CHAPTER TEN

 

 

I arrived at her apartment as soon as I could. Streetlights winked on above Jane as she paced on the sidewalk. Her golden curls blended with her furry hood creating an enormous fluffy border around her face. Her red nose blinked at the center.

I exited the car and gently closed the door of Dad’s beloved wheels. “You could have gone inside,”

“I thought I’d wait for my best friend.” The keys twirled around the fingers of her gloved hand. “By the way, did you ever find out who those bikers were?”

“No. Thank heavens. I haven’t seen any more renegade cyclists.” While walking, Maverick and I had been accosted a few times by some kids hurling epithets and telling me to forget what I’d seen. I couldn’t identify them; they’d always covered their faces. And I didn’t know what they wanted me to forget. But I hadn’t had anyone bother me since the last snowfall. It was difficult to bike in eight inches of snow.

Jane took a deep breath. “The voice I heard sounded like it went through a long tunnel, and I couldn’t tell if it was female or male.” She shook her head from side to side.

“Did you tell Drew?”

“Are you kidding?” She stared at me. “He’d get all bent out of shape.”

I felt a little out of shape myself. “Some creepy voice said that if you didn’t give it back, you’d pay, and you didn’t tell Drew. When he finds out, he won’t be happy.”

“He won’t find out, will he.” She stated a fact. “Even if I knew what they were referring to, and I don’t, I wouldn’t give it to an anonymous, nebulous voice from beyond.” She rolled her hand away from her face to somewhere out there.

I looked down at my boots. When I looked up, I caught the blaze in her eyes. “Okay. Let’s unravel this mystery. This is the first time you’ve heard from, shall we say, Mr. X?”

She nodded.

“What’s new in your life?”

“Drew.” Her eyes softened and lost a bit of focus or, more likely, focused more intently on her heart.

“Concentrate.” I willed her some strength and a little common sense, but not too much. “He said give ‘it’ up not him.”

She stopped. Her hands clenched the keys in front of her. She fixed her gaze somewhere beyond and forced a smile. “I did some retail therapy last Thursday and bought a new dress to wear to the fundraiser, but, seriously, who’d want things in my size?”

She raised her hand above her head and measured short. I thought size zero but neither description worked for many takers.

She shifted her eyes to me. “I did win Ida’s wreath, and it’s a Christmas treasure but seriously?”

“What about that memory box you bought?”

“Why would anybody want that?”

“Someone destroyed the encaustic piece Miss Grace won at the auction.”

“That’s terrible. Can McCall fix it?”

I tried to formulate a profound answer, but the words which left my lips were anything but. “McCall is dead.”

She scrutinized my face. “I’ve been watching holiday movies and haven’t listened to anything but Christmas carols. What happened?”

“Ida and I found Mr. McCall in his studio.”

“Not again. You have to stop doing that.”

I huffed out a long breath. “On Saturday, the media called Ida a person of interest but nothing since. No news is good news, right? I can’t believe anyone would believe she could have anything to do with hurting someone.”

We took slow, careful steps up her slippery walk. “How are we going to help Ida?”

“I don’t really know, but if Ronnie sets his sights on her, and it really was murder, we’ll have to think of something.”

“We’re not going to let anything happen.” She raised one eyebrow and turned to face the front door. She set her jaw and I did the same.

“Let’s go,” she said, and she marched up the steps. She stood as tall as she could and inserted the key.

She prodded the door with her foot and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. My heart raced. She stomped into her living room and groaned. I followed. Glass shards and fragments of earthenware crunched beneath my footfalls. The frames on the walls hung at odd angles. Even in the muted shadows, nothing looked right. I punched in Drew’s number.

He picked up. “Hey, Katie.”

“Someone broke into Jane’s and—”

He ended the call.

“Jane,” I called and tripped on an umbrella stand. I straightened it, then lifted a vintage coat rack weighed down with about a million pounds of Minnesota outer wear. “Jane?” I said, stepping gingerly behind the light beam from my phone.

Faint rays filtered through the windows, catching the silhouette of my petite friend, rooted in the middle of the living room in front of her fireplace. Her hands rested on her hips. Then she stooped and picked something off the floor and moaned.

My eyes became more accustomed to the light, or lack thereof, and I watched Jane. Her head swiveled as she measured the chaos. The couch cushions spewed fluffy white stuffing. Books and papers covered the floor in front of the empty bookcase. The window blinds swung at odd angles. The ends of the carpet folded back to reveal a wood floor spotted with dried glue. Her television lay face down in front of the stand. She picked up a broken leg from the overturned coffee table and smacked it against her palm.

“What I wouldn’t do if—”

Her back door slammed. She took one look at me and raced through the dim hallway. Reluctantly I followed her. She yanked open the back door and peered into the yard. I pointed my phone light at the ground. Before she could obliterate the evidence, I grabbed her and pointed two feet to our left. We made a second trail next to big boot prints we followed through the snow in the yard to the alley where they vanished into the tire ruts of a vehicle. Red brake lights appeared at the end of her alley and headlights came on.

“Jane!” I grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the apartment. “Let them go!”

Her mukluks slid on the snow, or I wouldn’t have been able to drag her anywhere. She strained against me almost as much as Maverick.

We fell into the kitchen, and I shoved all my weight against the door. The braided rag rug bunched at the base and acted like a stopper. The door couldn’t latch. I opened the door, toe-tossed the rug, and slammed it again while Jane stared at me with a deep scowl on her face.

“We could’ve caught them!”

“Thank heavens we didn’t. We don’t know who they are. We don’t know what they might have done. A cornered animal is totally unpredictable.”

“Katie, they were in my home going through my things.” She held up a small figurine. “They broke a wing off of the angel my mother gave me on my seventh birthday.” When the words left her lips, she crumpled. A sob escaped. “Oh, Mom.” She dropped to the tile floor. “She died so long ago, but I still miss her every day.” She shook her fists as she spoke through gritted teeth, “I’m going to throttle someone.”

“Do you have any idea what they might have wanted and if they got it?”

She shook her head. Then we heard the thud of a car door. Jane sniffed and stilled, then she crawled to the window and peered out. She glowered at me. “It’s Drew.”

“It’s about time.”

He hobbled fast. The bell chimed, the door opened, and he limped into the room. His eyes studied every corner. He acknowledged me, but hitched his way to Jane and crushed her until she wriggled loose.

“I’m okay,” she said.

Drew looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. “What happened?” he asked, his right hand pointing out the room in all its untidy glory.

“We interrupted an intruder,” said Jane.

“Interrupted?”

“We think we heard him leave by the back door while were assessing the carnage in the living room.” I tried to sound detached, but I could still hear the blood pounding in my ears.

A siren whooped and some car doors clunked. Drew answered the knock and led the officers into the living room.

“I’ll see about the lights,” Drew said and shuffled on his crutches into the kitchen, down the basement to the breaker box, moving well on his injured leg. On his last assignment, he had sustained injuries to an arm and a leg while trying to follow a lead into the local state park. It didn’t pan out, but when Maverick came to his rescue, we solidified our friendship.

Jane started to stand the table up on its three good legs.

“Leave it,” said a gruff voice.

After a rush of power from the breaker, something beeped and the lights popped on. One glance at the surroundings and Ronnie Christianson pulled out a pen and a small notebook.

“Ronnie,” Jane said.

“That’s Chief Christianson.”

Jane rolled her eyes. The other officer, Officer Rodger, focused on his nametag.

“Well, little Miss Mackey. What happened here?”

Little Miss Mackey was a feisty thing. “If I knew, I wouldn’t need you now, would I, Temporary Chief Christianson,” she said sweetly, emphasizing the temporary. She must be afraid. She didn’t often bait law enforcement.

“We can do this here or down at the station,” said Ronnie.

Ronnie whirled when Drew cleared his throat. “I received a call at six fifteen from Katie Wilk. Someone had broken into Jane’s apartment. I called you.” He turned to look at me. “Katie?”

“Jane and I had been discussing the threatening phone call.” I swallowed. “And then we decided—”

“What threatening phone call?” asked Drew.

“I was going to tell you.” Jane could really put on an act. “I thought the call was a prank and not important enough to worry about. I forgot all about it … until now.” The fire in Jane’s eyes would have peeled skin from the fainter of heart. I felt my cheeks to make sure they hadn’t melted. “Someone called and told me to ‘give it up’ or else, but I don’t know what it is!”

Alarms sounded from a device on Officer Rodgers’ belt. He read the screen. “We gotta go, Ron … Chief. Emergency.”

“The problem with a small department. You three, get yourselves down to the station and make your statements. Janie, you can’t stay here until we’ve had our crime scene team investigate.” Ronnie’s big boots crushed the remains of a crystal goblet before he turned and added, “They’ll be by later.”

The door closed with a soft click.

“He can’t really make me leave, can he?”

Drew tipped his head. “I’m afraid so, hon. But you can stay with me.”

“Or you can stay with me,” I said, although I really didn’t think she’d want to sleep on the pull-out couch.

“Can I get a few things?”

“I’ll come with you. That way we can make that part of the official record and you’ll have a witness.” Drew worked with the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension and knew how to maintain the integrity of an investigation.

Jane shook her head in disgust and stomped toward the stairs. “C’mon gimpy.”

Drew chuckled and said in a very low voice, “This is going to be fun.” His crutches clumped up the stairs.

Not thinking, I grabbed for a pile of books but halted before disturbing the disarray. I huffed. I appreciated neat and orderly. It was difficult to keep my hands off, and it wasn’t even my stuff.

A floral overnight bag on wheels bumped down the stairs behind Jane. Drew trooped after her.

He didn’t complain. His mobility had improved, and I admired his determination. He took one uncomfortable step at a time, balancing, regrouping his body parts, and making another step. But his face telegraphed his dissatisfaction with his new shortcomings.

Jane stopped short and looked around the room. She opened the front closet door and moved the shoes around on the floor.

“My wreath is gone.”