“You really should talk to Kayla or my father about it, don’t you think?” Liza asked.
“Oh, I intend to,” Emma said. “But I’d like to hear what you thought of their relationship, especially after the breakup.”
Liza huffed out a breath and hung her head. It was the posture of a person who knew they were defeated.
“It’s okay,” Lindsey encouraged her. “It’s important to share everything you know.”
“I know nothing, really,” Liza said. “It’s just that the breakup was pretty bad, mostly because Kayla was on a date with my dad when he found out Theresa was newly single and pretty much ended things with Kayla right then and there so he could make his move.”
“I thought Larry and Theresa met at a garden party,” Lindsey said.
“They’ve known each other for years through me, but Theresa was dating someone,” Liza said. “Little did I know, my dad had a thing for her. The garden party was a picnic with a jazz trio out at the Levinskis’ house. I didn’t want Theresa to be alone since she was there without a date, so I asked my father to keep an eye on her. Well, Dad took one look at her and called an Uber for Kayla and sent her home. Kayla said it was like he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough.”
“Ouch,” Emma said.
“I told him he handled it badly, but he was so happy to have a shot with Theresa that he simply did not care,” Liza said.
“How did Kayla handle it?”
Liza looked pained. “Not well. I mean, she didn’t boil my pet bunny or anything, but she was very hurt and angry since everyone soon found out exactly what Dad had done.”
“Did she ever threaten your father or Theresa?”
Liza slung the bag onto her shoulder, looking like she was desperate to escape.
“Not that I know of, but you’d have to ask them. It was epically awkward,” Liza said. “When Theresa found out about Kayla, she was so upset with Dad. She tried to talk to Kayla, but Kayla refused to listen. Then my dad was mad at Kayla for being rude, and they had a tiff. Really, the whole thing was just so ridiculously messy and embarrassing and overly dramatic. I mean, these people are old, and they were acting like teenagers.”
Old? Lindsey was pretty sure that Theresa was only a few years older than she was. She glanced at Emma, who was also frowning.
“How did it get resolved?” Emma asked.
“Dad apologized, then he produced a huge rock, and Theresa forgave him, and, well, that has to sit pretty badly with Kayla, doesn’t it?”
Lindsey glanced at Emma. It was clear that Liza viewed the whole thing with the mortified eyes of an unseasoned adult. She was still close enough to her teen years to think of grown-ups as being too old for relationship drama, and if they did have any, well, it was just embarrassing. Lindsey was sure it was beyond Liza’s comprehension to imagine the hit-and-run might be part of the romantic fallout between her dad and Kayla.
A quick glance at Emma, however, and Lindsey realized that was exactly what she was thinking. Could Kayla Manning have reported her car stolen and then used it to try to run down Theresa Huston?
Lindsey didn’t know Kayla Manning very well. She wasn’t a library user, not that Lindsey held that against her, so while Lindsey had talked to her at happy hour at the Anchor several times, she’d never really gotten to know her as a friend or neighbor. That didn’t mean she hadn’t heard the locals talk about her, especially after a public breakup with her boyfriend Jason Portland a couple of years ago.
After a tiff over who was picking up the check for their dinner date, Kayla had announced to the entire restaurant Jason’s disappointing lack of stamina in the sack before she turned on one very narrow heel and stalked out of the restaurant, leaving Jason to pick up the shattered pieces of his manliness, which lay in shreds on the floor along with the check.
Lindsey’s impression of Kayla had been of an intense woman who was dedicated to maintaining her departing youth and fading good looks in any way she could. It was well known in town that Kayla was in her midforties but by all accounts was leaving claw marks on her late twenties.
She had a knockout figure, which she maintained by kayaking in the bay and competing in Ironman competitions. Her blond hair was plumped with extensions, her tan was the sort that came out of a can, and the figure she was so proud of was enhanced by surgical steel and saline combined with rigorous hours spent on the treadmill.
An executive for a bank in nearby New Haven, Kayla was aggressively looking for a partner with the same workaholic-playaholic tendencies she had. The trouble was that Kayla had very high standards, and she kicked any man who didn’t meet them to the curb, like Jason.
From what Liza had said, Larry had ditched Kayla before she ditched him. That had to chafe Kayla’s ego, not to mention the fact that Larry was very wealthy, which was number one on Kayla’s list of criteria. But would it bother her enough to run down her competition in her car? If it was her, did she report the car stolen before she hit Theresa or after? If it was before, it was clearly premeditated, but if it was after, she’d obviously been trying to distance herself from the accident. So many questions.
Lindsey glanced at Emma. She was putting away her phone and her face gave nothing away, but Lindsey would have bet all the library fines on record that her next move was going to be a visit with Kayla Manning.
Emma’s shoulder radio beeped. “Chief Plewicki, what’s your twenty?”
Lindsey recognized Officer Kirkland’s voice. He sounded highly stressed. She supposed she shouldn’t listen to police business, but Emma’s radio was so loud she didn’t really feel it was her fault.
Emma unhooked her radio and spoke into it. “I’m at the library. Over.”
“We have a ten-twenty-seven happening at 1220 Cedar Street,” Officer Kirkland said. The sound of a police siren came out of the radio, and Lindsey realized Kirkland was talking while driving.
“What’s a ten-twenty-seven?” Liza demanded.
“I’m on my way,” Emma said. “I’ll meet you there. Over.”
“What’s a ten-twenty-seven?” Liza asked again. This time her voice was higher, almost shrill.
“It’s a burglary,” Emma said. “Excuse me, I have to go.”
“Wait!” Liza cried. She dropped the tote bag and reached out as if to grab Emma. She thought better of it at the last second. “That’s Theresa’s address. Are you saying someone called in a burglary from her house?”
Emma blinked. Then her face became stern, and she said, “Do not go over there! I mean it. Let my team handle this. We’ll report in as soon as we can.”
She grabbed her radio and began issuing commands to her officers as she ran from the building.
Liza waited three seconds, and then she was right behind her. Her fallen tote bag was forgotten as she raced from the building. Beth looked at Lindsey in alarm. “We have to stop her. She could get shot and killed if she charges in there when the police are responding to a call.”
“You’re right,” Lindsey said. “I’ll see if I can stop her or at the very least stall her.”
Lindsey dashed out of the library. The sky was dark with thick gray clouds that appeared to be looking for the perfect location to squeeze out their heavy load of moisture. A brisk wind was whipping in from the bay, and it tossed Lindsey’s long blond curls across her face. She dragged them back, fastening her hair into a loose knot as she hurried around the side of the building to the parking lot.
She looked for Liza’s white sweatshirt, but she didn’t see it anywhere. A car lurched toward her. It was a Jeep, the sort used to go off-roading, with a snap-on cloth top and big wheels. Lindsey peered through the windshield and saw Liza. She raised her arms and waved her down. Thankfully, Liza stopped.
“You can’t go over there,” Lindsey said. “The police might mistake you for the burglar, and you could get shot.”
�
�How can I not go?” Liza said. “Theresa is the closest thing to a mother I’ve had since my mother died. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her and I wasn’t there to try and help.”
Lindsey understood. She really did. If she were in Liza’s position, she would feel the exact same way, and she was pretty sure she’d be halfway to wherever she felt she was needed by now. Unlike Liza, she probably wouldn’t have stopped if someone had flagged her down.
Lindsey reached for the door handle and opened the passenger door just as a fat raindrop plopped onto her head. The wind picked up, and the weather the sky had been promising suddenly arrived with a blast of cold air and a deluge of rain.
“All right,” Lindsey said. “I understand how you’re feeling, but I don’t think you should go alone.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Liza said. “I was actually hoping I could talk you into going with me. I’m nervous, but I want to be there for Theresa.”
Lindsey climbed up into the Jeep and fastened her seat belt. “All right then, let’s go.”
Liza hit the gas, and Lindsey instinctively reached for the handle built into the door. They wheeled around the corner, and Lindsey was sure they’d gotten up on two wheels. Her stomach lurched, but she didn’t cry out or even whimper, and she considered this a small miracle of self-control. She understood that Liza was probably freaking out. If Lindsey remained calm, maybe she could get Liza to be easy, too.
“Listen, we’re not going to be much good to Theresa if we get into an accident,” Lindsey said. “Do me a favor and take a deep breath and try to relax.”
“But—”
“Deep breath.”
Liza gave her an impatient side-eye, but she took in a deep, steadying breath and then let it out slowly.
“Do it again, but hold it a bit longer and let it out even slower,” Lindsey said. Liza did as she was told.
Lindsey took the moment to study her. Liza was cute in an upturned nose, long eyelashes, fresh face sort of way. She was twenty going on twelve, as in very young looking, and had a slight, petite build, which only enhanced her youthful appearance.
From the talks they’d had before, Lindsey had learned that even though she was a college student and well on her way to being independent, Liza still lived at home. Lindsey wasn’t sure whether it was by choice, as in she liked being at home, or whether it was more that her father wasn’t ready for her to leave yet.
Larry Milstein had a personality that was pugnacious but also friendly and exuberant. Lindsey didn’t know him well, but she got the feeling he was the sort who always started out by believing the best in everyone and then adjusted his expectations accordingly. Of course, that was likely why his ads were so over the top. His zest for life knew no bounds.
Liza huffed out another breath, and Lindsey asked, “Better?”
“A little,” she said. “I just can’t help thinking about Theresa stuck in her house in her cast while a stranger breaks in. She’s powerless. How is that not terrifying?”
“It is, but I bet the police are already there. Emma won’t let anything happen to her.”
This time a sob bubbled up from Liza’s chest. “I just don’t want her to be frightened. She’s been so good to me. I can’t stand the thought of anything bad happening to her.”
“Of course.” Lindsey reached across the console and squeezed Liza’s hand. “She’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
Liza gave her a small smile as if she believed Lindsey was right. Lindsey returned the smile, hoping she hadn’t just told the biggest whopper ever.
* * *
• • •
Theresa lived in a modest two-story house with a gray wooden-shingle exterior that looked weathered from years of oceanic mood swings. Flowerpots lined the small porch, and they were bursting with early-season petunias with bright pink, purple, and white blossoms. The trim was painted a pretty shade of country blue, and the yard was neat and tidy, with a bird bath and a couple of Adirondack chairs placed for an optimal view of the bay and the Thumb Islands.
Two police cars were parked in front of the house, and Lindsey felt her pulse kick up at the sight of them. There was no sign of Theresa or Chief Plewicki, but she recognized Officer Kirkland’s fiery red hair poking out from under the hood of his raincoat. He was standing by the front door with his radio in hand, clearly awaiting instructions.
Liza parked on the street in front of one of the cruisers, and they both turned to study the house through the rain, which was still falling in earnest.
“Do we go up to the house?” Liza asked.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lindsey said. “The police are here, and they won’t want any civilians getting in the way.”
“But how do we know what’s going on?” Liza asked. “I mean, what if Theresa needs me?”
“I know it’s hard,” Lindsey said. She sympathized, she really did, but she also knew that they could compromise the situation if they went charging in there.
“I’m calling my dad,” Liza said. She glanced at Lindsey as if expecting her to argue, but Lindsey didn’t.
“Good idea,” she said. “He’ll want to know what’s happening.”
Liza took her phone out of her purse and thumbed open the contact info for her father. She then held the phone up to her ear. Lindsey wasn’t trying to listen, but Larry Milstein had a booming voice, and it roared right out of his daughter’s phone, filling the small, humid car with its deep rumble.
“Liza, honey, what can I do for you?”
“Hi, Dad,” Liza said. She twisted her finger in the handle of her purse. “I have some news.”
“Perfect score on your chemistry exam?”
“No, Dad, it’s not school. It’s Theresa,” she said. Her voice had a tremble in it, and Lindsey could have sworn she heard Larry Milstein sit up straighter over the phone.
“Theresa? Is she all right? Are you with her?”
“I’m at her house, because when I was in the library, Chief Plewicki came in, and while we were talking she got a call on her radio that there was a burglary in progress at Theresa’s address,” Liza said. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.”
A glance at Liza’s face, and Lindsey could tell she was close to tears.
“A burglary? What the hell? Do not go near the house, baby,” Larry barked. “I’m on my way.”
“Okay,” Liza said.
The call ended, and Liza looked at Lindsey. “I’m going in.”
“What? No, you just said—”
“Of course I did.” Liza rubbed her fist across her eyes. “I didn’t want to worry him. He’s getting up there in years. He could have a heart attack or something.”
Lindsey was betting that Larry wasn’t even fifty yet. She tried not to take the ageism personally, but it was a challenge. Luckily, she didn’t have time. Liza was already jumping out of the Jeep and running for the door.
“Damn it.” Lindsey looked at the rain, turned up the collar on her shirt, and dashed after Liza.
Officer Kirkland was standing on the porch. He saw them and began to wave his arms, as if signaling that a bridge was out. Liza plowed ahead, not stopping until she was beside him under the porch roof. Lindsey hurriedly tucked herself in beside her.
“You aren’t supposed to be here!” Kirkland frowned. He’d been with the force for a couple of years, and Lindsey noted that his frown had become much more formidable.
“How could I not be here?” Liza argued. “Theresa is about to become my stepmother. I’ll be wrecked if anything happens to her.”
“It’s not safe—” Kirkland began to argue. His radio beeped, and Chief Plewicki’s voice crackled over his.
“Ten-fifty-two, Kirkland,” she ordered. “And then get up here.”
“Roger that,” Kirkland replied. He glared at Lindsey and Liza. “Don’t move.”
“Liza, don’t—”
The door slammed shut in her face, leaving Lindsey talking to the storm glass. With a sigh, she pulled it open, knowing that she was in for a tongue lashing from Emma—if she was lucky, that would be all, but it would likely leave the tips of her ears blistered.
Theresa Huston’s home was done in shades of cobalt blue and white. It was cheerful, with lots of leafy houseplants, books, and comfortable furniture that looked as if it were waving Lindsey in for a long sit with a book, a pot of tea, and her dog, Heathcliff, at her feet. From what Lindsey knew of Theresa, it was exactly what she’d have expected of the former tennis pro’s abode.
She passed through the front room, noting the doorway that led to a kitchen, a dining room, and a huge back deck that offered a superb view of the ocean, which with the current weather was choppy with white caps and the occasional spray that jetted up from the large rocks on the beach.
Lindsey heard the sound of footsteps upstairs walking over her head and figured everyone was up there. She glanced around the downstairs to see if anything had been disturbed, but it all looked to be in order. If this was a burglary, the perpetrator had neglected to grab anything off the wall full of tennis trophies, the laptop sitting on the coffee table, the large flat-screen TV, or the handful of valuable-looking knickknacks that filled the room.
She crossed to the staircase. She’d put her foot on the first step when she heard a resounding boom. Thunder? Had the rain turned into a thunderstorm? She leaned over the banister to glance out the window toward the ocean. No lightning. Instead, she saw a person dressed all in black jump up from their crouched position on the deck and begin to run. Lindsey hurried down the hallway. Was that the boom? Had the person jumped onto the deck from above?
She ran through the kitchen, hoping to get a look at them. The rain obscured her view, and the figure remained blurry in the storm. She reached out to open the back door to try to get a description, but a voice behind her made her freeze in her tracks.
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