by Katie Ruggle
After peeking through the peephole in the front door, she unlocked it and swung it open. “This is becoming a habit.”
“What is?” John slipped past her, striding into the house as if he owned the place.
Making a face and pretending that she wasn’t glad to see him, she closed and relocked the door. “You showing up on our doorstep uninvited.”
“If you want me to leave, I can take this very valuable information and go.” His voice was muffled. As Molly entered the kitchen, she saw that he’d crouched down next to Warrant and was rubbing the delighted dog’s belly.
“No, it’s fine. I needed a break anyway.” Even though they were most likely going to be talking about Jane, John was still a good distraction from the mess her mom had made. “I take it you talked to your contact?”
“I did.” After a final pat, John straightened to his significant height. Having him here in her kitchen, taking up most of the space and a good portion of the oxygen—especially without her sisters there as a buffer—made Molly feel overheated. She couldn’t decide whether it was in a good way or a bad way. Shaking off her errant thoughts, she refocused on the important thing.
“What’d they say?” Her knees wobbled slightly from a mixture of exhaustion and anxiety, but she refused to sit down in the chair she’d abandoned when she’d answered the door. The only other seat in the room was too close to hers, and it was hard enough having this conversation without the prospect of John being pressed against her from knee to shoulder. She braced her palms on the table behind her and steeled herself for bad news.
“Barney’s technically right, but Zorah—my lawyer contact—said she doubted a judge would rule that Jane had violated her bail conditions if she hadn’t missed a court date yet.”
The tight knot of Molly’s stomach eased ever so slightly, and she had to lean back more heavily against the table. John must’ve caught the slight movement, since he took a step closer, his hands reaching toward her as if he was prepared to catch her before she fell. Luckily for her presence of mind, he stopped before he was close enough to touch.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
Ignoring the suggestion, she stiffened her spine so she could remove her hands from the table behind her and stand unsupported. Now was not the time for her to get literally weak in the knees. She could collapse later—much later—once they’d figured out the situation and their house was safe from Barney’s clutches. “I’m fine. So, we’re good until her arraignment, then?”
“Preliminary hearing.” The correction sounded oddly gentle, but she still winced at the reminder.
“Right. She gets a preliminary hearing, since she committed a felony.” She paused as she fought off an overwhelming surge of anger and anxiety. “Several felonies. So…we have thirty days, then?”
“Thirty to forty-five, yeah.” He was watching her closely from his spot just a few steps away. She didn’t like him treating her as if she might break. It made her want to collapse into his arms and bawl, which wouldn’t solve anything. She was the oldest of her sisters, and they were counting on her to lead them through this, just like she’d done during the many, many other messes Jane had thrown them into.
“Okay.” Taking a deep breath, she held it until her brain spun a little, and then released it in a long, silent exhalation. “This is good news. It gives us time.”
A heavy knock on the front door made her jerk back. For an irrational moment, she felt a gut-deep fear that Barney was there to toss them out of their home, but then logic reasserted itself. She’d just learned that they had at least a month to figure a way out of this. Whoever was at the door wasn’t there to evict them…yet.
She belatedly started moving through the living room, but John was there first, putting his significant bulk between her and the door. As she stared at his broad back, she blinked, more baffled than annoyed by his protective action.
“What are you doing?” she asked quietly as the knocking stopped.
“Let me see who it is first.” His voice was just a low rumble, and she wanted to laugh at their whispers. As far as she knew, there was no reason to hide from their latest visitor, but they were both muttering quietly at each other.
“No. It’s my house, dum-dum.” Slipping around him, she hurried to the door, knowing that it had taken her long enough that whoever it was might have already left.
“‘Dum-dum’?” he repeated, although he kept his words quiet. “Are you five?”
“Most people say I’m a solid ten, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.” When she went up onto her tiptoes to peer through the peephole, there was a scratchy, clicking sound. She froze, her gaze dropping to the doorknob, watching in shocked disbelief as the dead bolt thumped open. It felt surreal. Someone had picked the lock—was breaking in—right in front of them.
Her heart pounding, she took a step back and stared as the knob began to turn, twisting slowly as the door eased open. Behind her, John swore creatively under his breath. Then she was plucked off her feet and tucked behind his massive bulk again, so he was blocking her view of the opening door. Before she could protest or move to help protect him, John surged forward. A startled squawk from an unknown male voice jolted Molly out of her shock. She shifted to the side just in time to see a blond stranger get plucked off his feet and yanked into the house. Slamming the door closed again, John pinned the intruder against it.
“Who are you?” John demanded, the menace underlying the question making the stranger flinch back as much as possible, given that he was already mashed against the door, his backpack squashed between his back and the wood. When the man didn’t answer, John used his fistful of dress shirt to give him a solid shake.
“Stu…Stuart,” the stranger stammered. “Stuart Powers.” His last name cut off with a squeak as John jostled him again.
“What are you doing here?” Molly asked, figuring that since John had Stuart so conveniently in his grip, she should use the opportunity to question him. She was used to doing her own tackling, so this was a nice change. “Why did you break in?”
Stuart shot her a panicked glance from the corner of his eye. “I didn’t break in…” he started, cutting off when John gave him another shake. “I didn’t! The door was unlocked!”
Molly and John exchanged a look.
“Sure. It was unlocked after you picked it,” Molly said with heavy sarcasm. “Why did you break in? What were you planning on taking?”
“Nothing!” The yelp was full of indignation, but Stuart’s gaze flickered down for a fraction of a second, just long enough to tell Molly that the trespassing stranger was lying. “I go to school with Cara. I’m just dropping off some lecture notes she asked for.”
“You picked the lock in order to leave lecture notes?” The skepticism in John’s voice was thick, and Molly agreed with him. Stuart’s story was weak and full of holes. “Try again.”
“I did!” Stuart blinked rapidly, as if trying to think up a more plausible lie. “I mean, I didn’t pick the lock. I don’t even know how to do that. I was going to just leave the notes inside…”
Molly couldn’t keep her eyes from rolling. “Let’s skip over the fact that we saw you unlock the door and move on to the question of why you came all the way over here rather than just emailing or texting her your notes.”
“I…uh…” He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed with the effort. “I don’t actually know her number.”
Exchanging another glance with John, Molly sighed. “There’s a student directory. At the least, you could’ve found her email address. Not only that, but she would’ve given you her contact info if she’d actually asked you to bring her your notes.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket, and Stuart’s eyes bugged out in obvious panic.
“Wait! Who are you calling?”
“Cara, first of all.” She shot off a quick text. “If her answer is
what I think it’s going to be, then you’re going to have to think of a new and more convincing story for the cops, Stu.”
His face went even paler until his skin matched his light-blond eyebrows and lashes. A blue vein pulsed in his temple as they all waited in silence for Cara’s return text. Before Molly’s phone could beep, the knob twisted and shook as someone outside tried to open the door.
“Molly?” Charlie called. “Are you trying to be funny, or is the door stuck again?”
“Neither!” Molly raised her voice in order for her sister to be able to hear her. “Carmondy has a wannabe burglar shoved against it.”
There wasn’t even a startled pause before Charlie spoke again. “Could he move him for a sec? Just long enough for me and Fifi to get inside?”
John half carried and half dragged Stuart over and pressed him against the wall next to the door. “You’re clear!” John called, and the door immediately flew open.
“What’s up?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide with interest as she spotted Stuart. “Does this have anything to do with…?” She paused, obviously not wanting to say Mom. “The issue that we were talking about earlier?”
Molly wasn’t sure why she’d needed the nudge, but it was painfully obvious once Charlie had asked the question. “We’re not sure yet, but it’s likely. Blondie here picked the lock after we were delayed in answering the door.”
“Delayed by what?” Felicity asked, following Charlie inside and closing the door behind them.
“Does it matter?” Molly asked, not able to keep the testiness out of her voice. They had someone break into their home, and her sister was worried about why it took them a couple extra minutes to answer the door?
“Not really, but I’m interested in hearing the answer.” As she spoke, Felicity coolly eyed Stuart up and down.
“Me too.” Of course Charlie had to chime in.
“John and I were discussing something and took a few minutes to get to the door.”
“Discussing something?” Charlie sounded like she was about to laugh. “Is that a euphemism?”
Stuart’s gaze was darting from person to person. “If you all want to talk about this in private, I’ll just leave…” He trailed off as John’s fist tightened around his shirt, holding him more firmly in place.
Knowing that John had their intruder under control, Molly focused on her sisters. “No. It’s not a euphemism. We were literally talking, as in using our words to exchange ideas.”
Felicity looked from Molly to John and then back again. “Did you find out something new? Something about Mo—ah…something about the case we’re working on?”
Gesturing toward where Stuart dangled from John’s grip, Molly said, “Let’s take care of this first, and then I’ll fill you in.”
The door swung open again, forcing Felicity to jump out of the way before it smacked into her. This time, it was Cara who stood there. She took in the scene with outward calm, her eyebrows arching just slightly higher than normal as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her gaze jumping to John’s grip on Stuart and then back to Molly.
“Do you know him?” Molly asked, rather than answering her sister’s question.
Her forehead creasing in confusion, Cara frowned. “John? Of course I know him.”
“No, the other one.”
Cara studied Stuart carefully. When he opened his mouth, as if to prompt Cara’s memory, Molly made a zip-it gesture across her lips. Stuart stayed silent.
“Maybe?” Cara finally said, squinting at him with her head tilted to the right. “He looks vaguely familiar, but that could be because he’s pretty generic-looking. He looks like ninety percent of the guys at school.” When Stuart let out a testy grunt, Cara grimaced apologetically. “No offense.”
“You didn’t ask him for a copy of his notes?”
“Definitely not.”
It was enough confirmation for Molly, and she pulled out her phone again, this time calling Sergeant Blake.
Stuart’s eyes got round as she held the phone to her ear. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Calling the police.” When he began to sputter, she held up her hand in an I don’t want to hear it gesture. “If you don’t want the cops called on you, then don’t break into people’s houses.”
Blake’s phone went to voicemail, so Molly hung up. Ignoring the newly hopeful look on Stuart’s face, she called the number for dispatch. After she gave the basic details of what had happened, she ended the call. The minutes ticked by in silence. Her sisters gave her wide-eyed What is going on looks, but Molly could only mouth later and shrug slightly, not wanting to give Stuart any information that he didn’t have before. Everything was pointing toward his break-in being related to Jane, and she wondered if Stuart was the one who had stolen her car and the business’s bank card.
“Have you broken in here before today?” she asked abruptly, watching his expression carefully.
“No,” he blurted out, before pulling his chin back in a flinch. “I mean, I didn’t break in ever, including today.”
Ignoring his attempt to cover his tracks, she considered his immediate denial. Although she could be wrong, and he could be an excellent liar, she was inclined to believe his automatic answer.
“Let’s go outside and wait for the cops,” she said. Having their house searched had made her feel raw and exposed and not at all inclined toward inviting law-enforcement officers inside. From John’s comprehending glance and the way he immediately moved toward the door, dragging Stuart along with him, he understood exactly where she was coming from. Molly was struck again by the oddness of having John around, correctly interpreting her subtext and expressions, when just days ago she’d been doing her best to dodge him.
They trooped out onto the porch, the elderly boards groaning under their combined weight. Molly automatically added checking the porch floor to her endless to-do list before realizing that it might not even be her house in a few weeks. Quickly, she shook off the thought. They had a month—possibly more—to track down Jane and drag her to court. She couldn’t act as if losing their house was inevitable. She and her sisters were smart and resourceful enough to track down their mom. That was their business, for Pete’s sake.
A police squad car pulled up to the curb in front of her house, rescuing her from her thoughts. As two plainclothes officers got out of the vehicle, she had to bite back a groan. These were the same two who’d had the warrant to search her house—Bastien and… She couldn’t think of the younger one’s name. She was suddenly glad that they’d moved outside. Those two detectives had seen more than enough of the inside of her house. Why couldn’t it have been Garcia or even Lieutenant Botha who’d responded to the call? The two detectives were from Denver, in Langston because of the necklace, so why were they responding to a call that was only peripherally related to the theft?
The two cops’ expressions were guarded as they approached the porch. As Bastien took in the sight of John, all ripped muscles and ferocious expression, his hand drifted to rest on the butt of his Taser. Molly sensed, rather than saw, John stiffen, and she hurried to speak before something unnecessarily bad could happen.
“Hey, Detectives.” She tried to put some cheer into her voice, but she was fairly sure she failed. “Thanks for coming. This one”—she tipped her head toward Stuart and then switched to pointing, wanting to make sure it was clear that she was referring to him and not John—“just broke into our house.”
“A lot of these types of things keep happening to you,” the younger detective—Mill, she thought, finally remembering his name—said with the flat intonation that held a wealth of suspicion. “Your car’s stolen and now this. You might want to think about why that is.”
Molly rested her hands on her hips, counting in her head so she didn’t utter the tempting but unhelpful re
tort that immediately jumped to her lips. Instead she managed to ask politely, “Why are you here? Aren’t you with DPD?”
Mill gave her a sour twist of a smile. “We’re working out of Langston for the time being. When we heard this address, we offered to take the call. We’re helpful like that.”
Helpful. Right. Before she could come up with a tactful response, John shifted over, putting his body between her and Detective Mill as he thrust Stuart toward the cop.
“Here. I’ve been restraining him since he broke in, so he hasn’t had a chance to dump his lockpicking tools yet. You’ll want to search him before he does.” Even though John’s voice was polite, his words rang with a command that made Molly wince and brace for the detective’s reaction. In her experience, cops reacted badly to having people tell them how to do their jobs—at least, they did when she was the one making suggestions.
“I’ve got him,” Bastien said, escorting Stuart over to the squad car with a tight grip on his upper arm. Stuart immediately began speaking. Although Molly was too far away from the pair to make out what he was saying, she could see his arms waving dramatically, and she suspected that he’d come up with a new story in the time they’d been waiting for the cops to arrive.
Now that she had her irritation under control, Molly shifted over so that John was no longer blocking her view of Mill.
“So, what happened here…this time?” the detective asked. His slight emphasis on the last two words immediately topped off her annoyance levels again. She could feel John’s assessing gaze on her, but she ignored it. Whatever the reason for his newly protective manner, she couldn’t hide behind him while he dealt with all her problems.
“Stuart over there”—she jerked her chin toward him, noting that he was still gesticulating dramatically as he spoke to Bastien—“knocked on the front door about twenty minutes ago. When we didn’t immediately answer, he picked the dead bolt and walked inside. He said that he was in a class with Cara and dropping off some notes she’d asked for, but…” Molly gestured toward Cara in an unspoken invitation to finish her sentence.