April Fools

by A. C. Mason

  “Yes and no.”

  “What?” I was confused.

  “Even if a law enforcement officer would have conducted the second search instead of you, there’s no way to prove how long the item has been laying there. On the other hand you could’ve planted the piece there.”

  “True,” I reluctantly agreed. “I feel certain it wasn’t dropped there the night of the murder, but I have no doubt it belongs to the woman who came to the house with Greg.”

  “You’re most likely correct in your assumption, but unfortunately, assuming isn’t proving.”

  “The part I don’t understand is what they were doing in the house.”

  “That’s the million dollar question,” Jim said. “They were up to no good, for sure.” He paused a moment. “Okay, no more talk about this murder case. Neither you nor I can do anything to solve it. You need to rest.”

  “I am feeling tired. But is it okay to go to sleep after suffering a concussion?

  Probably if someone wakes you up every so often to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Which the nurses do every couple of hours anyway. They just gave me something mild for the pain, so I don’t know how much sleep I’ll be able to get. ”

  He gave me a sympathetic look. “Lie back and get some sleep. Either me or a nurse will wake you after a while.”

  I closed my eyes and felt my body relax. The events of today had really drained me, more than I realized, but having Jim here next to me and the realization we actually discussed the case without coming to blows made me hopeful there would be a happy ending to this decade long saga. Maybe I could even give up my quest to prove Steven innocent.

  As I drifted off to sleep, a warning voice wormed its way into my head. Get real. There are no happy endings where murder is concerned. I knew in my heart another event was destined to place me right back into the thick of things exactly like all the other times.

  Eleven

  Morning arrived and a little ray of sunlight slipped through a gap in the curtains, heralding a nice day ahead—weather-wise, anyway.

  About 7:30, Doctor Edward Warner, my long-time primary care physician, breezed into the hospital room, his starched white coat flapping against his trouser legs. He peered at me with fatherly reprimand over the top of his rimless eyeglasses. “Seems like I always have to stitch you up. I hoped you’d outgrown that.” He referred to the times during my childhood when my clumsy actions led to injuries which required stitches. “Are you having any problems?”

  “None except for a dull headache,” I said. “All in all I feel pretty good considering what happened to me.”

  He nodded and after jotting several notes on his clipboard, he silently examined the stitches in my head wound. “I believe the pain is mainly from the wound. You took a pretty nasty hit. It’s a wonder you didn’t suffer a skull fracture.” He paused, peering over his eyeglasses again. “Actually, I’m considering making you stay over until tomorrow.”

  “Oh no!” I waved both hands in protest. “That’s not an option. I am not staying any longer.”

  “Young lady, I’ve known you for most of your life. You’re not going to take it easy when you’re released from the hospital. A head wound is nothing to play around with.”

  “It’s terrible being cooped up here.” I felt like a recalcitrant child and probably sounded like one too. “I’ll take it easy. Besides Jim will make sure I do.”

  Doctor Warner glanced down at my file without responding to my promise of good behavior. His silence dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. “The dull ache might last several more days, so I’ll write you a prescription for pain medication,” he said finally. “Now, if your headache gets worse, call me right away.”

  “You’re releasing me?” My anticipation rose.

  He chuckled, and rewarded me with the good news. “Yes you can go home, but take it easy, please. Try not to get into trouble again.”

  I smiled at him. “Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you, Doctor Ed, but hopefully I won’t be back here any time soon.”

  “Good. The nurse will be in shortly with your paperwork. Give my regards to your husband and your parents.” He turned and headed out the door.

  Jim had left for home earlier to shower and shave, and bring back clean clothes for me to wear when I was released. He should be back soon with my jeans and tee shirt. This flimsy hospital gown was not my idea of comfortable lounge wear.

  I grabbed the bathrobe he brought me last night, and swung my legs over the side. Not to complain, but Jim had forgotten to bring my slippers. Stepping down onto the cold tile floor in bare feet momentarily chilled me. My legs felt shaky, but I figured I could make it to the bathroom on my own. God, my muscles were stiff and sore, probably from all the tension and laying up for a dozen or so hours. I couldn’t change clothes now, but at least I could wash my face. I planned to take a shower or soak in the tub as soon as I arrived back home.

  When I returned from the bathroom, breakfast awaited me. Totally famished, I gulped down scrambled eggs and a couple of pieces of toast. People always complain about the terrible hospital cuisine, but the food tasted pretty good. I washed down the fare with orange juice.

  Jim walked into the room carrying a bag containing my clothes. He set it down on the chair and leaned over to kiss me. The sexy musk scent of his aftershave hovered between us.

  “Mmmm. You smell good. Are you trying to seduce me?”

  He moved his eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner and kissed me again on the lips. “The idea crossed my mind a time or two. Obviously you’re feeling much better.” He grinned.

  “I do feel better.” I hesitated before speaking again, unsure of how he’d react to my question. “But how are you? I know you were very angry with me when you left here.”

  “You were pretty mad yourself.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve calmed down since you left.”

  “Being mad at each other is counterproductive,” he said in a low husky voice. “We need to get through this together.”

  “Yes we do. And we will do this together.” I started to nod in confirmation but recalling the awful pain any sudden head movements caused, I caught myself.

  “You seem to be in a better frame of mind anyway, so you must be on the mend.”

  “I’m feeling great. Well, almost great. My head still hurts a little, but Doctor Ed told me I could go home.”

  “What’d he say about the headache?”

  “He thinks the pain is probably from the head wound and is giving me a prescription for pain medication.”

  “Good, we’ll drop the script off on the way home. I’ll go back later and pick up the pills,” Jim said.

  Waiting for the nurse to bring the discharge papers seemed like torture. You think maybe I was ready to get out of there? No one likes to be sick or hurt and confined in a hospital for even a stay of a day and a half, but having to be admitted because some horrible person almost fractured my skull simply to keep me from discovering the truth, made the ordeal worse.

  Finally, about eleven thirty, with all the paperwork completed, we left the hospital, dropped off the prescription via Walgreen’s drive-thru, and picked up some Chinese carry out, before heading home.

  All the way from the hospital to the house, a strange mix of emotions taunted me. I felt relieved to be heading home, but also the sense of an impending crisis lingered in the back of my mind. I guess I should have said another crisis because several already occurred. Paranoia must be setting in. What in the world could possibly happen next?

  Jim’s cell phone buzzed. A quick glance at the caller ID drew a frown from him. “It’s the alarm company.” He listened to the caller. “No way, we weren’t at home. Send a unit to the house. We’ll be there in about five minutes.”

  Jim turned to me with an odd expression on his face, a combination of confusion and anger. “The alarm went off. Looks like we had a break-in,” he said.

  “Oh my God.” Next time I won’t ask such
a stupid question. Anything that can possibly happen will happen. It’s called Murphy’s Law. My intuition told me there was more to Jim’s conversation with the alarm company than he told me. “What else did they tell you?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Without another word to me, he punched in a number on his cell.

  From his side of the conversation, I knew he was talking to either Falcon or Berthelot, the two detectives assigned to Anne’s murder case. He told them about our break-in and asked them to come to our house. Apparently our burglary had a strong connection to the murder. I wanted and needed to know what linked the two events. As soon as he ended the call, I expected an answer, but he didn’t comply right away.

  Irritated, I pressed him. “Come on, Jim. What’s going on?”

  “The alarm company told me a woman answered our phone and identified herself as you. When she couldn’t give them the password, they became suspicious and called my cell.”

  “I wonder if she’s the blond who was with Greg.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said, staring at the street ahead.

  We arrived at the house to find the front door slightly open and the alarm blaring. The couple who lived across the street stood in their doorway, watching as we pulled up in the driveway.

  Jim drew his pistol from the holster. “Stay here,” he ordered, stepping out of the car.

  “Shouldn’t you wait for back-up?”

  “I should, but I’m not.”

  I held my breath and watched him walk up the sidewalk. This scenario was the nightmare of every police officer’s wife. The intruder might still be in the house. What if he also had a weapon? Most likely the alarm would have scared the average burglar off by now, but you never know what might happen.

  Minutes ticked by slowly, causing my imagination to run wild. Please don’t let me hear any shots, I prayed. The alarm cut off and silence reigned at last. Anxiety plagued me for the next few minutes.

  Finally Jim emerged from the house and motioned for me to come to the front door.

  “Be careful where you walk and don’t touch anything,” he warned.

  Once inside I did a quick scan of the living room. Jagged pieces of a smashed figurine lay scattered on the carpet. Lisa’s painting of the Creole cottage had been slashed. A lump formed in my throat. The scene reminded me of her gallery after the break-in there. I remembered the broken cat sculpture, and my breath caught in my throat.

  “Did you see Katy anywhere? She must have been terrified.”

  “I didn’t see her. She’s probably hiding somewhere.”

  “Or else she escaped out the door.”

  Jim didn’t comment. He had other things considerably more important on his mind than finding the cat. I followed him into the den not knowing what to expect.

  Sofa and chair cushions were tossed around in the den, and in the downstairs bedroom we used as a home office, desk drawers stood open and papers lay strewn on the floor.

  Jim shook his head in disgust and muttered numerous obscenities, including a four letter word beginning with F. Except for spouting off a few hells or damns, he very rarely used the F-word in my presence, although I was positive he’d used it a lot amongst his cop buddies. They all did. This time I didn’t blame him at all. I could have rattled off a number of choice words myself.

  “I can’t believe the nerve of this scumbag,” he said. “And a woman does qualify as one.”

  “Do you think the burglar— this woman— was looking for the charm?”

  “It could be. Good thing I already turned it over to Falcon and Berthelot. The real question is…was she alone?”

  “How did she get in anyway?” I asked.

  “It looks like she picked the lock. I’ll say that for her. She’s a real talented burglar.”

  “She was bold to break into a police officer’s house. Surely she knew there’d be an alarm.”

  “Either bold or desperate.”

  “Or both,” I added, surveying the room again. “What a mess.”

  “Don’t touch anything yet,” Jim reminded me. “Patrol is on the way. Hey, there they are now.”

  A police unit pulled up in the driveway and two officers stepped out of the vehicle. Jim met them right outside the front door. I knew the cops didn’t need me in the way while they investigated the scene so I elected to remove myself and go hang around in the front yard—maybe sit in the car after I searched for the cat. The detectives would also be here soon to check the place out, and this might be the best time to speak to them about the incident that landed me in the hospital.

  Outside a tiny breeze barely moved the leaves on an azalea bush next to the house. With the temperature hovering in the upper-seventies under a clear sky, the warmth and brilliance of the sun helped dispel part of the dark feelings I harbored over the events of the last week. Coming home to find our home trashed almost canceled out the positive energy of the lovely day. I caught myself wondering what new incidents might occur. Don’t go there. Remember what happened this morning when you asked that question.

  I needed to search for Katy, but my body didn’t want to cooperate. Feeling a bit shaky, I wandered over to my little Chevy parked in the driveway and opened the rear door, intending to rest my weak legs inside. I spotted a tiny ginger-colored ball of fur down the street, running toward me as fast as her little legs could carry her, and mewing all the way.

  I scooped her into my arms and comforted her with a lot of petting. She licked my face. Yes, dogs aren’t the only pets who will give you a kiss. Returning to the car, I sat on the back seat with the door open and continued stroking Katy.

  The sound of a vehicle pulling up drew my attention out to the street. A dark blue Crown Victoria stopped at the curb, and Detectives Dave Falcon and Phil Berthelot exited the car. The two men strode across our small front yard in my direction.

  “Hello,” I greeted them.

  Berthelot, an older man with gray hair and Paul Newman blue eyes, awarded me a big smile. “Heard you’ve been having a little trouble here lately,” he said. His expression sobered. “How are you feeling?”

  “I was feeling pretty good considering what happened to me. Then we got the call from the alarm company on the way home from the hospital.”

  “And everything went downhill from there,” Falcon added.

  “Not something I needed to hear after being hit over the head and ending up with a concussion.”

  “No, I guess not.” Falcon’s dark hair ruffled slightly in the breeze. He brushed his hand over his head to put the errant locks back in place. He apparently needed to have every strand of hair in place in order to keep up his appearance. A snappy dresser, he wore grey trousers and what looked like a Kenneth Cole dress shirt. As a single guy, he could probably afford the designer clothing.

  “We need to talk about the incident at your brother’s house, if you’re feeling up to it later,” Berthelot said.

  I forgot and nodded. Oh-oo, my head. I masked the sudden pain with a smile. “That’ll be fine. We might as well get it over with today.”

  “Good. Is Jim inside?”

  “Yes, he’s with the responding officers.”

  The two detectives walked briskly toward the house, pausing at the doorway to check on the scene processing, and disappeared inside.

  Someone called my name from across the street. I turned to see my neighbors Chuck and Linda O’Neal strolling this way. Chuck wore his usual jeans, a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, and Nikes, giving off a totally relaxed and casual appearance. On the other hand, his wife’s clothing struck a more formal note. Her beige slacks, black three-quarter length sleeve blouse, and Italian leather flats made her look as though she’d just returned from a shopping trip to Milan; her shoulder length black hair was perfectly coifed as always. She and Chuck didn’t seem to go together, but supposedly, opposites attract. I wondered if they witnessed anything. They might have seen our burglar.

  “Hey, lady,” Chuck said in his laid-back voice. Then he di
d a double take. “What the devil happened to your head?”

  “Let’s just say I had an accident,” I replied. I guess they didn’t know about my hospital stay. “I’d rather not go into detail about it.”

  Linda grimaced. “It looks serious. Were you in the hospital?”

  “Yes, but I’m doing okay. I didn’t expect to have my house ransacked.”

  “What an awful thing to come home to.” Linda’s expression reflected her sympathetic tone.

  “No kidding.” I paused, wondering whether to ask the question. Go for it. All they can say is they didn’t see anything. “Did either of you see anything unusual before the alarm went off?”

  Chuck threw Linda an irritated look. She shrugged nonchalantly. “I saw a good-looking blond at your front door,” he said. “She kept ringing the doorbell, and of course y’all weren’t at home. I started to go over and tell her so, but Linda yelled at me for something and I got distracted. When I looked over again she was gone.”

  “Right afterwards the alarm went off,” Linda added. “He’s mad at me now. If I hadn’t distracted him, he could have saved the day. Anyway, I can’t imagine a woman committing a burglary.”

  Excitement pumped through me. Who was this blond? “Chuck, even if you didn’t intercept her, you have valuable information. You need to talk to the officers.”

  “Really?” He seemed surprised. “You think she’s the one who broke in?”

  “I’m sure of it. The alarm company rep said a woman answered the phone when they called about the alarm sounding. She told them she was me.”

  “Oh, man, that’s something else,” he said.

  “Come on,” I said with a wave of my hand. “It’s probably okay to go inside. They must be about finished checking out the place by now.”

  Still holding on to the cat, I led Chuck and Linda to the house. I peered inside and spotted Jim talking to Berthelot and Falcon, the trio deeply involved in their conversation.

  “Wait here,” I said, turning to my neighbors. “Let me check on the situation.”

  “Yeah,” Chuck replied. “Looks like a serious discussion going on over there. I don’t think we should interrupt that one.”