SATURDAY MORNING Woody hit the button to start the coffee brewing. He stretched and then sat at the table to peruse the paper while awaiting his caffeine fix. For nearly thirty-five years he’d worked graveyard or afternoon shift and loved it. He’d never wanted to work days. Now, retired and out of uniform, he found he loved the feeling of normalcy and looked forward to meeting up with Luke to work more on the Molly Cavanaugh case.

His phone buzzed and he frowned. It was a PD extension; it would be Abby if she were there, but he knew that she was still out of town.

He answered the call, surprised to hear Bill Roper on the other end.

“Bill, what’s up? Anything wrong?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I got a call from a patrol unit on my day off. Abby’s house was burglarized last night.”

“What? She’s not there. She’s —”

“I know. She’s out of state. She had her friend Jessica Brennan house-sitting.”

“Jessica? I know Jessica. Is she okay?”

Bill chuckled. “She is. In fact, I bet the burglar is worse off. Apparently she woke up and confronted him. He was going through files in Abby’s office. She says he was as surprised to see her as she was to see him.”

“He knew Abby was gone.”

“Yep. The short story is, Jessica got in some well-placed kicks and the guy fled limping and bleeding. Officers were out fast but didn’t pick up his trail, and nothing is missing that Jessica can see.”

“She’s okay?”

“A little shaken, and she might have sprained a finger, but she’s okay. The reason I called is, well, she doesn’t want to tell Abby until Abby gets back. She doesn’t want to ruin Abby’s vacation. That doesn’t sit well with me. I’d want to know, if it was me. But you know Abby better than anyone. What do you think?”

The coffeemaker beeped. Woody rubbed his chin. “Give me a minute to think.”

He poured a cup of coffee and left it steaming on the counter before responding. “Offhand, if nothing is missing and Jessica is okay, I’d say let it go. Abby will be mad when she gets back, but she’ll get to enjoy her time off. Did Jessica get a good look at this guy?”

“Not a great look, but she’s working with a sketch artist. She did bloody his nose, so there is DNA, but . . .”

His voice trailed off and Woody knew why. No loss, no one hurt —the department would not pay to have the DNA analyzed. Woody poured his coffee and took a scalding gulp.

“What bothers me,” Bill continued, “is that he was obviously looking for something. What if this is related to the Triple Seven?”

“I can’t see why it would be. But I understand why you’d think that. The Joiner case is hot —hot enough that people would burglarize Abby’s house?”

“The protests have been loud, but mostly confined to the main station, so I doubt this is related to the shooting.”

“Let me talk to Luke. He’s got a stake in the Triple Seven as well. I’ll call you in a couple of hours. You can hold off a decision that long, can’t you?”

“Yeah. But I can’t promise anything if Abby happens to phone or text and ask how things are going. I’ll tell her.”

“I doubt she’ll do that. If she’s smart, the last thing she’s thinking about right now is the PD. And Abby is smart.”