in and trashed my apartment.”
As soon as we were alone again, Trent apologized for his behavior. “I really am sorry, Katie,” he said for the third time. “I guess seeing you again is making me a little giddy.”
“You?” I asked. “Giddy?”
“Yeah.”
“Because we used to date a million years ago?”
He frowned and looked at the floor. “Probably more like I realize that I blew it back then,” he said. “I mean, when I saw you the other day, walking down the sidewalk by the UPS store, I just about ran my cruiser off the road.”
I blushed, but didn’t say anything.
“And now that I’m standing here in your bedroom,” he continued. “It’s just kind of—”
I held up one hand. “Sorry to derail your poignant commentary, but I’d like to start putting my place back together if you don’t mind.”
There was a moment of hesitation before he switched from lovesick teenager to levelheaded adult. “You bet,” he said. “But I’m going to need to get forensics in here so we can document the crime scene, dust for prints and conduct a thorough search.”
“How long will that take?” I asked.
“No time at all,” he said. “I’ll send Dalton down to the car to get the kit. Do you want to maybe wait downstairs?”
I didn’t want to, but I figured it’d be best to get out of the way while they processed the carnage. The thought of my high school sweetheart going through my possessions wasn’t very appealing, but I knew that I didn’t have a choice. After all, I’d very adamantly informed Trent that I wanted to keep things professional. It was a cruel twist of fate that he was now charged with investigating the burglary at my apartment. And considering that the three of them had already seen my extensive collection of Victoria Secret goodies, I realized there was no place for modesty.
“Do you want me to box up some pie for you guys?” I offered, turning toward the hallway.
Trent smiled. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said.
“What would you like?”