Finding Sarah

by Terry Odell

  “Not really. And I’m six-six. Nowadays, that’s barely tall enough for pro ball.”

  “Why did you become a cop?”

  “It felt like the right job for me. Maybe it’s because my mom always used to say, ‘Why isn’t there a cop around when you need one?’ Then, when she was killed in a hit-and-run, it seemed like making another cop available was the thing to do. I found out I liked it and I’m good at my job.”

  “I’m sorry about your mom. Has she been gone long?”

  “Since I was six. I was lucky. My grandparents lived nearby, so I always had family around, even when Dad couldn’t be there for us. Until I went away to college, I spent more time at their place than at mine.” He turned away, fussed with arranging the tools into a straight line. “When my grandmother died, she left the house to me.” If Sarah heard his voice shift, she said nothing.

  “Brothers or sisters?”

  “One older sister. Married, three kids, lives in Akron, Ohio.”

  “I’m an only. I always wanted a sister.” Sarah gave the room a final inspection and retrieved her coat and purse from a closet. “That’s it. Thanks for helping.”

  “My pleasure. Can I give you a ride home?”

  When she seemed reluctant, he pressed, telling himself it was his responsibility as a cop to take care of a citizen. “I insist. It’s dark and getting cold.”

  His pulse jumped when she accepted.

  They walked across the parking lot to his F-150. Twice, he resisted the urge to put his hand at her back to guide her, finally shoving his fists into his pockets. What would have been perfectly acceptable in an ordinary social circumstance was forbidden him as a cop with a victim. He glanced her way, noticing that she kept more than a discreet distance between them.

  What was he thinking? He was a cop doing his job.

  Yeah, right. Which is why you divulged your entire life history to someone you’ve just met.

  Most of his colleagues didn’t know that much about his past.

  And why was he responding, anyway? Those blue eyes? The way she’d looked at him when he walked into her store, as if she knew he’d make everything right. Damn. He never got involved with his cases outside the scope of his job. By the time his mind drifted back to reality, they’d reached his truck.

  “This is it,” Randy said. Sarah gave Randy a quizzical look.

  “What?” Randy asked. “Don’t like my ride?”

  “Oh, no, it’s not that. I guess I was expecting … you know … a police car.”

  “No, those are for the patrol officers. Took some doing, but I can use my pickup instead of the standard unmarked cars. Got tired of driving with my knees on my chin.” He unlocked the door and helped her up, letting himself enjoy the feel of her touch as she gripped his hand. When he took his seat, he glanced over at her. The animation she’d displayed when she was working with her class had disappeared. She stared straight ahead.

  He let the cop take over. “I’d like to borrow your business files. I think I might get a better feel for this if I looked at the paperwork.”

  “I guess so, if you think it would help.” Her voice was flat.

  “It might. Ninety-five percent of what I look at usually turns out to be nothing. It’s finding which pieces make up the five percent of useful information that solves cases.”

  “You can come by the shop tomorrow and look at whatever you think’s important. Or should we go there now?”

  He saw the exhaustion overtaking her. “Tomorrow is soon enough.” Randy gave up on his rusty attempts at small talk for the rest of the drive. He slowed in front of her building, searching for a nearby parking place. Before he could drive around to the building’s parking area, Sarah broke the silence.

  “You can drop me off here.” She’d already unfastened her seat belt.

  “I’ll walk you up,” he said after stopping beside a fire hydrant. “I’ll park around back.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” She opened the door and jumped down. “Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow.”

  But before she closed the door, she gave him a smile that had more than his hopes up. She is a victim—you are a cop became his mantra as he drove home.

  Chapter Four

  Sarah picked up her mail and climbed the interior stairs of her building, thoughts of Randy churning through her mind. He wasn’t like the gruff, impersonal cops who had investigated David’s accident. His eyes—they said he cared. And the way he’d worked with her class—he’d seemed nervous at first, but once he got started, he fit right in. She thought of his huge, strong hands with their long, slender fingers helping Mr. Foster’s knobby ones. And the way he joked with Mrs. Evans until she stopped complaining about everything. Sarah had almost forgotten Randy was a cop while he was working with her.

  But he was a cop. Maybe he’d look into David’s accident report. Maybe he could find something that would make them reopen the case. She’d almost had the courage to ask him on the ride home. Almost. Maybe tomorrow.

  Sarah unlocked her door, tossed the mail on the coffee table, and powered on her computer. Tired as she was, she looked forward to entering the day’s sales for the first time in weeks. A pop-up on the monitor told her she hadn’t logged off properly the last time she’d used the computer.

  “And it’ll probably happen again, you nasty little machine. You’re lucky you weren’t replaced five years ago. Don’t you forget who owns you. I’m Sarah. David doesn’t do this anymore. You do what I say, understand?” She clicked the window shut and moved on to her data entry.

  Her totals looked reassuring until she opened her mail and saw the bills. Before David died, they’d never carried a balance on their credit cards, and now she’d been cut off on her Visa. It would take more than today’s profits to pay the monthly minimum, to say nothing about the interest that would be added. And the electric company said she couldn’t be late again.

  There was one payment she might be able to put off. She marched to the phone before she could change her mind.

  “Diana? It’s Sarah.” She heard the breathless way Diana answered, a man’s mumbling in the background. Well, what else was new? With her sister-in-law preoccupied, Sarah should be able to slide the robbery in before Diana’s little brain wrapped around it. Sarah smiled. “Am I interrupting? I’m afraid there’s some bad news.”

  * * * * *

  After making her deposit the next morning, Sarah walked the three blocks from the bank to her shop. Clouds rolled in, high and white. Yet, even as she tightened her coat, the buildings along the way seemed brighter, the birds in the trees sang more cheerfully, and the traffic seemed to be flowing smoothly, unpunctuated by honking. Amazing what one day of good sales could do. And Diana hadn’t seemed to mind delaying her check, which meant she was going to make it through the month. Sarah rounded the corner toward her shop, noticing the fresh pink and white blossoms emerging from the flowering plum trees that lined the street.

  When she arrived, Randy was leaning against the door of the shop, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, one ankle crossed over the other. That one lock of hair still hung over his brow. Aviator sunglasses over his hawk-like nose obscured his eyes. She took in the angular planes of his face. Handsome in a rugged kind of way, she decided. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem quite as tall as yesterday.

  She smiled. “You’re quite the early bird. I don’t open for another twenty minutes.”

  “I figured it’d be better to get here before you had to deal with customers.”

  “Thanks.” Sarah unlocked the door and led Randy to her office. After hanging up her coat, she surreptitiously adjusted her sweater and gave her hair a quick finger comb. She went through the filing cabinet, pulled the folders from the insurance company and extended them to Randy. He’d removed his sunglasses and yes, his eyes most definitely had hazel flecks. “These are the insurance files,” she said. “For the merchant files, we marked the problems in red, but they’re not separated. I’m afrai
d you’d have to go through each file.”

  “That’s what I do,” Randy said. He flexed his fingers. “Contrary to popular belief, most detective work is paperwork.”

  Sarah gave him an intense stare. “This is about more than Gertie and the robbery, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s say I’ve expanded my horizons.”

  “If someone wanted to put me out of business, why waste time with little mix-ups? There’s got to be a more effective way to do it.” She gestured to the cabinets. “My files are your files. I can’t imagine you’ll find much, but suit yourself. I told you, things happen.”

  Randy stepped to the file cabinets and withdrew a batch of folders. Sarah put a pot of coffee on to brew.

  “It’s decaf, but help yourself. There’s a restroom behind you. I’ve got to open up now.”

  Randy was already sitting at the desk, tapping his pen on its surface, engrossed in the files.

  Customers trickled in throughout the morning. As Sarah expected, the novelty of the robbery had worn off, but business was steady. More spring merchandise would arrive any day now, and she planned for her new displays, trying to ignore the man working in her office. The cop working in her office, she reminded herself. Last night had been police business, nothing more.

  Shortly before noon, Randy emerged, hands on his lower back, stretching and twisting. He’d taken off his jacket, and his turtleneck hugged his chest when he moved. Unsettled by her attraction, she moved her gaze higher and found his hazel-flecked eyes just as disconcerting.

  “I guess that office wasn’t designed for someone your size,” Sarah said. “Did you discover anything interesting?”

  “It’s too early to say. I’d like to borrow some of these files and do some more checking. I’ve made a list of the ones I’d like.”

  “You’ll let me know what you find out?”

  “Of course. You still have my card, right?”

  “I think so.” She checked her wallet. “Yes, right here.”

  “Give it to me a minute.” She handed it to him, almost dropping it as their fingers touched. He wrote something on the back. “That’s my personal cell phone number. You call me if anything happens.” He closed the short distance between them and set the card on the counter. “Day or night. Understand?”

  “Should I be worried?” Ask him. Ask him to look at David’s accident. But the words wouldn’t come. Not yet.

  “I don’t think so, but I prefer to be cautious. I’m a cop. I see too much of the bad side of things. Keep my card handy—consider it an ounce of prevention. I’ll check with you tomorrow.”

  She watched Randy walk away, his long stride easy and relaxed. Something told her with him on the case, her life would get back to normal. For a minute she debated forgetting about the accident. David was dead and she needed to move on. But she thought of the biddies who came in from time to time, buying the cheapest thing they could find, looking at her like she was a black widow spider. They had no idea how much it hurt. She fingered her wedding band. David, why? Was it me?

  * * * * *

  By evening, the clouds had blown away, and the crisp evening air revitalized her as Sarah walked from the bus stop to her apartment. When she reached the top of the interior stairs, she saw Maggie juggling her purse and two grocery bags while trying to fit her key into the lock.

  “Hi, Maggie. Let me help you,” Sarah said. She took one of the shopping bags.

  “Thanks, Sarah. I don’t know why I never put the bags down first. By the way, is your heater working now?”

  “Heater? There’s nothing wrong with my heater—at least I don’t think so. I haven’t had it on in a while. Why?”

  “I saw a repairman coming out of your place yesterday. He said you’d called him to fix the heater. I meant to tell you, but things have been hectic and it must have slipped my mind. I assumed Mrs. Pentecost let him in.”

  Someone in her apartment? Not fixing her heater, Sarah was sure of that. Wearing sweatshirts was cheaper than heating bills. Mrs. Pentecost would have said something. She heard nothing beyond a pounding in her ears. Maggie’s voice finally broke through.

  “Sarah? Are you all right? You’re three shades lighter.”

  “No, Maggie, I’m not all right. There was a robbery at the store and now you tell me a stranger was in my apartment yesterday. I’m having trouble believing it’s a coincidence.”

  “A robbery! Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, dear. How much was stolen? Come in and call Mrs. Pentecost about the heater man and then tell me what happened.”

  Maggie got the door open and gestured Sarah in. “Put the bag on the kitchen counter. Mrs. P is speed dial three. I’m going to change out of these exercise clothes.”

  Sarah punched in the number. When Mrs. Pentecost confirmed that she hadn’t called a repairman, Sarah’s mouth turned dry. She fished in her purse for Randy’s card, called and told him what had happened.

  Sarah tried to relax. She took comfort in the way Maggie swooshed into the kitchen, now dressed in a flowing orange and pink caftan, and started taking groceries out of the bags, pouring water into the teakettle, filling the cat’s food dish and setting a plate of cookies on the living room coffee table. Sarah shook her head at the woman’s energy. She knew Maggie was well into her sixties, but she could easily pass for someone in her mid-forties.

  Sarah sat on the couch and watched Maggie carry a wooden tray holding a blue calico teapot and two mismatched cups and saucers. Maggie set the tray next to the cookies, poured two cups of tea, and sat down in the easy chair. The chair’s blue satin stripes clashed delightfully with the caftan’s orange and pink swirls.

  “Now, tell me about the robbery,” Maggie said. “And what did Mrs. P say?”

  Sarah took a deep breath and relayed the information as succinctly as she could before sipping her tea. “Mmm. This is good. A new one?”

  “Jasmine Pearls. There’s a new tearoom on Baxter Street. FeliciTea. Don’t tell anyone, but the cookies are from there, too.” She winked at Sarah.

  “My lips are sealed. Randy said to wait here if possible.”

  “Oh, so it’s Randy, is it? Tell me more.” Maggie’s eyes twinkled even bluer.

  Sarah knew she was blushing. “He’s the detective who’s been trying to catch the old lady who robbed my store.”

  “And—?”

  “What, ‘and’?”

  “He wouldn’t be about six-foot-thirteen, now, would he? Brown eyes, brown hair hanging in his eyes? Nice ass.”

  “How did you …?” Of course. Maggie didn’t miss much when she was home. Sarah leaned forward. “Maggie, did you get a good look at the heater man?”

  “Pretty good, I’d say.”

  “That’s great. You can describe him to Randy.”

  The doorbell rang. Sarah jumped up. “I’ll get it.”

  Sarah smoothed her hair, forcing back the grin that insisted on breaking through when she saw Randy through the peephole. She motioned Randy into the living room and made the introductions.

  “Nice to meet you, Detective,” Maggie said. “May I offer you some tea and cookies?” She pointed to her chair. “Please, sit down.” Maggie was already up and on her way to the kitchen.

  Randy took a seat in the blue striped chair Maggie had vacated. Sarah watched Randy look around the apartment, an expression of incredulity on his face. Eclectic was an understatement. There was a blue lava lamp below a psychedelic Peter Max poster in the entryway, a beanbag chair that doubled as an ottoman for a Victorian easy chair, a chrome and glass coffee table and a Shaker dining table with a Van Gogh sunflower print above the sideboard.

  Randy called out toward the kitchen, “Ms. Cooper, Sarah tells me—”

  “Call me Maggie.” She returned to the living room with another cup and saucer, poured the tea and handed it to Randy. “Have a cookie, too.” A mass of black fur streaked in from the kitchen and pounced onto Randy’s lap.

  “Othello!” Maggie said. “Shame on you. You know better t
han to bother a visitor.” She reached over to pick up the offending feline.

  “I don’t mind. I have two cats myself.” He scratched Othello behind the ears. The cat kneaded his paws into Randy’s thighs and settled down, purring with contentment.

  Randy took a cookie and set it on his saucer, then resumed scratching the cat. “Sarah says you saw someone leaving her apartment yesterday. Can you tell me what time, what he looked like, anything?” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his small black notebook. Sarah smiled when he clicked his pen three times before he wrote something down. Othello looked up once he stopped getting the attention he expected, then retreated to the kitchen.

  Maggie’s expression became businesslike. All the frivolity left her voice. “It was three-thirty yesterday afternoon. I know because that’s the time I leave to read to the kids at the after-school program. I stopped to ask him what he was doing in your apartment, and he said he was fixing the heater.”

  “And you’re sure he was leaving?” Randy asked.

  Maggie thought a minute, searching the ceiling as if it would provide an answer. Sarah watched Randy’s gaze follow Maggie’s. She swallowed a giggle as Randy fought to maintain his composure when he noticed Maggie’s poster of the Chippendale dancers staring down at him. His eyes snapped back and met Maggie’s when she spoke again.

  “He was standing in the doorway, holding the door behind him, facing into the hall. He stepped out and told me he’d been fixing the heater, that he’d had an emergency call that morning. I didn’t want to be late for my reading, so I went on downstairs. Yes, he was leaving, because he followed me down.”

  “Did you see which way he went when he left the building?” Randy asked.

  “No.” Maggie reached for a cookie. “I can’t say that I noticed. I was hurrying, you see, and I assumed he’d be stopping at Mrs. Pentecost’s to say he was done, or give her a bill, or return the key.”

  Randy continued. “Can you tell me about the man? Height, age, physical characteristics?”