Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) (20 page)

Nineteen

We didn’t get a whole lot of sleep. But we did get a whole lot done. Kenna ate most of the pizza and all the ice cream. We joked about my fantasy future with Dean. And we short-sheeted Andy’s bed.

More importantly, though, we talked a lot about Beth, Kenna’s future, and how she couldn’t imagine anything other than adopting Beth’s baby. She relived their conversations, remembering new details, which I wrote down for my file. The agency didn’t have news about Beth, she said, and they didn’t want to give her false hope. I also checked in with Mom, Aunt Liz, and my voicemail, where I had several messages, including one from the county gang unit and another from April. She mentioned sending me an email. It was too late to return calls, and since Andy was asleep and we couldn’t use his work laptop, Kenna wanted to go over to my house.

“I can check email on my cell phone,” I told her, angling to stay where we were—relatively safe and comfortable.

“You know my love of computers,” she said dryly. “But I think we should check Beth’s Facebook page or whatever it’s called again.”

Bless her technology-phobic heart, Kenna was right. We needed to check Beth’s page and all her friend’s pages. I also needed to search for the Rushes. People of all ages were on Facebook, why not them?

I broke the news to Kenna about the tire. She was appropriately horrified and characteristically fearless.

“Let’s sneak over,” she said. “Like the old days.”

“The old days” were our teenage years, when we pretended to be investigators, usually in pursuit of a cute boy, whose activities we’d observe with incredible focus.

I agreed only because I wanted my toothbrush, makeup, and a change of clothes. And because we could go in the back, where passing cars couldn’t see us. I also couldn’t bear to crush Kenna’s sleepover high.

Kenna went upstairs to whisper to Andy that if we weren’t back in forty-five minutes, we were in trouble and he’d have to play hero. She set an alarm to blast him out of bed in case we didn’t return.

We exited Kenna’s back door, locked it behind us, and tore across the grass to my patio—armed with cell phones, Andy’s softball bat, and forks. Thankfully our yards bordered trees, so no one would see us looking foolish. But the sound of rustling branches, which was usually soothing, had morphed into something ominous and prickly, and I couldn’t wait to get inside.

“I’m fencing in my yard,” I grumbled as we burst into the kitchen. “I want a barrier between me and that forest. How ’bout you?”

“Too expensive,” Kenna said.
True.

I was fumbling for the light when I heard another unexpected noise. My free hand, which was holding a fork, flew back to stop Kenna from taking another step.

“Shhh,” I said. “Listen.”

She inched backward, perhaps in case we needed to evacuate, or maybe to escape my utensil. The sound of her slippers on the floor was so loud compared to the silence that I couldn’t hear anything else until she stopped.

Then I heard it again.
Squeak
.
Squeak
. I knew that sound. It was the front door moving—either opening or closing. Was it possible I’d left it open earlier? Or not closed it properly?
No.

My eyes locked with Kenna’s.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“The front door is moving. Let’s go!”

I pushed her toward the patio door and saw one of her hands glowing with the light of a cell phone, rising to her ear. As I turned the door handle, I heard someone answer her call.

“911. What is your emergency?”

While waiting for the police to arrive, Andy was jolted out of a short-sheeted bed by an oddly armed wife, who was panicked and blabbering about her best friend, a shooting, and a squeaky door. Understandably, he was annoyed. Kenna focused on damage control while I peered out the front windows, intent on seeing whoever had been on my property, hoping I was invisible to anyone outside.

Kenna had been impressively calm on the phone with 911, so I was surprised and mortified by the collection of police cars that pulled up. I was even more taken aback by what emerged from them. Not just people, but a dog. A big, intimidating German shepherd. I was nervous to step outside and greet them.

“Officers?” I called politely as I peeked out Kenna’s front door. “That’s my house. I think everything’s fine.”

One left the group and approached me. He introduced himself as Officer Suarez, took my name, and asked what happened, which was basically nothing. It took some effort to explain why I was staying at Kenna’s and how we’d visited my house in the middle of the night.

“I’m glad you called,” he said generously.

“It was my friend who called,” I clarified. “She’s with her husband. Should I get her?”

“Yes. And while you do that, we’re going to search your house, just to make sure there’s no one inside.”

“Oh, okay.” I couldn’t argue with that. I
could
mentally run through what the dog and its handlers might find on this unexpected tour of my home’s hiding spots. I didn’t ask if they’d open closets and look under beds, or if they’d use high-beam, dust bunny-revealing flashlights. Some things are better left unsaid.

Kenna and Andy arrived wearing sweats, a step above the old pajama pants and T-shirt I had on. Andy had thrown on a baseball cap. I gave him a raised-eyebrows,
please-don’t-hate-me
smile.

“Hello, Ma’am. Sir,” Suarez said. He asked Kenna to come outside and give her version of events, leaving Andy and me to avoid eye contact in silence.

“I am so sorry,” I finally said quietly. “I’m sure everything is fine and we’re just overreacting. But with all that’s happened...”

He took off his cap and ran a hand through his dark, disheveled hair.

“This whole situation is crazy,” he said.

“I know.”

Kenna returned with Suarez.

“Your house is clear,” she said before he could. “No one’s there.”

“We don’t see any signs of a break in,” Suarez added. “Although your lock is pretty shabby. Builder grade. You should replace it. Does anyone else have keys to your house?”

“Just them,” I said, gesturing to Kenna and Andy. “And my mom. She’s babysitting my kids tonight. I guess there’s a chance she came by earlier when I was gone, but I think she would have told me.”

“All right. We’re having the crime lab process the scene. They’ll fingerprint possible entry points. And we’d like you to take a look around, make sure nothing’s missing or disturbed. Can you do that?”

“Of course. Can I bring my friend?” I looked at Kenna. Andy and Suarez nodded their permission.

“Okay,” Kenna said. “Let’s go.”

“Everything looks out of place like always,” I joked as Suarez, Kenna, and I surveyed toys on my living room floor. I hoped the officers had made it through without injury.

An uncomfortable feeling hung in the air. In a small way, it reminded me of when I’d lost Jason, not just in an accident, but to another woman. Before then, life was like a jigsaw puzzle with all the pieces locked in place. Complete. Suddenly some were gone, and their replacements were ugly, jagged and awkward. Yet they were part of my life. I had to make them fit.

Something was wrong now, too, I sensed. There was no denying it. Looking at Jack and Sophie’s belongings created a volcano in my chest that threatened to erupt and spew anger at whoever might have invaded our space. I pictured a stranger moving among our things. What had he seen? What had he touched? I could barely think about it.

Embarrassed to tour the house with Suarez, even though his colleagues, human and canine, had just turned it inside out, I asked if he’d mind waiting in the living room. I pushed aside a pile of
Bob the Builder
DVDs to make room on the couch.

“It’s better if I go with you,” he said. “I may have a few questions.”

I hid my disappointment with a shrug. “Okay. No problem.” I led the way to the kitchen.

“Some common items to steal are drugs, weapons, money, jewelry, and tech gadgets,” he informed us. “But check your food and alcohol too, and remember sometimes these guys actually
leave
something. Look at trash cans and toilets, just in case he availed himself of the facilities.”

Oohkay,
I thought, curious if poop and pee yielded DNA. If so, would the kids and I have to submit samples for comparison?

Everything seemed pretty much the same. Crumbs were on the kitchen floor where I’d left them. No one had loaded the dishwasher or made our beds. Jack’s Legos had not been organized or put away. And Sophie’s devotion to creating the perfect outfit was still evident from rejected options on the floor. All the toilets were flushed (a miracle), and the sinks were dry. (I was used to checking for splashes as proof the kids had washed hands or brushed teeth.)

My biggest concern was the computer. If anyone had stolen it, I was in big trouble. I’d never backed up the photos and documents saved on it. I tensed as I peered into my office, and then relaxed when I saw the computer sitting atop my desk, intact and lovely. I pressed the power button, remembering our original intention to check email. While it hummed to life, I ran through a mental checklist of other valuables. My engagement and wedding rings, along with critical family documents, were locked in a small safe in the basement. We trudged downstairs to find everything there, along with other items, including my camera and video camera. My iPod and purse had been with me all day, so they were okay.

“Did you notice if the kids’ videogame system was by the TV?” I asked Kenna.

“Still there,” she confirmed. “I saw it. Along with the basket of games.”

“Then I think we’re done.”

I’d have to let Suarez go. He’d certainly been patient.

“Are you going to spend the night next door?” he asked when we got upstairs.

“I sure am,” I said.
Maybe two nights.
I hoped Andy would tolerate me.

“Okay. We’ll drive by periodically and keep an eye on things,” he offered.

“I really appreciate that.”

“Please don’t hesitate to let us know if anything else comes up.”

That would be sooner than any of us expected.

As soon as Suarez left, Kenna and I returned to my office to check email. We wanted to do it quickly and get out of there. Andy was probably waiting up for us, and the longer we took, the less sleep he got. I wiggled the mouse to wake the computer while Kenna called to update him.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s me. We’re just...”

“Oh my God,” I interrupted. “Look!”

The computer must have been on when I pressed the power button earlier, because my word processer was open, and someone had created a document with only a few words in a huge, red letters: “BITCHES GET STITCHES AND SNITCHES GET DITCHES.”

I yanked my hands away from the mouse and keyboard. Maybe someone had left fingerprints. Now I
knew
someone had been here, and we’d have to call the police again. I couldn’t check email or Facebook, either.

Kenna explained my outburst to Andy and hung up without saying goodbye. I didn’t want to know how he looked or sounded on the other end.

“He’s on his way,” she said. “I
cannot
believe this.”

Me either. I was speechless. Just the way someone wanted me to stay.

I wore bright yellow rubber gloves to open the front door for Andy, who surprised me by acting supportive, not angry. I still had them on when Suarez returned with new friends—no dogs this time, just more evidence collectors. I didn’t want to be the cause of any lost clues.

The stress of having a stranger—and now many strangers—in my house was draining, so I asked Andy if we could go next door and use his laptop. Hopefully it would encourage him to go back to bed, considering it was now 4 a.m., and he had to be up at seven. Kenna’s first class was at nine. I couldn’t imagine how she’d teach it, but work was more than a job for her. It was a distraction and stress reliever. Just like reality TV was for me.

“Sure,” Andy said. “I’ll write down the password for you.”

Suarez approached and looked at me.

“We swabbed your computer for DNA and processed it for fingerprints.”

Embarrassingly, I’d also seen them turn the keyboard upside down and shake it over paper—and then save what they found. Gross. I preferred not to know the results of that test. “I’m sorry, but we have to take it in and make sure no one put malicious programs on it. That okay?”

“I guess so. Thank you.” I thought of how much I used it and all the personal information it contained. It was unpleasant, but necessary, to let it go.

“We also need your fingerprints for comparison purposes. Does your friend spend a lot of time here too?”

“Kenna? Definitely. But not on my computer.”

“Let’s get her prints anyway before we leave. And first thing tomorrow, you’ll meet with Sgt. Dwyer from the gang unit. Can you come to the station around ten?”

“I’ll be there,” I promised.