Threes, Sixes & Thieves

by Cosgrove, Julie B;

  George winked at Betsy Ann. “See?”

  “I’ve got to dash. Remember, if you see a white van, call 9-1-1.” Roseanne pointed her finger at them before she sashayed out of the dining hall.

  Betsy Ann gazed into her beau’s eyes. “Are you sure we should do this? A creepiness is crawling up my spine.”

  He rubbed his hand over her arm. “Exactly why I’m coming with you, my dear.”

  She shifted her focus to her two friends. “People won’t talk, will they?”

  Ethel crossed her arms over her chest. “In this day and age?”

  Janie snickered. “They’ll probably talk when they discover you didn’t end up between the sheets.”

  “Let them. I have too much respect for this woman to tarnish her morals.” George rose from his chair and offered Betsy Ann his hand. “Shall we, my darling? It’s almost six.”

  Her voice quivered. “I guess so.”

  He leaned in to her ear. “All will be well. However, my sweet, I must warn you. Every round I win tonight means I get to steal a kiss.”

  She blushed the color of the fake roses in the centerpiece bud vase.

  Ethel stood. “’Night. Hope it’s an uneventful one.”

  George grinned wider. “Well, perhaps not too uneventful.”

  Janie stood. “Um, my cue to leave.”

  He turned to Betsy Ann. “It appears my overt affections toward you are rubbing your friends the wrong way.”

  She swished his comment away like a pesky mosquito buzzing her face. “They’re jealous.”

  “We are not.” Janie smirked as she and Ethel grabbed their trays. Under her breath Janie added, “Very much.”

  ~*~

  Janie sat up. The clock read ten forty-two. Evidently, she’d dozed off while watching the cop show. Now a late-night talk show host jabbered away. She yawned, clicked the remote, and frowned. Something woke her from her dream, and it had been a weird one. She dreamed she walked along the golf course licking a double ice cream cone. Chocolate almond topped by a scoop of sea salt caramel swirl. Mrs. Fluffy chased a butterfly. The air smelled fresh and the breeze felt cool. A white van stopped across Westwood Creek. Three men, dressed in black, exited. They crouched to the ground and leapt over the stream like super ninjas. One snatched the cone from her hand with a sinister sounding laugh. Another grabbed her cat. The third waved a knife at her throat.

  “Wonder why I dreamed that, Mrs. Fluffy?” She dislodged the feline from her lap, pulled the lever on her recliner, and padded to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. As she filled it from the tap, she gazed out her window.

  Janie gasped.

  The tumbler slipped from her hand and crashed into the sink, shattering upon impact. Her eyes followed a white van. It turned the corner into the shadows beyond the street lamp’s glow, headed in the direction of Sunrise Court.

  TEN

  Janie grabbed her cell phone and shoved her toes into her flip-flops. She dashed out the back door, without locking it, and ran down the alley. She punched in 9-1-1 as she scuffled along. The dispatch answered in three rings.

  “Yes. Hello. This is...Janie...Manson.” Her breathing became shallower as she picked up speed. She ducked into the next alleyway which led to the back of the condos on Sunrise Court. “White van...Sunset Acres...no lights on. Headed to Sunrise Court. Burglary in process. Hurry.”

  She clicked off and dialed Betsy Ann. It rang. Once. Twice. “Come on. Come on. Pick up, please.”

  A puzzled hello sounded over the speaker.

  Janie stopped, and tried to catch her breath. “Betsy Ann. The white van is headed your way. You and George leave, now. I’ve already called the police.”

  Her friend squealed and must have dropped the phone. Janie heard a clunk.

  “Betsy Ann? You there?”

  She didn’t respond.

  Janie sucked in a lungful of air and began power walking again. Suddenly a light flashed behind her.

  “Hold it right there, lady. What are you doing out in the middle of the...?”

  With hands raised high over her head, Janie pivoted as she held her breath. When she recognized who had called out to her, she let out a sigh. “Officer Edwards. Thank goodness you’re here.”

  He lowered his flashlight. “Mrs. Manson. You need to get inside, ma’am. Someone just reported...”

  She beckoned with her hand. “That was me. This way, hurry.”

  She began to run, the officer pacing his steps with hers. They rushed to Annie Schmidt’s kitchen door.

  “Are you certain this is the one?”

  “Positive.” She pointed to a carved wood sign which read Annie’s Abode. Backdoor friends welcome. “Besides it’s the only one with an enclosed area instead of a stoop. But why is it so dark inside?”

  Inside a loud crash vibrated. Then Betsy Ann raised the bedroom window. George popped out the screen. “They’re in the house. I detected at least two hushed voices. Living room is my guess.”

  Edwards reached out his arms. “You two. Out. Now.” He helped Betsy Ann maneuver through the sill from the pitch black bedroom. George followed behind her.

  “Now all three of you, go.” He turned his head to speak into the microphone attached to his shoulder. “2-11 in progress at 363 Sunrise Court. B&E with two or more persons suspected. Requesting backup pronto.” He withdrew his gun from his holster.

  Janie, Betsy Ann, and George backed into the alleyway and huddled inside the carport. Within a minute, a plain clothed officer appeared in the shadows, his weapon drawn. He flashed a badge hung onto his belt underneath his hooded jacket. Edwards motioned and the two sneaked around to the front of the condos.

  “Why don’t they just enter through the bedroom window?”

  George drew Betsy Ann to him. “They know what they’re doing.”

  Janie looked at them. “Um, none of my business, but what were you two doing? All the lights are out. Obviously, you weren’t playing board games in the dining room.”

  “Uh, well...” George coughed. “I admit it. I was in the master bedroom. We’d just started getting ready for bed. Er, I mean...I planned to camp out on the floor. Honest. No full-length couch or sleeper like you have, Janie. Mrs. Schmidt only has two loveseats opposite the fireplace. Hardly adequate for my five-foot-eight frame.”

  Even in the dim glow of the street lamps, Janie could see her friend’s cheeks reddened. Betsy Ann offered an explanation. “Annie uses part of the second bedroom for her gardening tools. Most of it is now part of her Florida room. So, no guest quarters either.”

  Janie chuckled. “Oh, of course. Makes sense.”

  Bang-bang. Two shots rang out in rapid succession.

  The bushes rustled.

  A man jolted past them like a jack rabbit being hunted by a red tail hawk. He dashed down the alley.

  George pointed. “Is it one of the burglars?”

  “He’s headed for the golf course.” Janie swiveled to follow him with her eyes.

  Sirens blared. The night filled with swirling red and blue lights. Three cruisers careened toward them and screeched to a halt. Policemen jumped out and dashed in all directions. Janie, George, and Betsy Ann stepped deeper into the shadows inside the carport.

  George yelled over the commotion. “What’s happening?”

  More sirens rounded the corner as lights in the condos began to flicker on. People emerged, some fully dressed, others wrapping their robes around their middles. Four officers hurried to control the growing crowd. “Everyone back inside your homes. Please. There’s a dangerous, armed criminal on the loose. Lock your doors.”

  Several gasps and squeals responded to the command. Even the men shuffled hurriedly back into their places of residence. Soon, the alleyway cleared of all civilians, except for three.

  Janie tapped one of the officers on the shoulder. She recognized him immediately. “Mike, what’s going on?”

  “Mrs. Manson? What are you doing here? This isn’t your block.”

 
She gave him a sheepish look. “I saw a white van and called it in then raced over here to tell Betsy Ann and George it was headed their way. They’re house sitting for a friend. There.” She motioned toward Annie’s stoop.

  Two more cruisers entered the alley and stopped abruptly. Officers poured out, their weapons ready.

  “Ma’am. You three need to get out of here.”

  Above the continued wail of more emergency vehicles arriving, George pointed to the left. “We saw someone run that way. A man.”

  “Got it.” He reported it into his microphone.

  Janie looked around. “Mike, tell me. Why so many responders?”

  He clutched her shoulders. “One suspect shot. Officer down.”

  She gasped. “Who? Phil Edwards?”

  “Aaron Jenkins.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand. “He has two small children.”

  “Also, one on the way. Yes’m.”

  “Tell me he isn’t...”

  “They’re resuscitating him now.” His voice softened. “I recall how your husband, well...Mrs. Manson, I’m sorry. This must bring back horrid memories.”

  Betsy Ann whimpered. George gathered her to his chest.

  Janie took a deep breath. “Well, it’s in the past. Let’s talk about now. My condo is one block over. You can use it as a command base, if you like.”

  “Thank you. I’ll pass on the word.” He whistled. “Jorge. Take these three back to Mrs. Manson’s place on Sunny Ridge.”

  The policeman jogged over to them. “This way please.”

  Betsy Ann raised her head. “Um, you mean we’re riding in a police car?”

  Janie folded her arms. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  George arched one eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Betsy Ann leaned in. “She and Ethel were arrested for breaking into a morgue a few weeks back. Blake nearly blew a gasket.”

  The two police officers exchanged smirks.

  “Never mind. Let’s go.” Janie bent and scooted into the backseat as the policeman guided her head.

  George helped Betsy Ann, and scooted next to her. Officer Gonzalez closed the car door and went around to his side. His radio squawked the news. “Suspect last seen running across the golf course near Westwood Creek. Tall, dressed all in black. Perhaps early twenties. Around six feet. Considered armed.”

  Janie sighed. “He’s headed for the woods.”

  The three listened in silence as responder after responder reported in. A manhunt had begun, utilizing the police from Alamoville and many of the surrounding towns.

  Janie thought to herself how much Jack would have loved to be here, barking orders. She wondered where Blake was. Had he broken protocol to join in the hunt? Dear Lord, please let him be all right.

  ELEVEN

  Blake whistled and clapped as Jamie whacked the ball right between the short stop and second base, breathing new life into the longsuffering fans on the benches during extra innings. “Run, son! Run!” He stood, spilling his popcorn.

  Melody bounced on her toes, clasping her hands as their youngest dashed toward first. In the outfield, the players on the other team scrambled to catch the ball and toss it back to the pitcher.

  Blake waved his arm. “Steal second. Go!”

  The coach motioned to go ahead. Jamie nodded and dashed for the middle base, sliding in milliseconds before the baseman caught the ball and tapped his leg.

  “Safe.”

  The parents high-fived. In the distance siren after siren blared down the highway. Blake shrugged. “Must be a bad wreck.”

  Mel crooked her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder as they sat back down. “Not your problem.”

  His kissed her temple. “Not tonight or for the next four weeks. I’m glad I didn’t miss this. Bottom of the third extra inning. Jamie’s hit could win this for the Armadillos.”

  “Your practicing with him in the backyard for three hours yesterday must have helped.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Sorry I didn’t have time before...”

  His wife brushed a strand of hair off his receding forehead. “You do now. Let’s enjoy this time away and let the police department do without you, if they can. No more shop talk. In three days, we’ll be hitting the beach.”

  “Agreed,” he whispered into her ear. His cell phone buzzed. He looked at the caller identification and sighed. “It’s your mother.”

  She punched the button on his phone and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “Let it go to voice mail. She only calls you about police business. If she needs anything else, she’ll call me.”

  He nodded and pushed his sleeve back to check the time on his watch. “Wow. She’s sure up past her normal bedtime though. It’s after eleven.”

  Melody yawned. “Guess we’ll be going to the later church service tomorrow. I need my beauty rest.”

  He snuggled his nose near her neck. “No, you don’t.”

  ~*~

  Janie tapped her foot. “He’s not answering.” Beep. “Blake. Where are you? All you-know-what has broken loose over here. Aaron is down. One of the robbers, too. I think they killed him. The other escaped into West Woods. Call me!”

  Betsy Ann and George sat at her kitchen table clenching each other’s hand. It had been almost a half hour since the police dropped them off at her condo. Her phone and Betsy Ann’s had lit up like holiday-decorated houses. Every time she tried to reach Blake, someone else called wanting to know what happened and if they were all right. Even Mrs. Jacobs phoned.

  Janie paced in front of her sink. “Where is he? Jamie’s baseball game should have ended hours ago.”

  George winked. “I bet he turned his phone off for a while.”

  She thrust her hand to her hip. “Why would he do that?”

  He tilted his head to one side. “Quiet time with the Missus, perhaps?”

  Janie’s face heated. “Oh, um, yes. Perhaps.” The idea of her daughter and son-in-law in an intimate situation made her uneasy. Get a grip. They have two kids, which doesn’t happen with a handshake. “Well, he’ll call back when he learns about this.” She plopped into a kitchen chair and rested her chin in her hands.

  “What’s wrong, Janie?”

  “Oh, Betsy Ann. I feel useless. I’m a cop’s wife. One of our own is down. I should be doing something.”

  “We could make coffee. How many thermoses and Styrofoam cups do you have?”

  “I have four thermoses, I think. And tons of cups. Got three bags of them at the wholesale warehouse on sale last week.” Her demeanor brightened. “Wonderful idea. Let’s bake some cookies, too.”

  George stood and raised his hands. “I leave the kitchen to you ladies. I’m going to go turn on the news and see if there are any updates.”

  Janie made a tsk, tsk sound. “Typical male.”

  Betsy Ann giggled.

  The two began puttering about, occasionally bumping into each other, not saying much but glad to be keeping busy.

  As the second batch of chocolate chip cookies emerged from the oven, Janie’s doorbell rang. Detective Hemphill stood on her front porch. “Mrs. Manson. I know it’s late, but Mike Martin said you offered your home as base?”

  She flung the door wide. A row of uniformed men and women stood behind him. “Come in. Come in. Set up in the dining room. Coffeepot is brewing.”

  The entourage filtered inside with laptops, walkie-talkies, and maps. She cleared away the centerpiece so the team could set up their command center. Two police officers brought in large shrink-wrapped trays containing bottles of water. They set them on the floor. A police woman, whom Janie didn’t recognize, opened a laptop and began clicking the keys. Hemphill spoke softly to her, pointing at the screen. She nodded and spoke into her Bluetooth. “Officers 129, 332, and 464, report to 124 Sunny Ridge Blvd.”

  Hemphill pointed to three of the policemen who had brought in supplies. “You replace them. Head for the southeast quadrant and report to Edwards.”

  George and Betsy Ann
stood off to the side in the living room arm in arm. Janie approached Hemphill. “We baked cookies and made coffee. Shall I pass them around?”

  His stern, worried face melted. “I knew I smelled something scrumptious. Thanks.”

  “What are you organizing?” She bent to view over the policewoman’s shoulder at the computer screen.

  “Manhunts are high emotion. We only allow each officer forty-five minutes in the field before they’re to be replaced. That way they can grab some water, use the facilities, and refresh. Um, I guess you just have one here?”

  “Toilet? Yes, afraid so.”

  “No bother.” The female officer smiled. “We have portables already in place on the edge of the golf course.”

  Janie motioned Betsy Ann into the kitchen. They plated the desserts and offered them to the police officers. Members of the squads from Red Oak, Grayson, and Georgetown were present, as well as ones in Alamoville uniforms.

  She offered a cookie to Detective Hemphill. “How many do you have in the field?”

  He took a bite and wiped the corner of his mouth with his finger. “Mmmm. These are still warm. Thanks.” He patted her shoulder. “To answer your question, about forty. More are arriving. We’re covering a three-mile radius, mostly into the woods. He headed in that direction, but we don’t think he’s gotten as far as the neighborhood down the way. Just in case, we’ve blocked off farm-to-market road 1275 so no one can come in or out. Guards are posted every hundred yards along the front fence lines of Sunset Acres. The Get’em and Go has two officers posted in their parking lot.”

  Betsy Ann became animated. “I can gather all of our friends to make sandwiches.”

  “No. Everyone needs to stay in their homes. It’s too dangerous out there. The Austin squad’s roach coach will be here in an hour with food.”

  The slang term for the mobile food van made Janie smile for a brief moment. With the severity of the situation buzzing around her, it faded again. “How is Aaron?”

  His lips turned down. “Critical. They’ve air-flighted him into Seton Medical Center in Austin.”