“Julius, I swear,” Beckley bit out. Before he could say anything else, Vie grabbed his arm to banish the evil presence.
“Let him gloat. He’s trying to mess with our minds. We need to let him know how much he’s hurt us. Then maybe he will ignore our families and concentrate on us.”
Beckley gave a single quick nod. “Right, okay. If he comes back, I’ll play along.”
They went outside to greet the police. A stalky curly-haired detective with a boyish grin and shrewd eyes climbed out of the unmarked car. A tall younger man joined him from the driver’s side. He looked studious and fresh out of uniform. No shiny spots marred his blue suit. No stray threads hung from the lining below the hem of his jacket.
“Ed. Nice to see it’s you they’ve sent,” Vie said by way of greeting. She held out her hand and Ed shook it. She gestured to the other detective. “Breaking in a new one? Did they warn you down at the station about me?”
“Ma’am? The name’s Detective Michaels,” he said. Vie decided to forgive him his slight hesitancy in shaking her hand.
“Don’t eat him,” Ed ordered. He folded his arms over his chest and looked from Vie to Beckley. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Beckley Hume. Ms. Tine’s new guide,” Beckley said, his tone repressive.
“Oh, ho. It’s like that is it?” Ed said, grinning at Beckley and Vie in turn. “This one looks smart, Tine. Don’t break him, okay?”
“I’m stronger than I look,” Beckley responded.
“You’d have to be. What’s happened? I remember consulting with you on the security for this place. When I heard from the dispatcher that your house had been broken in to and vandalized, I could hardly believe my ears. Was anything stolen?”
“Just a decorative plate. Nothing else as far as I’ve been able to ascertain so far,” Vie said, turning with Ed to look back at her home.
“Have you ‘looked’?” Ed asked.
Vie ignored the uneasy stir from his partner. “They broke my mugs and my plates. I ‘looked’ after I saw the damage in the washroom. I meant to wait for you but I was so furious.”
“Naturally. What did you see?”
She scuffed the ground. “Nothing much. I saw one guy but he kept calling out to someone else so there must have been at least two. He was dressed all in black and had a ski mask and night-vision goggles. You know I have ambient lights on in the house all night, right?”
“Sure.” Ed looked at his confused partner. “So she can see when she ‘looks’ back in time even if it’s the middle of the night.”
“If you say so,” Detective Michaels muttered.
“You’ll see soon enough, kid,” Ed said. He waved toward the house. “Were the lights still on?” Vie nodded. “Do you want to start inside?”
“No, let’s go up to the road. I want to see when they arrived. Beckley?”
“Right here.”
They walked to the end of the drive. Ed told his partner to take out a tape recorder.
“Ed, you don’t really believe in all this New Age crap, do you?”
“New Age? That’s a laugh. Just listen and learn, kid.”
“If you keep calling me kid, I’m going to start calling you old man.”
“Fair enough.”
Vie glared at them. “Are you two ready, or not? Beckley and I can do this on our own, you know. We only called the cops as a courtesy.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot,” Ed retorted. “We’re listening.”
Vie took a deep breath and half closed her eyes. She held out her hand and felt Beckley’s arm under hers. “I’m going to start at sunset last night. I’ll skim through time until I see something worth reporting.”
Beckley and the two detectives eyed each other while Vie focused on the past.
“What’s taking so long?” Detective Michaels whispered.
“She can’t hear you so you don’t need to be quiet. Just talk normal,” Ed said.
“The vandals may not have arrived until well after midnight. It takes time,” Beckley explained.
“So you believe in this,” the younger man waved his hand in a circle. “This…”
“Yes.”
“I got to tell you, Mr. Hume, that this job sounds personal to me.”
Beckley folded his lips, kept his own counsel and heroically didn’t inform him that his correct honorific was Doctor.
“I’ve recognized every car that’s gone past since midnight,” Vie said, drawing their attention. “I’m up to 2:33 in the morning. Okay, here comes a van. It’s black or dark-blue.” She turned in place. “It’s stopping down the road, parking between those big lilac bushes. I can hardly see it from here. Come on, Beckley. Let’s get closer.”
“We’re on,” Ed said, hitting his partner on the arm with the back of his hand. “Keep up.”
Beckley guided Vie around two parked cars as they hurried down the road. They came to a stop beside the lilac bushes.
“Okay, I’m pretty sure it’s a navy-blue van. Dodge. Late-model panel-type. Crap, they’ve covered the license plate with a piece of cardboard.”
Beckley held the branches away from Vie’s face as she worked her way along the side of the vehicle. She peered into the driver’s window.
“Damn it. I can’t see anything. Okay, I’m watching the men getting out of the vehicle. They are already completely covered. I cannot tell anything about them except their height and build. There are two of them, as I suspected. They’re both big men. As tall as Beckley but broader. They look like they could weigh about two hundred and twenty-five pounds. All right, back to the house,” Vie directed. “They’re being careful not to be seen. Dang, they’re cutting through the woods.”
Beckley and Vie led the way, moving at a slow jog until they reached a path that entered the woods. They had to move single file so Vie held his hand instead of his arm, pulling him along. Abruptly she stopped and pointed.
“Look at that. They’ve got some sort of electronic device that is disabling my sensors and cameras. How did they even know they were there?”
“She knows we can’t see anything, right?” Detective Michaels commented.
They plowed out of the woods at the side of the garage. Vie jogged toward the house. Beckley barely managed to keep her from walking right into the police car.
“Okay, they’ve got a key. How did they get a key to my house? I’m going to wring someone’s neck, that’s what I’m going to do,” Vie growled. “Suzy and Rose are the only other people with a key. Someone must have stolen it from one of them and copied it. They’re in. One of them is using the same jammer to shut off my alarm. I could just plotz. This is supposed to be a tamper-proof alarm. Let’s go in.”
Beckley, is the door still open? The one in the past is closed.
Yes. I’ll go first, shall I?
Please.
Once in the hallway, Beckley surreptitiously bumped the secret compartment door shut before the detectives noticed it.
“Don’t break the blue mug on the floor,” he said, pointing to the cup as he led Vie around it. “We found that right where it is when we first came in this morning. We’ve not touched it.”
“They are going straight for the kitchen. One of them is picking up the blue mug. He’s taking it into the hallway and placing it on the floor. Now he’s back in the kitchen. They are splitting up. I’m going to stay with the guy in the kitchen. Okay, he’s using his arm to violently sweep all my coffee mugs off the shelves and onto the floor. Some are flying across the room before they shatter.”
Vie’s voice had gone cold as she recited the destruction of her precious mugs. She turned them abruptly away from the kitchen and moved down the hallway toward the washroom.
“I’ve ‘looked’ at this once. Ed? The plate the bastard took is the one with the Harley on it.”
“Got it,” Ed said. “That’s a good tip. A souvenir. Some idiots just can’t resist.”
“I thought you said she can’t hear us?” Detective Michaels said.
“She can’t. Force of habit to respond, that’s all.”
Vie led them up to her room. “I’m following the guy who took my plate. Oh gross. He’s pawing through my lingerie drawer. Now I’m going to have to wash them all. I don’t know what he’s looking for.” She groaned. “Great. Great. My red silk undies. I can just imagine what he’s going to do with those.”
She turned around and faced the washroom. “He’s going into the en suite…” Vie shuddered and closed her eyes. “Ed, there’s going to be seminal fluid on the toilet seat. Make certain the forensic team takes a swab. He’s put my red underwear in his pocket.”
“Right.”
“He’s gone downstairs. Let’s go.”
They paused at the kitchen door while Vie continued to view the intruders. “It looks like they are leaving. We’re going to follow them back to the van now. I’ll let you know if they do anything else.”
Once among the lilac bushes, Vie returned her focus to the present. She looked at Ed.
“What?” he demanded.
“I want to follow them. Or try to. We can use your car. If they don’t lose us by going on the freeway, we might get lucky and see where they’re going.”
“Okay. We’ll try it.”
They piled into the unmarked police car. Vie sat in the front and directed Ed, who’d snatched the keys from his partner and shoved the younger man toward the backseat.
“You don’t have enough experience for this type of driving, kid,” he claimed.
“Sure, old man,” Detective Michaels said in disgust.
“Turn to the left when we get to the road,” Vie directed. “You don’t have to rush or to speed. The buggers are acting like they are taking a Sunday drive in the country.”
They drove along the country lane for five minutes.
“Wait. Stop. Now, Ed. Stop. Something just flew out of the driver’s window. I think it might be my plate!”
He’s stopped the car. Do you want to get out?
Yes.
Wait for me. There’s traffic.
Beckley got out and opened her door. He took her hand and placed it on his forearm. He made her wait while two cars went by and then guided her across the road. There they stood upon the soft shoulder looking over a stylized dry creek bed where artfully placed clumps of grasses grew amongst boulders and multicolored pebbles. An ornamental red cedar bridge spanned the creek. Vie directed them to the other side where green lawn, marked off by a zigzagging split-rail fence, surrounded a large Dutch-colonial home.
“There it is,” she cried, dragging Beckley across the grass to where her broken Harley kitty plate littered the verdant ground. “Some of these pieces are big enough for there to be prints on them so watch out when you pick them up,” she ordered, pressing her palms against her cheeks as she surveyed the remains of her favorite piece of decorative china. “Death is too good for them,” she whispered.
“You back with us, Tine?” Ed asked, taking out rubber gloves from his suit pocket.
“Son of a bitch,” Detective Michaels said under his breath. “She led us right to the plate.” He held open an evidence bag for Ed. “Of course she could have known it was here all along.”
“Kid, she keeps the certificates of authenticity for her plates in her safe,” Ed told him. “Do you honestly think someone who does that could just throw one of them away?” His partner grunted. “My mother collects the same line of plates and she’d sell one of her grandchildren if she thought she could get enough money for the Harley one. When she hears about this I bet she’ll start crying. In fact, I’m thinking of not telling her. It would break her heart.”
Beckley watched Vie straighten her back and square her shoulders. When she looked at him he saw her eyes glittering with unshed tears of fury.
“Let’s go,” she snapped.
You think she’s angry? I’ve been thinking of killing that imbecile for weeks. He’s stupider than a fencepost. A plate? A plate?
For want of a nail, the shoe was lost, Beckley quoted, stepping away from Vie so they wouldn’t accidentally touch on the way back to the vehicle.
You think you’re funny? The war’s not lost yet, pal.
Beckley spied Vie turning to look at him and he quickly averted his eyes so Julius couldn’t see her interest.
Has he taken souvenirs before? That’s an unfortunate habit for one of your minions to have. It makes him easier to catch, you know. And convict.
Yes, of course I know that. He has his uses.
Like what?
He has this way with a knife…it’s almost a religious experience to be part of the terror he can create.
Beckley set his back teeth and let Julius ramble on in a similar fashion until they reached the car. Then, to keep him from knowing what was going on, he touched Vie on the shoulder. Instantly his mind was clear. However, once he was in the backseat and the car was in motion, Julius was back.
Why does that keep happening?
What?
Why does our contact keep breaking?
I thought that was you. Beckley heard Julius snort.
Is that bitch trying to follow my—what did you call them? My minions? I like that. Yes. Is she trying to follow my minions?
Beckley stayed silent.
Of course she is. Violet Tine is incapable of keeping her nose out of other people’s business.
You had your men destroy her mugs and her plates. This is her business.
Very well, I suppose that’s true. She’s not going to be able to find them.
Beckley listened to what Vie was saying, “Turn here. Right. Ed. Turn right.”
“I can’t,” he said, waving at the narrow lane blocked by parked cars. There were cars lining both sides of the main lane too. A big sign on the lawn of the house on the corner read Happy 100 years, Sadie. One hundred plastic pink flamingos dotted the lawn like some crazy dance out of Fantasia.
“Ed? Why aren’t you turning?” Vie demanded. Beckley realized she’d returned the focus to the present when she said, “Oh.” And then she swore.
“That lane connects with an access road onto the highway,” Ed pointed out.
Vie sighed. “Yes. I know. I’ve used it when I ride my bike.” She slapped the dashboard.
See? I told you.
Go away.
* * * * *
Vie waited on the veranda overlooking her backyard for the forensic team to be done with her house. She heard the last of them leave and turned to look through her living room window. Beckley stood there, yellow kitchen gloves on his hands. In one fist he held a bottle of bleach. In the other he held a scrub brush. Then he disappeared. Off to clean the en suite toilet. Earlier a uniformed officer had taken her statement.
“Approximately how many coffee mugs were broken, Ms. Tine?”
“Exactly, two hundred eighty-one. I’m not counting the blue one from the hall.”
“It wasn’t broken.”
“No.”
“That’s a lot of mugs.”
“What’s your point?”
“No point, Ms. Tine.”
Vie rested her elbows on her knees and her cheeks on the heels of her palms, forcing the skin on her face up to her eyes. The woman probably already believed I’m a wacko before the interview began, she thought, remembering the rest of their conversation with a deep sigh.
“What was the approximate value of your collection?”
“It was priceless.”
“Of course. But we have to put a number down for the statement. A round figure.”
“Thirty-five hundred dollars.”
“Who thought coffee mugs could be worth so much?” the officer had muttered. Vie had needed to take several deep breaths to stop herself from punching her.
“Why did you keep your decorative china in the guest washroom, Ms. Tine?” she’d asked when they moved on to the next vandalized item to list on the form.
“Is there some reason I shouldn’t have hung them there?’
The officer had jumped at her barked question. Vie sighed again. I’ve got all the charm of an angry pit bull.
“No reason. I was just wondering.”
Vie sniffed and folded her arms across her stomach as though the pressure would stop it from aching. It was suppertime but she wasn’t hungry. Maybe when she caught the bastards she might feel better. The officer had been professionally patient.
“Approximately how many plates did you have?”
“Exactly nineteen.”
“Okay. Only nineteen.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing at all, Ms. Tine. What was the approximate value of your collection?”
“I don’t know,” Vie had said through clenched teeth. “I’d have to discover their market value today and calculate it for you.”
“Just give me a number, Ms. Tine. Something for me to put on the report.”
“At least eight-thousand dollars. The Harley plate alone was worth a thousand.”
The officer had dropped her pen.
Vie wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand and listened to the sound of Beckley flushing the toilet upstairs. That caused another tear to fall. She pressed her lips together and blinked rapidly. I won’t cry. I won’t cry.
For the first time she wished she was one of those people who could say I don’t know how long I sat there. She knew, down to the second, and she wondered if forty-one minutes was too long to act like a coward, hiding outside her violated home. The sound of Beckley in the kitchen stiffened her resolve. She swiped at her wet cheeks and left the veranda, entering her home with only a millisecond of hesitation. The feel of the home was wrong. The vibe was off. Damn it all, anyways. She resolutely locked the veranda door before walking over to the kitchen arch.
Beckley crouched among the broken mugs, a tray in one hand while he picked out the largest pieces with the other and placed them on the tray. Only red pieces. He looked up at her. His expression was earnest.
“I’ve noticed that some of the mugs are not as broken as the others. Like these red ones,” he pointed out gravely. “I thought if we found all the pieces, we could glue them back together. I know it sounds hopeless but archaeologists do it all the time. At least we know all the pieces are here somewhere. And look,” he said, pointing at the collection on the counter. “I’ve already found all the pieces of that white one with strawberries painted on it.”
Vie’s heart turned over in her chest. Tears softened the broken edges of the porcelain mug pieces on the counter. “My great-grandmother gave me that one the month before she died. She had married an American soldier during the war. The china dinner set had been the only family heirloom she had brought over from England. Through the years, every piece of the set broke except for that last coffee mug. I’ve had it for seven years.” Her voice gave a little hitch as she continued. “Gran said she knew I would look after it. I guess…I should have kept it in the safe.”
Beckley rose to his feet, his eyes on her. “And these red ones? Are they from the same person?”
“Yes.” She sniffed and released a ragged breath. “All the red ones are from my cousin, Paisley, who went to live in the Big Apple when she was nineteen. It’s hard to tell now, but every one of those mugs is shaped like an apple. She made them herself. She’s a potter.”
“Maybe she can make you some more,” Beckley suggested, setting the tray on the counter.
Vie shook her head. “She can’t. Not since her hands became crippled with arthritis. She’s sixty-five, you see, and all those years with her hands wet didn’t help…” Her voice trailed away as Beckley crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. He rubbed her back and hummed a soothing tune while she cried into his shoulder. Every few bars his improvised shushing sounds introduced a percussion section into the melody. His warm, strong arms felt wonderful around her.
I’m so glad you’re here.
So am I.
Do you think I’m behaving like a silly girly girl? Crying over a few broken mugs?
No!
Vie kissed him under the ear and laid her head on his shoulder. She hiccupped and snuffled. Beckley dug in his pocket and came up with a cotton handkerchief. She managed a watery smile and took it gratefully.
“I have some good news,” he promised in a soft voice, kissing her forehead.
“What? What good news? I could really use some.”
Beckley rotated her in his arms until she was facing the shelves containing her canisters of specialty coffee blends. Her undamaged tin canisters.
“I assume someone like yourself would also have a collection of travel mugs?”
Vie stepped away, beaming and wiping her wet eyes. “There wasn’t room enough to store them in here so I keep them in a cupboard under the stairs.”
“How many?”
“Fifty-three.”
“Is that all?” Beckley teased.
“Crazy, right?” She picked her way through the debris and chose her strongest blend. “This will do the trick.” Vie’s phone vibrated and she took it out of her pocket. “Damn. Oh, it’s Suzy.”
“Here, give me that and you go take the call. Tell her everything. I’ll make the coffee.”
She looked suspiciously at him, thumbing the button to accept the call. She made her cousin wait while she demanded, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
Beckley smiled, pleased to see the color coming back into her cheeks. “I’ve watched you do it, remember?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay. Three large scoops. I’m trusting you.”
“You know you can.” Beckley promised and watched her smile at him before wandering away from the kitchen and back out onto the veranda. He saw the butt of her gun sticking out of the back of her jeans and found the sight a disturbing comfort.
I don’t know why you keep pandering to her. If you’d only killed her that first night, none of this misery would have happened to her. Poor thing.