Finding Sarah

by Terry Odell

  She actually batted her eyelashes.

  Chapter Eight

  As he drove, Randy chewed the facts. Sarah had been robbed. Not by Chris. Not by Diana. Not by Owen Scofield, although after spending twenty minutes with the man, Randy sure as hell wished he could have dragged his royal pompousness down to the station for questioning. No, Sarah had been robbed by Gracious Gertie, either of her own accord or at someone’s coercion.

  Then, someone broke into Sarah’s apartment but didn’t take anything. He’d better find a lead to Gertie, or the chief would have his butt in a sling for wasting time on a non-case. Was Diana’s ski-instructor Brandt the guy he needed? What could a ski bum have to do with a Pine Hills gift shop? One step at a time, he reminded himself. Collect the data, then see how it fits.

  Randy stepped on the accelerator, but the late afternoon traffic wasn’t going to let him cover the distance back to Pine Hills fast enough to suit him. He tried to convince himself he needed Sarah to identify the silver he’d found at Pandora’s but gave up. She could do that tomorrow. He just wanted to see her.

  Something about Sarah was making this case personal and he dug for professional detachment. Shit. His mind had wandered again and he slammed on the brakes at the glow of red taillights ahead of him, narrowly avoiding rear-ending a Toyota. Five-thirty already. Had Sarah left? He hadn’t confirmed their appointment.

  He reached for his cell phone and punched in Sarah’s work number. Three rings. Four.

  “Pick up, Sarah. You’ve got to be there,” he said, as if speaking the words aloud would make it happen. When the machine answered, Randy waited out the recorded message, his hand squeezing the phone until the beep gave him his cue.

  “Sarah, it’s Randy. I guess I missed you.”

  A click, then Sarah’s voice. “I’m here.”

  His grip on the phone eased. “I’m glad I caught you.”

  “I’ve been doing busywork.”

  “I’m still about half an hour away. Do you want to wait there, or shall I come by your apartment later?”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. He’d probably scared her again. Professional distance, keep it impersonal. “If you want to wait until tomorrow, I understand,” he added.

  “No, tonight will work. But I’d like to take care of my data entry before I get too tired. Maybe we could meet a bit later? After dinner? Unless something comes up on your end and you need to postpone.”

  For someone with a transparent face, Sarah had an awfully opaque voice. Damn women anyway. “Tell you what. I’ll drop by your place around seven-thirty. If you prefer, we can go back to the station and talk there.”

  Sarah agreed and Randy held the phone for a while before disconnecting. Unless something comes up, she’d said. If she knew what came up every time he thought of her. He exhaled and watched the road stretch out in front of him.

  Randy picked up some takeout chicken, eating most of it in the truck. Once he got home, he showered, shaved and set food out for Starsky and Hutch. They gave him disapproving looks when he picked up his keys to go out again.

  “Sorry, guys. Duty calls. That’s what happens when you live with a cop, remember?” He gave them each one more quick scratch behind the ears and started for the door. In true feline fashion, they turned their attention back to their dinner.

  Randy pulled into a slot in the parking lot behind the Municipal Building and took the stairs at a run. The light was on in Preston Laughlin’s office and his door was open. Randy glanced in as he passed, and the chief looked up from behind his desk. “Detweiler. Glad I caught you. Come in for a minute.”

  “Sure, Chief. What’s up?” Randy glanced at his watch, then at his superior. A slight man, but deceptively powerful, as Randy had discovered to his embarrassment during a hand-to-hand workout at the gym several years before. He’d sported bruises for a week. Laughlin always dressed as if a television crew might need his statement—dark business suit, tie neatly knotted, its matching silk square peeking out from his breast pocket. Underneath the façade, however, was an experienced street cop.

  “Sit.” Laughlin took off his glasses and set them on his desk beside a picture of his wife and kids. “You’re on the Gracious Gertie case, right?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact I’ve got an appointment with the victim in less than an hour. I stopped by to update my reports and pull a couple files.”

  “Looks like you’ll be off the case soon. Woodford P.D.’s reported someone matching her description and MO in their area. Should give you time to get caught up.”

  Randy sat for a moment, sorting his thoughts before answering. He had court dates, a few interviews on other cases and the usual backlog of paperwork. Nothing urgent. “Look, Chief, I’d like to stick with this a little longer. I might have a lead on the man who called Anjolie Gaudet. I’ll be happy to cooperate with Woodford, of course.”

  “Something you haven’t told me?” Laughlin’s steel gray eyes bored right into Randy’s, as if he could cut out the middleman and get the answer directly. Randy thought sometimes he could.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Try me.”

  Although Laughlin had to answer to the bean counters at city hall, Randy knew him to be a fair man. If the chief thought some extra hours were justified, he’d permit it. Randy made sure he kept his gaze steady. “While I was investigating the robbery, I found what might be the possibility of business sabotage, and there were Consolidated connections. Consolidated is big business around here, and if they’re into something shady, we should know about it.”

  “Might be? Possibility?” Laughlin’s eyebrows stretched for his hairline. “What kind of sabotage?”

  “Ms. Tucker’s shop. She’s been having some financial trouble, and I think there’s more than run-of-the-mill snafus behind it.”

  “Has she filed any complaints? With Kovak on vacation, you’re pulling double duty. You got time for this? Or are you letting things get personal?”

  “No, sir. It’s a gut feeling. I’ll check on my own time if you don’t think it’s justified.”

  “How many open cases?”

  Randy did the mental math. “Six, but most of them are in the ‘wait for someone else’ phase.”

  Laughlin picked up his pen and twirled it in his fingers. “I remember David Tucker. A shame about the accident. He was in Rotary with me. Tell you what. You take half a day to coordinate with Woodford.” He pointed the pen at Randy, using it to punctuate his remarks. “You can continue your work on this Consolidated-Tucker investigation for a couple of days, but after your other work is done. That includes the paperwork, too. Things have been quiet, but if anything new comes up, you drop this in a heartbeat.”

  “No problem. Half a heartbeat.” Randy stood and started to leave Laughlin’s office.

  “Detweiler?”

  “Sir?”

  “You’re a loner, and that makes you a damn good cop. I’ve always trusted your gut. But I’m wondering if a different part of your anatomy’s leading you around on this one.”

  * * * * *

  Randy recited his cop-victim mantra all the way to Sarah’s apartment. Nonetheless, he had to wipe his hands on his jeans before he knocked on her door. “It’s Randy.” The sound of the deadbolt being released brought a smile to his lips.

  Sarah opened the door and motioned him inside. She wore an oversized blue sweater over faded jeans that hung on her slender body. Her feet were bare, revealing pale pink toenails and a silver toe ring. Sounds of Mozart drifted from the stereo system.

  “So, you said you have some information,” she said.

  “I might have found some of your things.”

  “That’s great!” Her smile brightened the room. “Which ones? Where? Did you catch Gertie? Tell me.” Her eyes sparkled.

  He dropped his files on the dining room table and took a seat. “Whoa. Slow down. I guess what we have is one of those ‘good news, bad news’ situations.”

  “What do you mean
?” She sat down across from him. “I thought you said you found some of my things.”

  “I said might have found some. I went to Pandora’s and saw a silver frame that looked like the picture you showed me, and some animal carvings, too.” He pulled the prints out of one of his folders, dropping them on the table in front of her.

  Sarah picked them up and studied each photograph. “It’s hard to say. I don’t have exclusivity with Dylan—he does the animal carvings—and Anjolie pulled her silver from my place right after the robbery.” She continued to go through the pictures.

  “You’ve got several pictures of frames here,” Sarah said. “Gertie only stole one from me. I thought you said Pandora’s didn’t want Anjolie’s work.”

  “I talked with the manager. They accepted it, but gave her the same deal you did. I guess she was too embarrassed to bring her things back to you when she found out they hadn’t made that great offer.”

  “Her stuff was stolen from my shop. I can understand why she wouldn’t come back.”

  Sarah tapped the stack of photos on the table while she talked. “Each of Anjolie’s pieces is slightly different. Did you compare the one you took from my files to these?”

  “I tried, but I can’t tell if it’s the same frame, or another one like it. I thought you might know what to look for.” He pulled the picture of the stolen frame from Sarah’s files.

  She scrutinized the pictures, comparing the stolen frame to several in the stack. “I can’t be positive. I had strictly ‘one-of-a-kinds’. There are a few here that have a roses and leaves pattern. It’s obvious that Anjolie brought a lot more work to Pandora’s than we displayed.”

  That “we” brought Randy down in a hurry. David was still in the room with them. He fumbled with the files. “Can you identify the stolen frame?”

  “Sorry. Not positively. Not from a picture.”

  “I don’t think it’s too important at this point. I don’t think Anjolie was involved in the robbery.” He didn’t mention that he thought Anjolie had been duped in order to hand Sarah yet another setback in her shop operations.

  Sarah leaned across the table and extended the photos to Randy. David or no David, the scent of peaches in her hair and the featherlight touch of her fingers sent an electric shock down to his toes. He squirmed in his chair, trying to ignore the ache in his loins. “Now for a summary of where things stand.”

  “Please.” Her eyes looked right through him.

  He cleared his throat before continuing. “Gertie has shown up in Woodford, so I’ll be turning that part of the investigation over to them. I did find that Consolidated owns more than half of Pandora’s and has had dealings with most of the companies that you’ve had problems with.”

  “So you think Consolidated is trying to put me out of business? That doesn’t make any sense. I’m a tiny operation. And if they wanted my place, why didn’t someone simply come right out and make me an offer? No, I don’t buy that.”

  “Not Consolidated. But someone who’s connected might be behind it.” He rearranged the photos. “I talked to Diana today. Her husband’s on Consolidated’s Board of Directors.”

  “You think moneybags wants my shop?”

  “No, but I think maybe Diana might have met Consolidated people—maybe at functions with her husband. Maybe there’s some connection. I don’t know. And she gave me a possible lead on Brandt.” He bowed his head, massaged his temples. When he looked at Sarah, she was grinning.

  “Headache? Diana can do that to you. Want some aspirin?”

  “No, it’s nothing.”

  She stared at him and her mouth gaped. “She hit on you, didn’t she?”

  Had Sarah read him that easily? “I think she was doing what came naturally.”

  “Most of what Diana has didn’t come naturally,” Sarah mumbled. “I don’t blame you for reacting.”

  “Believe it or not, I was doing my job and wasn’t … reacting. Not the way you put it.” Diana might be built like an adolescent’s wet dream, but it was Sarah who had his blood surging south.

  “Diana knows how to get what she wants. And now she wants the shop.” Sarah pushed back from the table and wandered into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter, then walked back to the living room, picking up and setting down the pictures on her shelf.

  Randy got up and stood behind her, jamming his hands into his pockets. He ached to hold her again, to offer comfort, to inhale her scent. But he couldn’t help but notice that she lingered over a photo of herself with another man. Sarah’s hair had been longer, pulled back in a casual ponytail, her face fuller. The man’s hair, thick and curly, hung about his face in windblown disarray. Against a backdrop of pine trees, the two held hands and even from where Randy stood, there was no mistaking the love in their eyes. They stared at each other like nothing else in the universe existed.

  David. Randy kept his voice steady. “What’s wrong?”

  She swiveled away and sat on the couch, head down, twisting tendrils of her hair. Randy lowered himself into one of the armchairs.

  Sarah spoke softly, obviously trying to keep her voice from breaking. “She’s trying to force me to buy out her twenty percent. I can’t come up with that kind of money without selling the shop. Unless—”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless—” The phone’s ring cut through the soft background music. Sarah waited out three rings before picking up the handset. “Hello?”

  Randy saw her expression change from pain to resignation. “Look, I can’t talk now. See you tomorrow.” She clicked off the phone and set it down. “Sorry.”

  The room felt very crowded. “Chris?”

  She nodded. “I hope you don’t mind. There are some things I need to do.”

  “Of course.” He got up to leave. “I still want you to be careful.”

  “I will.” She stood, headed toward the door. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is this … normal? These personal visits?” She turned away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re doing your job. I’m tired.”

  “No, you asked a legitimate question.” He took a step backward while he searched for the words. “I like to think that I devote this much time and energy to every case. But I don’t think that would be the truth.”

  She closed the distance between them, stood on her tiptoes and reached up to put her hands on his cheeks. “Bend down a little,” she whispered.

  “Sarah, I shouldn’t … I can’t.” His voice cracked. He needed to get out of here fast.

  “I know. But I can.”

  Against every professional instinct, every bit of common sense, he bent down. Her lips touched his, their soft warmth sending that shock coursing through his body again, a hundredfold more electrifying than before. Then, before either had a chance to respond further, she pulled back. “Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”

  What she had given him scarcely crossed the boundary of chaste, yet it was as erotic as any kiss he could remember. He wanted to pick her up and smother her with kisses—deep and soul-baring. Instead, he grabbed the files and backed out the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Sarah locked the door behind Randy, sighed and leaned against the cool wood, waiting for the pounding in her head to stop. What had she done? How long ago had she vowed to keep this impersonal? A day? Two? Good grief, she’d hung up after talking to Chris, then turned around and kissed Randy.

  The memories lingered, the citrus scent of his aftershave, the softness of his freshly shaven cheeks, the warmth of his lips. That all-over tingling she hadn’t felt in so long. Her panties were damp. A dull ache in her belly lingered.

  It wasn’t until she was in the bathroom that she realized Randy hadn’t been the sole cause of those feelings. She had been so caught up in the week’s activities she hadn’t bothered to look at a calendar. Of course, she’d get her period now. No wonder she’d been such a wreck.

  When she pulled off her sweater,
the chain with David’s wedding band caught in the bulky knit. Still warm from its contact with her flesh, the touch of the smooth gold brought another set of memories flooding back. How could she betray David? She grasped the ring in her fist, squeezing until the pain of metal against flesh brought tears to her eyes.

  Hugging herself, she stumbled into the bedroom and eased herself onto the edge of the bed. She stared at the phone on the nightstand for a long moment. Three times she picked up the receiver only to set it down again. Finally, she pushed a speed dial button.

  “Hello,” came the familiar voice from the other end.

  Sarah tried to speak, but her voice couldn’t squeeze through her constricted throat.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  “It’s Sarah,” she managed to whisper. “I think I need some company.”

  “Oh, you sweet thing. Of course. Can you make it over here? I’ll put on some tea and you can stay as long as you need to.”

  Sarah sniffed back the tears. “Yes. I’ll be right over.” She pulled on her old flannel nightgown and heavy plaid winter robe, shoved her feet into heavy socks and slippers and shuffled across the hall. Maggie was at the door, waiting for her. Othello looked up from his basket, gave a quiet mew in greeting and tucked himself back into a ball of fur.

  “You poor dear.” Maggie clucked. “Come in. The tea will be ready in a jiff. Go sit on the couch.”

  “Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry to bother you. I couldn’t be alone. I’m so confused. And miserable.”

  Maggie was at her side with a box of tissues. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  Sarah looked up. Maggie’s hair was wrapped in a towel and she, too wore a warm robe.

  Maggie pulled off the towel. “What do you think?”

  Sarah sat there, too stunned to speak. Maggie’s hair was Lucille Ball red. “I … I think … it’s—”

  “A bit over the top, eh?”

  “Maybe a little.” The teakettle whistled.

  “I’ll give it a week, then I’ll decide,” Maggie said. “Everyone needs change, you know.” She wrapped the towel back into a turban and went to the kitchen to get the tea.