by Gina LaManna
There'd be time to call the police after I caught a glimpse of the intruder. Chances were high it was related to Anthony Jenkins's murder. If that was the case, I needed to find the intruder. This terrorizing, first of my studio and now of my home, needed to stop.
By the time I skidded into the entryway, the flapping front door hung slightly crooked on its hinges, and a huge black mark was gouged out of my wall where the knob had cracked into the paint. I flew out the door, still dripping wet and clothed only by the towel.
"Stop," I shouted, running a few paces down the driveway.
A figure bolted away down the road, a bulky, dark-gray sweatshirt and black sweatpants disguising the basic outline of the person. The person was fast. The figure leapt onto a bicycle that'd been stashed off to the side of the road a few blocks down. I hadn't noticed it during my lackadaisical trip home, as it'd been tossed into some lilac bushes.
My shoulders heaving, breath coming in huge gulps, I slowed my pace. I came to a complete stop a few steps later, and put my hands on my knees. I'd never be able to capture the intruder while I was barefoot and they were shoed. Especially if they had a bike. Or a…a cop car?
The intruder stopped a few blocks down the road, and if I hadn't raced out into my driveway, I never would've noticed the fact that there'd been a cop car parked at the gas station. The man, or so I assumed, threw his bike into the trunk of the cop car, hopped in the front seat, and squealed away, lights blinking blue and red.
There's no way I would've been able to catch a bicyclist. But there was definitely no way I'd be able to catch a car. Especially one with flashing lights.
Eventually, I picked up my spirits enough to reenter my home. This time, I took careful stock of where everything was placed as I slowly swept my way through my grandmother's old house. Nothing in the kitchen seemed amiss, or in the living room, dining room, or the den. In fact, the first floor seemed completely untouched, except for my now-slightly-crooked door and the black ding mark against the wall.
Before I went upstairs, I considered calling the police. But I realized that calling the cops on themselves wasn't the best plan I'd ever had. Not to mention, I couldn't even act on the plan if I wanted.
Get a phone, Misty, I told myself. So you have the option to call someone.
First thing tomorrow, I'd stop at Al's. Even if I only had ten dollars to my name, I was getting a ten-dollar phone. Or a walkie-talkie, whichever worked better.
Oh well, it was time for me to head to Donna's house anyway. I considered rescheduling but decided against it for multiple reasons. The first was easy, as I didn't have a phone to reschedule with. Also, I didn't exactly feel like being alone tonight. It was a bit creepy being in this old home all by myself, knowing that someone else had been in here with me while I was showering minutes before.
I trooped upstairs, anxious to discover the damage that'd been done. It was looking less and less like it had been a random burglary, based on the fact that none of my things were taken.
A simple thief would've at least grabbed something. Although, in his defense, it's not like I had a lot of stuff lying around to grab, anyway. When I reached my bedroom, nothing immediately looked astray. My purse, credit card, and the single pair of tiny diamond studs my grandmother had given me were all safe and sound, just where I'd left them. More and more, I felt confused. What did the culprit want?
If he'd been there to hurt me, then why had he run away?
If he'd been here to take something, had I scared him away, or did I simply not have what he was looking for?
Seeing nothing out of place in any of the rooms I checked, I returned to my bedroom and grabbed a sweatshirt and my stretchiest pair of jeans. One needed to be able to binge after a nerve-wracking event like this one.
Reaching for my sock drawer, the realization that something was off hit me. My fishnet stocking drawer was slightly ajar. I'd closed it this morning for sure. It bothered me when drawers were open a titch, so almost a hundred percent of the time, I kept my drawers shut firmly.
"So strange," I muttered. "Fishnets?"
I yanked the drawer the rest of the way open. It was impossible to tell whether or not anything was missing, since I had a plethora of stockings, none of them matched up in pairs. I wasn't a huge fan of wasting time rolling my socks together.
I poked around a bit more. Maybe they were looking for money, I thought. That gave me a chuckle. If they wanted money, all they needed to do was show up at my studio—that's where all my money had gone. Into the sparkly mirrors, the shiny floors, and the men's shirts dangling from the closet. Any money I hadn't spent there had gone to the measly stocked pantry full of dry pasta noodles and boxes of Froot Loops.
I stretched up, scanning the rest of my room and not seeing anything else terribly out of place. I was starting to feel a bit of the heebie-jeebies being in my home alone, especially with no phone, so I quickly threw on some comfy yoga pants instead of the jeans, and a droopy, white knit sweater. A quick glance in the mirror above my dresser, and I deduced I was ready to rock and roll, the off-the-shoulder sweater even making me feel a bit fancy.
I gave the fishnet-stockings drawer a once-over again, but if anything was missing. it was one measly stocking. There was nothing else to take.
The next thought struck me like a gong: What if it was the killer, coming by to take more of my stockings for another murder?
My heart rate sped up exponentially, and the creepy-crawly feeling intensified, the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck prickling. With no car and no phone, now was not the time to be a half mile away from my neighbors. I slung my purse over my shoulder and hustled out the front door. Though I locked it and double-checked it twice, it didn't make me feel much safer. Plus, the sun was sinking, and by now it was almost dinnertime.
I scurried down the road in the direction of my mother's house, glancing over my shoulder the entire while. I couldn't shake the feeling that a missing stocking was a bad sign, both for me and for the next victim.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Lasagna is served. Feet off the table, Alec." Donna's singsong voice drew everyone's attention, and six little pairs of legs rushed toward the heaping pile of meat, sauce, and noodles that smelled out of this world.
"Nathan's working tonight?" I ruffled Harmony's hair and gave her a gentle push in the direction of Donna's stampede of kids. It didn't take much convincing, and soon she was shrieking with the rest of them over who could blow their homemade straw wrappers the furthest.
"Yeah, he'll be back sometime around two a.m.—I think." Donna scooped huge slices onto everyone's plate, ending with her own. "Sit down, eat. You're withering away."
"The sugar and espresso diet," I muttered quietly enough so that the kids couldn't hear. "I should write a book about it."
Donna was already chewing her food, slapping a kid's wrist, and catching a water glass from tipping over. I'd never felt like more of an underachiever in my life. All I was doing was eating and talking, which I considered a pretty good feat as long as food wasn't falling from my mouth.
"Eat up," Donna said, tilting her head in my direction.
And she could carry on a conversation? This woman was a superhero.
I'd walked in with Harmony in hand minutes before, the break-in to my home fresh on my brain. I wanted to vent to Donna, get a little angry, maybe a little scared, and then have her calm my frazzled nerves. All thoughts had flown out of my head in the minutes since arrival. The chaos here was enough to make anyone's thoughts disappear.
A small part of me felt a bit sad that Donna now had kids of her own. I'd always been the one she soothed, the one whose hair she held as I puked, and the one who she told to stop studying and get to bed. Now, she had her own family to attend to, and I had…well, I had myself. Growing up was tough.
"What's on your mind, chickie?" Donna asked. Through the hustle and bustle that was her dining room, she still managed to sense when I was off.
My eyes smarted as I set
my fork down. Dang emotions! They were cropping up everywhere now that I was back. When I'd been in LA, I'd cried once during my ten years there, and only then…due to the ACL incident that'd put an end to my dancing career.
"Spill it." Donna leaned over and lightly whacked my hand with her spoon. "And I don't mean those tears. Spill the beans."
"Someone broke into my grandmother's house." I scooted my chair closer and spoke in low tones.
Donna's eyes widened. "First of all, it's your house. Get used to it, because I'm not letting you sneak away again. Second of all, what the what? Did you call the cops?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but Donna bulldozed right ahead. "What did they take? How do you know? Are you okay?"
One of Donna's kids—Alec, or one who looked just like Alec—stared up at me with wide eyes. Maybe he could tell I was upsetting his mother.
"Eat up, Drew," Donna said. "Dinner's gonna get cold, and Alec just stole your bun."
Squeals and a small scrabble broke out over the pilfered bun, and Donna turned back to me. "So? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. They must have hid when I walked in. Then I took a shower, and that's when they escaped. They ran through my front door, and from what I can tell, they didn't take anything of importance."
"Did they take anything at all?"
I shrugged.
"What does that mean?"
"It means…" I glanced at the table. Harmony looked up at me for a second but dived right back into her lasagna with a huge grin on her face. "I have a bad feeling that it was the same person that killed Anthony Jenkins. My stocking drawer was open, and I have a million pairs of fishnets in there not bundled up. It's impossible to tell if anything is missing, but the drawer was ajar, and I'm sure I shut it."
"You do always keep your drawers shut…drove me nuts in high school." Donna chewed thoughtfully. "But how do you know it wasn't random? Maybe it was just someone looking for some extra dough lying around, and they thought to check your sock drawer. Maybe they just didn't expect…sexy socks."
"I considered that. But, it doesn't feel random." I shook my head. "Maybe I'm being paranoid, but this whole Anthony thing hasn't been resolved yet, so I'm still not off the hook."
"And you can't afford to not be paranoid."
"Exactly. I feel like they were looking for something. What exactly, I don't know. But my gut tells me it's not random."
"That's a lie. You don't have a gut—you've been getting skinnier. Eat up."
"I didn't—"
"You didn't call the police," Donna finished. "I assumed, what with no phone and no car. It's no matter. Jax will be here in a few minutes. He's swinging by after his shift."
My eyes went big. "Did you tell him I'd be here?"
"No." Donna looked down at her plate. "He's over all the time. He lives next door and doesn't have a wife to cook, so he stops by often."
"You're lying. Donna, you knew it would be awkward between us."
"Why should it be awkward between you? Alec—eat it. If you butter that bun one more time, you yourself will turn into a stick of butter, and you won't be able to go to your swimming lessons tomorrow because you'll be too slimy."
Alec giggled, and Donna turned her gaze back to me. "Why, Misty? It's been ten years. I love you. I love my brother. Is it too much to ask that you can be in the same room at the same time?"
"No." I paused, hanging my head a bit. "It's just…"
"What did you do?"
"I had a run-in with him at Al's after the whole thing at Sweets earlier today. I was kind of a snot about him dating Sarah."
Donna raised one eyebrow, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. "Really."
"Shut it."
"You still have feelings for him."
"Do not."
"Do too. What did Sarah ever do to you?"
"She stole my tooth!"
"As an adult, Misty. What did Sarah do to you except go out with Jax? You were just talking about how much you liked her."
I let out a long exhale. I knew what the right answer was, but I wanted to pretend the answer was something entirely different. "Fine. I'll apologize."
"I didn't say that." Donna flicked her gaze sideways. "I don't care if you pour your pretty little broken heart out to him, so long as I can have dinner with my best friend and my brother in the same night. At the same time. At the same place."
"My heart is not broken—"
"Look who's here! Uncle Jax." Donna could've winked at me, or maybe she blinked or twitched or anything else unintentional, but I didn't buy it. She had ulterior motives, and I just had to figure out exactly what they were.
Donna stood, wiping her hands on her trendy jeans as she walked toward the front door amid the herd of children trying to break it down.
"She's very stylish," Harmony pointed out, still sitting at the dinner table next to me. She eyed my clothes judgmentally.
"Yeah, yeah…" I eyed Donna once more. I hadn't envied my friend, only wished the best for her. Our life goals, visions, and dreams had been so entirely different from one another's that there was virtually no competition between us. I wanted to be wild and free. She wanted to have a large family and stay in a small town. It was part of the reason we made such a good pair.
But now as I looked at her busy life, a part of me was jealous of how content she seemed. Of course I was happy for my friend, but part of me wanted to figure out how to discover what I wanted. What my life was missing. Donna filled the role of mother and wife and store owner so easily, it was as if she was made for the job. But me, I had a struggling dance studio and practically a warrant out for my arrest.
"It's okay." Harmony reached over and squeezed my hand. "I love you even if you decide to never wear jeans again."
I had a retort at the ready, but it slid from my lips as Donna flung the door open and Jax stepped into the warm, crazy household. He didn't notice me, occupied with the kids climbing up his legs and hanging from his taut arms.
I savored the moment of anonymous creeping before he realized I was watching him. He was a natural with the kids. Tickling one, fluffing another's hair…when Alec kicked him in the shin, Jax picked up the kid by both arms and looked him in the eye. "I'm bigger than you, buddy, so don't you go kicking me, or I might just have to sit on you."
A giggle slipped from my lips as Alec nodded very seriously, his eyes bugging out of his head. It was obvious Jax was the main attraction in this household.
I took another bite of pasta, trying to ignore the painful tugs on my heart. Had I really left all of this in search of something better?
Jax's eyes slid over to meet mine, and I gave a half smile while trying to chew, which didn't work out particularly well. On the contrary, I lost a noodle down the wrong pipe and ended up hacking half a lung into my water glass, or just about.
"Someone's excited to see me," Jax said. He gave Donna a stern look. "What are you doing here, Misty?"
I pounded myself on the chest, not a sexy way of greeting someone. When I inhaled enough air to breathe, I choked out my answer. "I"…cough…"I was invited"…dying…"invited for dinner."
"Strange. As was I." He turned toward Donna. "In fact, my sister insisted I be here tonight. She even made my favorite dish for the occasion…"
Both of us looked at Donna. Jax's arms were crossed, and I had a hand on my hip.
"Let's eat!" she said faux cheerfully. "Jax, you can have my seat next to Misty. I am all done eating, and in fact, I gotta go get the twins ready for bed. Alec, Drew—come on."
I didn't think steam was coming out of Jax's nose, but it might've been close. There was a ninety percent chance he was only upset that Donna had conned him into coming over. The other ten percent could've been that he was plain old mad at me.
"We'll eat. Right after I have a word with your brother." I smiled at Donna, slipped one hand on Jax's wrist, and pulled him into a tiny closet off to the side of the hallway. When I initially opened the door, I hoped it would be a s
tudy or a lounge or the den, but I was out of luck. It was her vacuum closet. Luckily, there was a single light bulb above us that had a thread dangling from it.
I reached up between our noses and gave a single yank. The light flicked on, and Jax and I were face to face, chest to chest, toe to toe in the cramped space.
"Seven minutes in heaven?" Jax crooked an eyebrow. "That's all I got."
"Good thing it won't take you that long," I shot back, knowing it was a lie. "I'm sorry." I kept my fists balled at my sides. I didn't know whether to touch him, look away, or meet his gaze. "I'm sorry I acted like an immature brat at the store today."
"Why?"
"Why am I sorry?" I paused. "Because I shouldn't be acting like a tween."
"Why do you care who I date?"
"Sarah was my archenemy from kindergarten." I brushed a strand of hair away from my lips, where it'd stuck. I couldn't get the hair to move, so I ignored it. "It wasn't about you. It was about her."
"Really." Jax reached up and moved the hair, taking his long, slow time. "Kindergarten grudges. That's something else."
"Do you hold grudges?" I asked, my eyes peering into his, trying to read his expression.
"Depends."
"Hmm."
"Not usually."
I smiled. "Can we be friends for Donna's sake?"
"I didn't say that I let my grudges against you go."
"Hrmph. I'm trying to be an adult here. You're not helping."
"Did you really come back to visit?"
I nodded, staring at my toes. I suddenly wished the light bulb would flick off of its own accord, shedding us in darkness. There was something about the cover of blackness that made difficult subject matters easier to talk about.
"Then I have no grudge against you." Jax tipped my chin upward and looked into my eyes. "But if I find out you have anything to do with this Jenkins business…"
I shook my head no, but I knew what I was about to say would contradict that entirely. "Speaking of…"