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Had Jessie left the door open? No. She remembered checking to make sure it’d caught. She remembered locking it. She closed her fingers around the doorknob. It turned easily in her hand. The clammy sweat from the night’s humidity turned cold.
She wheeled in time to see the Corvette’s taillights disappear at the end of her lane. Daniel wasn’t coming to her rescue.
She dug in her purse for her phone but found nothing. With a groan, she realized she’d been so distraught when they left the restaurant, she’d neglected to check her phone and subsequently never reclaimed it from the glovebox.
She muttered a few choice words, turned back toward the house, and stepped inside.
Jessie didn’t think something was wrong. She knew it. The air conditioner rumbled, but the air inside the house felt as sultry as outside. A sensible person would get out. Call the police.
But the cats. She couldn’t abandon Molly and the kitten.
Jessie flicked on the kitchen light and turned the corner. The illumination cut a swatch into the dining room, falling across the pet carrier, its door wide open, the interior empty. What the hell? She reached around the doorframe to hit the next switch.
The antique brass chandelier lit the dining room where the sideboard and buffet doors and drawers hung open, their contents strewn across the floor. Tablecloths, silverware, packages of paper plates and napkins had been scattered. Her stoneware plates and bowls smashed.
She spotted her cordless landline phone resting on the fireplace mantel and crossed to it. But when she punched 911 and hit send, only dead air hissed in her ear. She swore and winged it onto her upholstered reading chair.
If she had any sense, she’d run. Jog up the hill to the hospital and call for help from there.
Her gaze returned to the empty pet carrier, followed the light that feathered into the living room, and stuck on the reason the house felt so oppressive. The front window had been shattered. A small cedar table from the front porch lay in the center of the room among the shards of glass and wood.
Molly.
Where was the kitten? Where was Molly? Had the intruder harmed her cats? The idea was more hideous than Jessie could handle. No way could she leave without finding them.
“Molly,” she cried out and immediately chastised herself. The old cat was deaf. But Jessie didn’t know what else to do. “Molly!” she called again.
Except for the sound of the forced air battling to cool the house, only silence responded.
The know-how she’d gained from being married to a cop went out the window with the cool air. Unsteady in her high heels, she half ran, half stumbled into the living room and slammed on the light switch with no concern for fingerprints.
The entertainment center, disguised as an armoire, was open. The TV had been toppled onto the imitation Oriental carpet, its screen shattered. The DVD player and stereo system also lay in fragments. The shelf containing her DVDs and CDs had been stripped bare.
The lace curtains framing the broken window fluttered in the night breeze. Had Molly escaped? She hadn’t been outdoors in years. A coyote or other wild animal could grab her. At the very least, the poor old dear would be terrified.
“Molly!”
Jessie teetered through the house, from room to room, flipping on lights as she went. She had yet to renovate the remainder of the empty downstairs rooms, leaving nothing to trash and nowhere for a cat to hide. She started up the steps. Her heart pounded harder than if she were running a marathon.
Halfway to the top, the acrid smell of smoke touched her nostrils. She took the rest of the stairs two at a time, high heels and all. The stench grew more pungent, but no gray haze hung in the air. She tripped into her home office and slapped the switch with her hand. Light flooded the room.
Her home laptop was missing from her desk. Her printer and router lay shattered on the floor. She let out a soft wail. A plume of smoke rose up the chimney from the fireplace where the blackened remains of a stack of files smoldered. She closed the distance between the door and the remnants of the fire in three long strides and yanked out the folders, beating the still-smoking embers with the palm of her hand. She sifted through the papers—Doc’s files that she had been entering into her computer. Some of the records appeared salvageable. Most were little more than char.
But in the midst of the violation of her home, the only things that mattered were Molly and the kitten.
Jessie dumped the blackened files onto the hearth and picked her way through the ruins of her printer.
She rounded the corner to her bedroom, which appeared unscathed, but she had an eerie sense that someone had gone through her things. She dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. “Molly?”
Nothing. No black and white longhaired tuxedo-marked fat cat. No small drug-addled orange and white tabby.
Frantic, she checked the rest of the rooms. The bathroom, Greg’s old office, the guest room. All seemed intact. She peered under the guest bed and behind bureaus and desks and dressers. Anywhere that Molly had ever claimed as a hiding spot. Nothing.
As Jessie clumped down the stairs, none of her surgeon’s training helped. Her hands trembled. She couldn’t fill her lungs. After another sweep through the first floor, she wasn’t sure which scared her more—the idea of never finding the cats at all or finding them in some condition she couldn’t accept.
Jessie unlocked the heavy front door, which no one ever used, and stepped out onto the porch. The lawn sloped down through a thick growth of ancient pines to the road. If Molly had escaped and was out there, Jessie didn’t have a clue where to start searching. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Molly!”
Nothing but the chirp of spring peepers answered. What about the little guy? That little tabby. He had no name, but he could hear. Would he respond?
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called into the night.
Nothing. Of course not. He didn’t know her or this place. He was terrified. Hiding.
Jessie went back into the house and closed the door behind her. She staggered to the stairs and collapsed on the second step. With trembling fingers, she unbuckled the ankle straps and peeled off the old high-heeled shoes. Then she cradled her face in her sooty hands and surrendered to the flood of tears.
Scritch, scritch, scritch.
Jessie lifted her head.
Scritch, scritch.
Swallowing her tears, she tilted her head to listen. What the hell was that? And where was it coming from?
She climbed to her feet and tiptoed up the steps, listening for the sound. But it stopped. At the top of the stairs, she paused. Waited.
Scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch.
It was coming from her office. She went to the doorway and surveyed the rubble.
Scritch.
The sound—could it be?—came from behind the closed closet door next to the fireplace. She charged across the room, ignoring the pain as her bare foot came down on something sharp, and flung open the door.
Molly and the tabby blinked as the light fell upon them. Jessie dropped to her knees. Molly let loose with one of her high-decibel meows. Jessie translated it as, what took you so long?
Laughter bubbled in her throat as she scooped up the old cat and held the small warm body tight, burying her nose in the silky fur. The tabby, still shaky on his feet, wobbled out. Jessie pulled him close against her thigh, rubbing his ear.
Molly gave Jessie’s chin a head-butt, and a purr nearly as loud as her meow echoed through the room. It was the most beautiful sound Jessie had ever heard.
Immense relief soon gave way to intense anger. Who the hell had done this? Vanessa came to mind. Vanessa wanted her out of the house, and what better way to accomplish it than to scare her out?
Logic told Jessie the idea was preposterous. Sweet, waiflike Vanessa was incapable of such vandalism. But the alternative meant some unknown intruder had been in Jessie’s house, trashing her things, messing with her cats. Setting fire to Doc’s files. The notion of the break-in being related to his death started to raise the hair on the back of her neck, but she shook it off.
Blaming Vanessa felt so much easier to accept.
There was a gaping hole in the front of Jessie’s house, courtesy of the shattered window. She’d already imagined the cats escaping into the night. No way was she about to let it actually happen. She packed some clothes in a bag and both cats in the carrier. Wearing work boots with her sooty dress, she loaded everything into the Chevy and got the hell out of there.
***
LIGHT SEEPED AROUND the curtain covering Greg’s apartment window. Jessie stood on the stoop at the top of the steps and pounded on the door.
Greg jerked it open. “What the...?” He gaped at her. “Jess?”
She pushed past him into the kitchen. “Where’s Vanessa?”
He closed the door behind her. “She’s out with some girlfriends. What’s going on? Why...?” He waved a hand up and down at her, indicating her attire or condition or both.
Jessie collapsed into one of the retro chic vinyl and chrome chairs. “Someone broke into my house.”
“What?” He sank into the chair across from her.
Exhaustion closed in. She braced her elbows on the table and told him about her evening.
When she fell silent, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Did you call 911?”
“No. I’m reporting it to you. I’ve got the cats in the truck and I’m going to stay at my office at the track for a few nights.”
“Any idea who might have done this?”
Jessie tried to meet his gaze and failed. “I was thinking Vanessa.”
He shot forward and slammed his palms on the table. “Come on, Jess.”
“She wants me out of the house. Well, I’m out. But I’m telling you here and now, it’s only temporary.”
“There is no way Vanessa would break into our house and bust it up.”
The “our house” comment didn’t escape Jessie’s notice. But did he mean “our” as in his and Jessie’s? Or “our” as in his and Vanessa’s? “She’s not here, is she? Besides, she could’ve hired someone else to do the dirty work.”
“You’ve gone over the edge on this one.”
She knew he was right but wasn’t about to admit it. Maybe tomorrow in the rational light of day, but not tonight when her nerves were raw.
“Did you ever think that maybe this has something to do with you accusing everyone at the track of murder?”
She had, but denial was so much safer. “Explain to me why a murderer would put the cats in my closet.”
“Why would Vanessa?”
“To freak me out, which is exactly what happened. And besides, you keep telling me there is no murderer.”
“I don’t think there is, but you’re making accusations and getting people fired up. Sounds like a good way to make enemies.”
She hated it when he made sense. “Look, I just wanted you to know what happened and where I’ll be.” She stood up. “You’d better get over to the house tonight and board up that window. I don’t want any wild critters moving in. Vanessa probably wouldn’t like that either.”
He opened his mouth to continue the argument, but then clamped it shut. After a few moments of glaring at each other, he said, “We should go through the place together to determine if anything’s missing.”
Jessie headed for the door. “I can already tell you my laptop’s gone.”
“Okay, that’s a start. I’ll nail up some plywood tonight and see what I find. How about you meet me there sometime tomorrow?”
“Fine. My morning is booked, but I have time after lunch.”
He rose and opened the door for her. “Are you gonna be okay at the track? Where will you sleep?”
“I’ve got the sofa in the office, and there’s a small bathroom with a shower.” She failed to mention its grungy condition.
Greg gripped her shoulders. “Be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything.”
There he was, warning her to be careful again. “There is one thing you can do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell Vanessa she’s fired.” Jessie jerked free of his grasp and stepped out into the night.
***
AT SEVEN THE NEXT MORNING, Jessie returned from an emergency coffee run to find Molly grooming herself in the middle of the desk. Next to the cat, Jessie’s phone sat on a folded sheet of paper. She picked up the note and recognized Daniel’s letterhead as well as his blocky printing.
You left this in my car. I thought you might need it.
No kidding. She pocketed the phone and crumpled the note.
The tabby curled into a feline doughnut on the blanket under which Jessie had slept on the sofa. At about three in the morning, she’d decided to replace the too-short tattered sofa with a new futon the first chance she got, whether she took over the practice or not.
She set the coffee down and flopped into her chair. Molly greeted her loudly while offering her head to be scratched. When the door swung open unexpectedly, Jessie jumped.
Milt swaggered in. “Good morning, darlin’.” He froze in midstride and pointed at the cat on the desk. “Who’s this?”
Jessie took a slow, deep breath to settle her jangled nerves. “This is Molly. And close the door, please.”
He obliged, and then glanced around the office. His gaze settled on the blanket and pillow on the sofa and the sleeping tabby. “What’s going on?”
Jessie ran her hands through her matted hair. “Someone broke into my house last night.”
“Good lord. Were you home when it happened?”
“No.” The thought of being there to encounter the vandals sent a chill along her spine. “I was out.”
Milt pushed the blanket aside. The tabby stirred briefly. “Are you all right?” he asked as he took a seat.
“I’m fine, but they broke my front window. Greg’s supposed to put up some plywood to cover it. In the meantime, the cats and I have moved in here.”
“Dang. I’m sorry to hear about that. I just came in to see how your big date went with the boss man. Everyone’s buzzing about it.”
Terrific. At least the horror of the break-in had distracted her from thinking about the horror of the date-gone-wrong. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Didn’t I just say I’d rather not talk about it? Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Then I came home, and my house was trashed.” She thumbed the lid off the cup. “Perfect end to a perfect evening.”
Milt studied her without saying anything for a moment. “I’m really sorry, Jessie. How long before you figure on moving back into your house?”
“I don’t know. Depends on a lot of things.” She hoped Greg would catch whoever had done it, and then she could feel safe in her home once again. But if he made no more progress in solving the break-in than he had solving Doc’s murder, she might be out of her house for a very long time.
“You could always stay with me and Catherine.”
She offered him as much of a smile as she could muster. “Thanks, Milt, but I’ll be fine here.”
“If you change your mind, the offer stands.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Did they take anything?”
Jessie sipped her coffee and let the medicinal effects of the caffeine spread throughout her body. “They destroyed my TV and some other electronics. But the only thing I know they stole for sure is my laptop.”
Milt stroked the tabby, who stretched and purred. “Maybe they figured it was more portable.”
“I guess.” She thought of her other laptop. The one that had been smashed thanks to Frank Hamilton’s visit. Her shopping list was getting longer. “Something else that’s odd. They burned a stack of Doc’s files I’d taken home with me.”
Milt stopped petting the kitten and frowned. “Why would anybody do that?”
“I don’t know.” Jessie rested her head on the back of the chair. “I don’t know why any of this is happening.”
The door swung open again, and Greg in his State Trooper uniform strolled in, carrying a nylon duffel bag.
Milt climbed to his feet. “Well, darlin’, I’d best be going. Remember what I said. My offer stands.” Milt shook a finger at Jessie and then let himself out.
“What offer?” Greg asked.
“To let me stay with him and Catherine.”
Greg set the bag on the desk next to Molly. “I’ve come to take your fingerprints. I need to determine which prints at the house belong there and which ones don’t.”
Jessie checked her watch. “Okay, but I’ve got to look at a horse in fifteen minutes.”
He unclipped a pair of buckles and flipped the bag open. “No problem.”
“Have you found anything?”
“I haven’t had a chance to do a thorough investigation yet. I did a quick walk-through before boarding up the window. I’m headed back over there as soon as I finish up with this.”
Jessie considered asking if he’d taken Vanessa’s fingerprints but didn’t feel up to the ensuing argument. Besides, as she’d expected, in the light of day, the petite blonde looked less and less like the culprit.
“What time do you think you can meet me?” Greg asked.
“About two?”
“Good.” He inked each of her fingers and rolled them from one edge to the other against a card, which he labeled and tucked back into the box. After repeating the process on her other hand, he offered her a paper towel.
She scowled at the mess. More black gunk. She still had soot under her fingernails. “Why don’t you have one of those scanner things to do this?”
“It’s broken.”
Just like her window. Their marriage. Her life.
Greg’s head tilted toward the duffel, but his gaze rested on her face. “When did you and Shumway start seeing each other?”
“Last night. Started and finished. I blew it.” She cringed. Why confess to Greg, of all people?
His gaze shifted back to the fingerprinting kit. “If that’s true, Shumway’s a fool.” Greg packed his gear and closed the lid. “Are you okay?”
“I’m terrific,” she said without conviction.
“Maybe you should take Milt up on his invitation.”
She glowered at him. “Maybe you should find out who busted up my house.”
He rubbed Molly’s ears before picking up the duffel bag and heading for the door. “Two o’clock, then?”
“Yep.”
He pulled the door shut behind him, and Jessie felt the emptiness close in on her.