I gave him a chunk of beef to work on while I sent a message back to Jessica: I have to stay in and look after my father’s cat tonight. He’s a bit shaken up.
A few minutes later, she wrote back: The cat? You are so cute! I heard about everything. I’m very sorry for your loss. I remember your neighbor and how he tried to give out cowboy books instead of candy. He was a real hoot. I just found out he owned a share in my apartment building. It’s a small world in a small town like ours!
I wrote back: Murray Michaels was your landlord?
My message went through, but her status showed that she was away, so I didn’t expect an immediate answer.
The cat and I finished our roast beef sandwich before retiring for our sleepover.
The guest room was on the top floor, along with a powder room, another bedroom, and my father’s study, which had originally been two rooms. He’d knocked out the dividing wall between the two bedrooms at the front of the house not long after I’d vacated one of them. His contractor had been a friend from the fire department who liked putting his muscles to good use during off-duty hours.
I took Jeffrey into the study and showed him where I’d hung my posters when half the room had been my domain. He blinked appreciatively at the view of the neighborhood and the charming circular window in the attic of the house across the street.
We settled into the guest room as best we could while we waited for the electric baseboards to take away the chill. I closed the curtains, blocking out the view of the crime scene next door, which helped make the room cozier. I turned the TV on with the volume muted before I put in another call to my father. The call went to a message saying the mailbox was full.
I looked up the number for the hospital. The receptionist took my name and put me through to his floor.
A woman answered, “This is Dora. You’re calling to check on Finn?”
“Yes, I am, though I’m guessing he’s doing just fine if you’re on a first-name basis.”
She giggled. “He’s been telling us stories about his glory days.”
“How did the surgery go?”
“Great! He’ll be as right as rain in no time. The surgeon was able to do the minimally invasive procedure as planned, with the two smaller incisions, and it went very well because your father is an ideal candidate. You’ll have to make sure Finn does his exercises, but also that he doesn’t strain himself.”
“I’ll try,” I said, thinking of the strain he’d be under as a murder suspect. “May I speak to him?”
“He’s sleeping now, and we do prefer not to wake someone when they’re resting.”
“Hmm.” My eyes went to the flickering TV screen, showing an old movie with a killer nurse glancing around nervously as she jabbed a syringe into a patient’s arm. The older male patient fluttered his eyelashes before slumping his head to the side.
“He’s doing very well,” said the woman on the phone.
“Are you sure he’s asleep? I’d love to hear his voice.”
“I’ll let him know you called. He’ll be glad to hear of all the people who’ve been checking up on him. His friend Tony sounded very concerned.”
My throat tightened. “Tony called?”
She paused as something clattered, wheeling by, and then Dora said, “I’m sorry, but I should be going. I hope to meet you soon.”
“You probably won’t see me, since he’s got a ride home arranged.” I kept my eyes on the TV, watching as the killer nurse hid away her evidence. “Unless you think I should drive out there? I’ll probably do that. I’ll drop in very soon, unexpected.”
Dora didn’t answer. In the background, a woman complained about a vending machine and its hateful brown excuse for coffee.
“When are visiting hours?” I asked.
The woman hurriedly answered, “Don’t you worry about Finn.” She said a quick goodbye and ended the call.
Being told not to worry had the opposite effect. I looked up the hospital’s visiting hours and considered driving out the next morning.
I would need a good night’s sleep no matter what, so I settled back on the bed, grabbed the remote, and switched the channel to something less creepy. It took a while to find a show that wasn’t about people being murdered, but I found one about a guy helping real people and cats with lifestyle disagreements. The first featured cat preferred to lurk behind the toaster and hiss at people, whereas his owners wanted their kitty to not act like a kitchen gargoyle. By the time the episode ended, with everyone enjoying healthy play time together, I was sniffing back tears.
Jeffrey curled in next to me, twitching his ears when the cats on the screen meowed.
The channel was running a marathon of the show. After a few episodes, I stripped down to my T-shirt and slipped under the covers, which triggered play time. Jeffrey chased the lump of my toes under the covers as though they were monsters.
When I’d had enough of the emotional roller coaster of the cat program, I switched to a late night talk show. My eyelids were heavy. I drifted in and out of exhausted sleep.
Suddenly, Jeffrey let out a yowl that was five times as terrifying as anything we’d seen on the cat program.
“What is it?” I looked around the room. “Where are you?”
He howled again. I opened the swaying curtains to find him growling on the windowsill. I turned off the TV and the bedside lamp so I could see outside. I searched the snowy ground, expecting to see a nocturnal rodent going about its business in the bushes. There was nothing down there, but movement in the window next door caught my eye.
Something bright was flickering in Mr. Michaels’ house. Was it just the reflection of a nearby vehicle? I held still, becoming increasingly aware of the pounding of my heart. His curtains were partly open, and from where I was on the second floor, I had a good view of the incandescence of a flashlight skimming the floor and furnishings.
Someone had crossed the crime scene tape and broken into the house.
They were hunting around, searching for something.
Or destroying evidence.
Chapter 16
Jeffrey kept watch on the windowsill, fascinated by the flashing circle of light in the house next door while I stumbled around the bed in the dark in search of my clothes. I pulled on my jeans and retrieved the two business cards from my pocket. Tony had asked me to contact him directly instead of calling 9-1-1, so I did.
He answered groggily, “Now what?”
“Flashlight,” I said, waving my hand excitedly.
He replied, “Are you drunk?”
I took a deep breath and tried again. “There’s someone inside Murray Michaels’ house right now, and it’s not the crime scene techs. I saw them leave hours ago. Plus the techs don’t use flashlights.”
He swore. “How do you know? Did Finn rush back from Portland?”
“I’m at Dad’s house with Jeffrey.”
“Who’s Jeffrey?” he demanded.
“Are you going to send someone to catch this guy, or am I going to have to go over there and do it myself?”
He spoke to someone else, and the sirens came on. I’d feared he was home in bed, but he was in his vehicle, and on the way. Relieved, I slumped on the edge of the bed. Something in the house creaked. I jumped up, a wordless shriek in my throat.
“Still there?” he asked. “Try to relax.”
“I can’t relax. I’m going downstairs to check the house.”
“Fine, but don’t you dare go next door,” he said. “Stay right where you are and don’t move an inch. We’re on the way. It’s just going to take some time.”
“How long? If you’re too slow, you’ll miss him. He might even be gone already.” I could hear the other officer, a female, talking on the radio to dispatch, her voice hopeful about another car being near Warbler Street. Tony swore again.
“I’ll go stand on the porch with all the lights off,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”
Tony growled, “I don’t like the sound of that. Do you at
least have a gun?”
“A gun?” I nearly laughed. My father’s revolver was a mere five yards away, locked in the safe in his den. Even if I could open the safe with my trembling hands, I wasn’t trained. I was more likely to miss anything I shot at, inadvertently supplying the Crazed Snowman Strangler with another weapon to add to his arsenal. That was the last thing I wanted to do.
“Stay there,” he said forcefully. “We aren’t far.” After a pause, he added, “But if you could station yourself near a window with a good view, I can’t say that wouldn’t be helpful.”
“Done.” I ended the call and clambered down the stairs, navigating the familiar steps easily, even in the dark.
I went to the kitchen, which had the only window on the lower floor facing the Michaels residence. I watched, barely able to breathe, as a shadowy figure searched the kitchen next door, yanking open cabinets and drawers. The figure was dressed in black and wearing a dark hat. With only the refracted glow of the flashlight, I couldn’t tell if it was male or female, let alone age or identity. Whoever it was, they were definitely looking for something. Was this an estranged family member, looking for a revised will? Or the key for a safety deposit box? Or the combination to a safe?
Or was it just some opportunistic burglar, looting a house they knew to be empty?
I watched for what felt like an eternity. I checked my phone, finding that seven minutes had passed since I’d ended the call with Tony. Seven minutes. The town wasn’t that big, and there wouldn’t be any traffic at midnight, but he could easily be another ten minutes if he’d been at the station when I called.
Somebody had to get a look at whoever was in the house. The only parties nearby were me and the cat, and I doubted the cat’s testimony would hold up in court.
I walked purposefully to the back porch, my pulse rushing in my ears. I pulled on my boots, talking to myself in a whisper. “I’m going to be very careful. I’m only going to get close enough to the window to get a look inside. That’s all. Just looking. Very carefully.”
As I visualized my plan, I saw one problem. The motion-sensitive security lights along the side of my father’s house would light me up like a Christmas tree. It wouldn’t be a problem if I flicked off the switch, though, so I did.
On my way outside, the back door creaked extra-loud, just to scare me. I pulled it shut behind me and walked down the back steps. It was brighter in the yard than it had been inside the house, thanks to the diffused glow of the streetlamps, and I felt exposed. The cold night air made me more aware of the sweat gathering at the nape of my neck.
I kept close to the wall of the house and inched my way toward the space between the homes, wincing at the sounds my feet made. For additional security, my father had installed noisy gravel instead of lawn against the side of the house. Luckily, all those hours I’d spent playing outdoor Hide and Seek had given me the ability to walk over the snow-dusted gravel with minimal noise. The secret was to put your foot down slowly and flatly, not heel to toe.
Murray Michaels’ house seemed to hold its breath as I approached. There was no movement visible in the kitchen. The home seemed as empty as debris on the moon. My heart sunk over missing my chance.
A glimmer of light, like the first spark of a fire, came from an adjacent room. My heart jumped with hope. I approached the window, standing on my tiptoes. The person in black had moved on from the kitchen, and I couldn’t see more than a flickering glow from elsewhere in the home, but if the person came back through the room, I’d be in a prime viewing position.
A breeze played with the back of my hair, sending a chill down my spine as it rattled a few dry leaves clinging to nearby trees.
Something crunched; it was the sound of gravel underfoot. A hand clamped over my mouth while an arm snaked around my waist. I reacted without thinking, biting my assailant’s thumb.
“Stormy, it’s me, Tony,” he said in my ear.
I bit him harder. He let me go, and I whirled to face him. His face contorted with pain, shock, and anger. He shook his hand and ducked down, out of the line of sight of the window. I ducked down to join him.
He managed to sound like he was yelling, even at a whisper. “I thought you were going to stay inside your house.”
“I thought you were going to get here quickly and catch the bad guy.”
“Stay right here and I will.” He didn’t move, except to shake his bitten hand.
I whispered back, “What are you waiting for? Get out your gun and go shoot this guy.”
He shook his head. “You’re the worst.”
A nearby door creaked. I pushed Tony toward the back of the house, where it seemed the sound had come from.
“He’s getting away,” I said. “Go, go.”
We both ran along the side of the house, no longer concerned about gravel sounds.
At the back of the Michaels residence, a tall, dark-clad figured emerged from the back door.
“Stop where you are!” Tony yelled.
The dark-clad figure seemed to consider this for a second and then flew down the few back steps, crossed the snowy backyard, and leaped over the side fence as easily as an Olympic hurdles jumper.
Tony reached for his sidearm holster, undid a latch, but didn’t draw the gun. He ran after the suspect, his dark boots punching the fresh snow tracks, and jumped over the fence with a grunt and what sounded like a hard landing. He yelled again for the suspect to stop and identified himself as police.
I hastily tied the laces on my boots and joined in the chase.
Chapter 17
The suspect had long legs that covered ground quickly as he darted down the alley, but he lacked the upper body strength to scale the tall fence he attempted.
Tony was closing in on the dark figure and might have caught up sooner if he hadn’t wasted precious energy yelling at me to stay back.
“Pretend I’m not even here,” I said between puffs.
He muttered something about using the taser on me.
“Good idea,” I said. “Use the taser! Get him!”
The suspect, upon hearing my suggestion regarding the taser, found the upper body strength to get over the tall fence.
Tony tried to follow, but what he had on the perp in upper body strength, he lacked in height.
Meanwhile, I unlatched the rusty hook-and-eye hardware, pushed open the tall fence’s gate, and whistled to get Tony’s attention. Instead of thanking me, he told me again to go home as he rushed through the opening.
The suspect was halfway across the yard when he slipped on some ice.
The guy’s long arms were still windmilling when Tony took him down bodily, like a panther pulling down a stumbling gazelle.
Within seconds, the black-clad suspect was face-down in the snow, next to a colorful children’s playhouse.
I parked my hands at my waist and caught my breath as Tony put the cuffs on the suspect and recited his rights. I mouthed along with the words I knew by heart.
The suspect’s dark cap had slipped off, letting the home’s security lights bounce off his bald head. Tony got him to his feet. Leo Jenkins, the costume shop owner, spat snow out of his mouth and gave me a bewildered look.
“I didn’t do it,” Jenkins said. One lens of his square glasses was shattered. A dark spot of blood ran down his cheek like a teardrop.
Tony said, “Didn’t do it, huh? I feel like I’ve heard this before.”
Jenkins stammered, “I s-s-swear I didn’t do anything that any regular person wouldn’t have done.”
Tony said, “Regular people don’t break into houses in the middle of the night.”
Jenkins looked right at me. “Stormy. You’ve got to believe me. Help me.”
I held my hands up. “Tell it to your lawyer.” Despite his pleading, I tried to remain cool and dispassionate. Claiming innocence was exactly what any guilty person would do. But Jenkins did look awfully pathetic with his thin shoulders slumping under his broken glasses and cut face.
Tony
spoke to a woman on his radio. A moment later, a car pulled up and stopped in the alley. Officer Peggy Wiggles met us at the gate. She gave me a stiff nod before helping Tony load their suspect into the back of the police cruiser. The two spoke in tones too low for me to hear over the running engine of the car.
Tony slid into the driver’s seat while she walked toward me. “I’ll walk you back to your house,” she said.
“Do you need me to give you another statement?”
“Tell me on the way,” she said. “Take your time.”
We started walking back toward my father’s house. “I saw someone breaking in, called Tony, and he caught Leo Jenkins. Not much of a statement, but there you have it.”
“Is there more?” she asked.
There was plenty more, including me urging Officer Tony Milano to utilize the various weapons on his belt and disobeying his orders to stay back. Those details didn’t paint either of us in a flattering light.
“That’s the gist of it,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “Looks like we got our guy, so you can sleep easy tonight.”
“Thanks,” I said.” “And luckily my father didn’t have to get dragged into any of this. You guys totally dodged a bullet.”
She looked confused. “We dodged a bullet?”
“I guess you started after he retired, so you don’t know him, but trust me. Finnegan Day would not have been amused by being considered a suspect.”
“Most people wouldn’t find that amusing,” she agreed.
We approached the back of Mr. Michaels’ home. Another two cruisers were pulling up nearby, sirens off but lights flashing, casting blue and red streaks through snowy yards. Lights flicked on in nearby houses as neighbors assembled to talk from porch to porch.
I blew air on my hands and rubbed my bare arms. It wasn’t the coldest November night, and I hadn’t pulled on a jacket in my rush to catch the burglar. The sweat from my adrenaline rush was evaporating, chilling me.
We reached the back door of my father’s house.
“Would you like to come in?” I asked Officer Wiggles. “I could get you a glass of water, hot tea, or a cup of coffee. You must be tired, going into your third shift by now.”
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