Trespass

by Marla Madison

  He knew her too well. “If I knew more about it, maybe I’d know they weren’t related.”

  “Don’t try to manipulate me. You know that never works.”

  She did. He couldn’t always read her, but he could always smell a con job. She had to drop it and wait for him to follow through in his own time.

  He got up to check the steaks. When he came back, he said, “I’ll make you a deal. You promise you’ll let me know if your case gets ugly, and I’ll find out what I can about the Jackson murder for you as long as anything I tell you isn’t for publication. It won’t be much, since I’m not on the case, but Tosa’s promised to keep us updated on their progress. I’ll touch base with them tomorrow.”

  TJ raised her glass. “Deal.” She watched him step out onto the porch and admired his tall body, which was that of a much younger man. Richard believed he owed it to the job to stay in shape.

  It was funny how things turned out. Unfortunately, like Norman Teschler’s home explosion, Jeff Denison’s death had been ruled “cause undetermined,” because the killer had made it look like a suicide. She and Jeff had been friends first and had just begun to explore a relationship as lovers when he was killed. Richard had never berated her for the pregnancy. Doctors had told TJ she would have a hard time getting pregnant, so she never bothered with birth control. It had felt like a minor miracle that she conceived JR in one evening of passion.

  After they ate, Richard reached for her hand when she started to clear the table. “Sit for a minute. I have something I want to talk to you about too.”

  It had been such a nice dinner. She hoped this wasn’t going to be bad news. He finished his wine. Whatever it was, he needed liquid support.

  “Remember when JR was born I asked you if you wanted to get married?”

  Her stomach sank. She wasn’t prepared for the marriage talk. “I remember, but do we have to talk about it now?” Feeling bad about dashing his topic, she said, “I’m sorry. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “You know how much I love you and JR,” he began. “I know how you feel about marriage, so I’m not asking you to reconsider. I’m just thinking it might be time I got rid of my apartment and moved in here. I would pay half of all the expenses. I know you have a perfectly good security system, but I’d feel better about your safety if I were here every night.”

  TJ had thought about it many times but always held back from suggesting it out of guilt that she didn’t want to marry him. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, she did, and even more so since JR was born. Her feelings seemed to be all over the place; one day she worried he was slipping away from her, the next she worried about marrying him.

  He stood and came over to her, lifting her out of the chair and taking her in his arms. “Think about it. There’s no time line on the offer.” They kissed, left the dishes until later, and headed for the bedroom.

  Chapter 25

  Jon and the bird expert, Harley Jaspersen, arrived at my door barely an hour after I talked to Jon on the phone. Jaspersen, only about five five, looked nearly ninety, and still stood straight. He had probably been in the armed services back in the day.

  His blue eyes lit up when he saw Clyde on my shoulder. “He’s a Congo gray. See, there are two kinds of African grays, the Timneh and the Congo, named after their home regions in Africa. The Timneh is a dark charcoal gray, with a rather maroon tail, and the Congo, like your Clyde here, are a lighter gray with a red tail. He’s not looking too bad right now.”

  “I know. I almost called you back because he perked up a lot since I talked to Jon.” I ushered Jon and Jaspersen into the kitchen where I had a fresh pot of coffee waiting.

  He took Clyde from my shoulder. Clyde seemed to like him and clung to his wrist while the man inspected him. “He looks good. Seems well fed, healthy.” He turned to me. “Tell me what happened today.”

  “I was gone for about four or five hours, but that’s fairly routine. I work from home mostly, but he’s used to being alone on the days I go into the city to work. But today when I came home he didn’t have anything to say. Usually he has a blessing or tells me to pray, something along those lines, because his previous owners were very religious.” I quickly explained Clyde had belonged to the former owners of my house and spent quite some time with the Krauses before I brought him here to live with me.

  “Today when I came home, he just sat on his perch, cowering against the side of the cage and his eyes weren’t all the way open. He’s never done that before. I don’t handle him, but after I called Jon, I reached in his cage. I was going to just stroke his feathers, but he hopped on my hand, then moved up to my shoulder and stayed there. I haven’t had the heart to put him back in his cage.”

  Jaspersen held Clyde in front of his face, his eyes studying every feather.

  “He came to me real easy. You’ve got a gray here that likes being up close. Not all of them do. You live here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anybody else have a key, come and go?”

  “I use a cleaning service, but they aren’t due for a week. Why?”

  He returned Clyde to his cage. The bird didn’t seem to mind and spouted, “Hail Mary, Hail Mary!”

  Jaspersen laughed. “Goofy bird. Well, not knowing him, I’ll venture a guess here. What you described sounds more like he got scairt’ of something. Or someone scairt’ him.”

  “I can’t imagine how that could have happened,” I said.

  Jon had been standing at the entryway to the screened porch. He came closer, frowning. “Did you have the locks changed when you moved in?”

  “No. I didn’t think it was necessary. I had Norman right across the street. He had a key of course, but no one else did.”

  “That you know of.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. It was possible the former owners had given a key to friends or neighbors. “I’ll have them changed.”

  “I would,” Jon said. “Changing locks is one of the points we make to new homeowners when they apply for insurance. Did you check the house when you got home?”

  When I got home my mind had still been preoccupied with Taylor. Then there was my concern for Clyde. “No, it never occurred to me.”

  “Want me to look around?” Jon offered.

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  Jaspersen stood to leave. “I think your bird is going to be fine. He seems to like a lot of attention. Talk to him a lot. He’ll like having his cage door open, and you might want to get him one or two perches so he can be in the room you’re in. He likes you, so he’ll be happier close by. Gotta warn you—they do like to chew. Get him some toys to tear up. The pet stores will have some for parrots.” He handed her a small card with his name and number. “Call me if you have any other questions.”

  I walked him to the door. When he turned down my offer to write him a check, I grabbed a fifty from my purse and stuffed it in his pocket before he could object. He shook his head at me and left.

  Jon was waiting for me in the kitchen. He had poured himself a cup of coffee and was sitting on a chair next to the cage, talking to Clyde.

  “I really like this bird. I didn’t know parrots had so much personality.”

  “I didn’t either, and I didn’t realize I’d become so attached. I’ll have to pay more attention to him.”

  Jon stood, looking tall next to the cage. About six three, he had a body that didn’t see a gym very often but was tall enough to compensate for the extra weight. His reddish brown hair, thinning at the top, highlighted a face not-quite handsome but pleasant. His wire-rimmed glasses and easy, blue-eyed smile reminded me of William Hurt, one of my favorite actors.

  “I checked all your doors and windows and I didn’t find any signs of a break-in. Take a look around and see if you find anything out of place.”

  “I haven’t noticed anything. Do you really think someone may
have been in here?”

  “Hard to tell. But Jaspersen seemed to know his birds.”

  I left him with Clyde and moved through my house looking for anything out of place and noticed the number posters. Earlier, I had quickly picked up the ones from the kitchen, dining room, and living room where my guests might see them. But Jon had already gone through the house and would have seen the ones in the other rooms. He hadn’t asked about them, and I wondered if I should explain. I decided it was better to say nothing and let him think me quirky rather than get into the long story of my sleep dysfunction.

  I didn’t notice anything out of place. Not until I got to my bedroom. I shuffled the posters and put them out every night, numbers showing, without looking at them. I was pretty sure the one in my bedroom this morning had been number four. The poster propped at the end of the room now was number three.

  When Jon asked me if everything looked all right I told him I was pretty sure it did since there was no way to be certain about the poster.

  “Better check your computer. If someone came in looking for something, that might be where they landed.”

  The last time I was in my home office I had stacked the boxes of Norman’s things on my desk. We moved them to the floor, and I opened the computer.

  Jon stood next to me. “What the last things you did online?”

  “I believe I just checked my e-mails.”

  “Open your history. See if the recent activity looks familiar. There are probably more sophisticated ways to find out if someone was using your computer, but that’s the easiest.”

  I opened my history and saw a list of sites I knew I hadn’t been in recently. I felt my nerve ends unravel.

  Jon sensed my reaction. “I take it those aren’t yours?”

  “No. I’m sure I didn’t look at any of them today.”

  “So you did have a visitor. I wonder what they did to freak out our boy Clyde.”

  My fear became rage that someone had invaded my privacy and frightened poor Clyde. I swallowed it and studied the history again.

  “Norman. They were looking at anything pertaining to Norman.”

  “Interesting. Seems like it would support your theory that the house explosion wasn’t an accident.”

  “I’ve always believed it wasn’t, but this makes my suspicions more credible.”

  “If you can afford it, I’d recommend you get a security system. Your first-floor windows are low to the ground, which would give an intruder easy access.”

  “But this has been such a safe neighborhood.”

  “Do you want me to tell you how many times I’ve heard those same words after someone calls me to report a robbery?”

  He was right. There were no longer any neighborhoods that were truly safe. “I’ll look into security companies tomorrow and see if I can get someone right away.”

  “I can give you the names of the best ones in this area. Get your locks changed first thing tomorrow, though. Do you have a friend or relative that could stay with you tonight?”

  I didn’t. There was Carter, who I was certain would be here in a heartbeat, but I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression by turning to him in a crisis. “No. I’ll be fine.”

  “Why don’t we give TJ a call? She needs to know about this anyway. I don’t think she’ll want you to stay here alone either. If you didn’t have Clyde I’d suggest you go to a hotel.”

  I hated to lie to him, but I didn’t need someone to stay with me. I had something better—the pistol Carter had given me. When we were married, he thought I should have protection when he had to be in Singapore. “Don’t bother TJ. I’ll call my ex-husband.”

  Chapter 26

  Later that night, I lay awake, hesitant to take a sleeping pill since I hadn’t enlisted anyone to stay with me. At the opposite end of the room, Clyde slept contentedly in a small cage I had run out and purchased to keep in my bedroom after Jon left. I had promised to call Carter and even made an attempt to follow through, but I hung up when his canned greeting kicked in.

  The book I picked up wasn’t holding my interest, and everywhere I looked, the shadows felt threatening. I should have considered Jon’s offer to stay. He seemed like a good person, but my history with men taught me to be cautious. I had no experience with men who were content to play the role of friend, and the last thing I needed was to get involved with anyone before I resolved my feelings for Taylor. Anyway, Jon Engel wasn’t the type of man who attracted me.

  When I was ready for bed, my .22 revolver lay next to me on the nightstand. Carter bought it for me the first year of our marriage when he left on a trip to Singapore. He had insisted I learn how to use it, and we had spent a few afternoons at a shooting range. I hadn’t followed through with many practice sessions since then, but having the gun next to my bed gave me a boost of security.

  I read until my eyes felt heavy. Turning off the light, I rolled onto my side, the side facing the nightstand. And the .22.

  I opened my eyes, and for a minute I feared I was having a paralysis episode. I quickly discovered I was able to move my hand and reached for the light next to my bed. I heard a noise from downstairs. Is that what awakened me? I held my breath, listening. It sounded like footsteps below my bedroom.

  Every scary B movie has a foolish blonde who rushes downstairs or to the cellar when she hears noises only to become the victim of a mad killer. It should have taught me not to rush down to investigate, but it was hard to resist the lure to do so. My heart pounded as I reached for the gun and slipped into a robe, trying to decide if it would be complete folly to determine the origin of the sound. I opened the bedroom door and heard soft footsteps on the first floor. I froze in place, terrified.

  Stupid, I told myself, to bother with the gun or what I might find downstairs when what I needed to do was get my phone out and call 9-1-1. I flicked on the hall light, hoping to warn the intruders off in case they thought no one was home. Then I quickly closed and locked the bedroom door, trying to remember where I had seen my cell phone last and reprimanding myself for my careless habits. Praying I hadn’t left it downstairs, I backtracked into the room and found it on top of my dresser next to my keys and purse. My pulse racing, I snatched it and dialed 9-1-1.

  The first policemen showed up five minutes after my call. One of them stayed with me in the kitchen while the other looked around the house. Whoever had been in my home was long gone, and if the police found any signs of them, they hadn’t confided in me. Detective Brian Haymaker arrived about thirty minutes later.

  I had brought Clyde back downstairs, and he watched the activity from his cage, once more uncharacteristically quiet.

  Haymaker, his blond hair tousled as if he just leapt out of bed, took a seat across from me at the table and asked if I had any coffee left.

  “Sure. Are you going to tell me if you found anything?”

  “Is that the price of coffee in this establishment?”

  I stood and poured him a cup.

  “Thanks. Now tell me what happened tonight. From the beginning.”

  “There isn’t a lot to tell. I woke up about one a.m. and thought I heard someone moving around down here. I grabbed my gun—it’s registered, and the other officers already inspected it—and started for the door. I stepped into the hallway and turned on the light above the stairs. Then I realized the smart thing to do would be to call 9-1-1. That’s what I did. I locked the bedroom door and made the call. The officers were here in about five minutes.”

  I hadn’t told the other officers about my earlier suspicions, that someone had come in and searched my house this afternoon, disturbing Clyde. I decided to tell Haymaker about it. When I finished, I said, “I wasn’t overly alarmed because, other than the parrot’s behavior, I couldn’t be certain anyone had really gotten in. Well, the computer was suspicious, but even that could have had a plausible explanation. I planne
d on having the locks changed this morning since I didn’t do it when I moved in.”

  Haymaker hadn’t taken any notes. His gaze swept over me, eyeing my body which was draped in a cream-colored silk robe. Many women find cops attractive, but I always thought a big dose of arrogance and pseudo-omnipotence came with a badge. I didn’t find his attention flattering.

  He finally looked me in the eye. “Tell me again exactly what you think you heard.”

  “Are you insinuating I imagined it?”

  “I’ll rephrase. Tell me what you heard.”

  Not for the first time, Detective Haymaker’s attitude put me off. It wasn’t like me to deliberately irritate a man, even if I didn’t care for him. I usually knew exactly how to handle them, but my nerves were on edge. Dealing with Norman’s things, confronting Taylor, discussing it with Lisa, and taking care of a disturbed parrot were taking their toll on my tolerance. I took a deep breath.

  “I heard footsteps downstairs; it sounded like more than one person.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I got the impression they were trying to be quiet. I never heard voices.”

  “Your guest room is underneath your bedroom, right?”

  He had been through the house and knew the answer to that question. At least he didn’t ask about the number signs. I played along. “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

  He hesitated as if trying to decide how much to share with me. “Over the last ten months there have been a series of illegal entries into Wauwatosa homes. They weren’t break-ins because the intruders found homes that weren’t properly locked before they went inside. Nothing was taken so they weren’t robberies either. Your house was locked and shows no sign of forced entry, but what you’ve described sounds like the others.”

  That explained why the police had called in Haymaker. A sliver of fear pierced my stomach. Jon Engel had been right—someone might have a key to my house. “That’s creepy. What’s the purpose of the break-ins if nothing was stolen?”