I wondered whether he was talking about me or his murdered wife.
Try not to disturb anything, he said. Im going to bag that key. Whoever broke in had to touch it. We may still want to get somebody out here to dust for fingerprints.
I led the way into my bedroom. You can put the carrier down right there. I nodded toward the floor. I laid out Wilas thingsthe litter box and food from Emma Jeans, and a toy mouse I bought. Then I sprung her from her prison. She lit out, fleeing for cover under my bed.
We wont see her for a while, I said.
At least shes finally quiet, Martinez said.
Wila gave a short
meow
, just to prove him wrong.
Why dont you take a good look, see if anything is missing? All I noticed out of the ordinary is that pile of clothes. He frowned at the floor. Whoever broke in probably tossed your dresser drawers, looking for money or jewelry.
I felt my face flush. Uhmm, that was me. Its been a bad week for laundry.
In fact, I was wearing my last pair of clean undies, the ones with the droopy elastic waist and the hole in the seam by my butt. I didnt share that detail with Martinez.
We left the scared cat in the bedroom and went into the kitchen, where I got a plastic sandwich bag from the drawer. Martinez used it to extract the key from the front lock. Then, he sealed it inside the bag.
I did a quick circuit of the rest of my house. A string of pearls from Daddys mother, my only jewelry, still nestled in my sock drawer. Change filled a brass spittoon by the front door, including a ten-dollar bill Id left on the top. My computer was on my desk; my share of Grandmas silver was still in the kitchen.
Thank God they didnt get the gator, Martinez nodded toward my coffee table, a half-smile on his face.
Yeah. Id have to trap another one so Id have a place to keep my car keys.
His eyebrows shot up. Dont tell me you killed that?
Well, I had a little help. My cousin Dwights the one with the license, so he had to be there, I said modestly. Anyway, looks like nothings missing.
With Martinez on my heels, I returned to where Id started. Suddenly, I was aware of being alone in my bedroom with a sexy, attractive man. He was close enough that I could smell his aftershave. Spicy cloves. My bed was just inches away, the same bed that had seen no action since the down in the feather pillows was still on the ducks.
He put a hand on my arm. Are you really okay? His voice was husky. It can be traumatic to have your house broken into, even if they didnt get anything. His dark eyes searched my face.
Just one step, I thought. One step. Hell, I could just tackle him and toss him onto the bed. Im almost as tall as he is. I wondered once we got down to it, where would he put his gun?
His gun.
Oh, my God! I crossed my bedroom in four quick steps and yanked open the closet door. Paw-Paws shotgun. I quickly scanned the small, crowded space. Its gone.
Nothing spoils a sexy mood like the notion that some maniac might be stalking you with your own granddaddys shotgun.
Martinez bustled around the house, re-checking everything wed already checked to see if we missed anything. He found a piece of plywood Id used as a shutter during the last hurricane, and nailed it over the broken pane on the porch.
I wavered between being grateful for his presence and annoyed that he thought I needed him. Even worse was the thought in my own mind that I did.
Im staying the night, he announced, as he hammered the final nail into the plywood.
I raised my eyebrows. I dont recall issuing an invitation to share my bed.
Dont flatter yourself. He smirked. Its purely a security measure. Ill bunk on the couch.
Damn!
Suit yourself, I said. Its your backache.
You shouldnt be out here all alone.
I wasnt about to admit I thought he was right. Im not accustomed to the damsel-in-distress role. But I was tired. And it was late: one fifteen am by the hands of the clock shaped like a large mouth bass on the living room wall. I had to meet Mama in less than five hours. Id promised to go with her to the sunrise prayer breakfast to help lend Delilah some moral support.
I went to the linen closet and gathered up some bedding for the sleeper sofa. Listen, I appreciate this, I told Martinez as he pulled open the couch. Theres no need. But I do appreciate it.
He grabbed an end to the sheet I held and tucked it under the mattress. Youre probably right, Mace. Still, better safe than sorry. Trapping a pillow with his chin, he started wriggling a floral case over it. I like a man whos not afraid to indulge his domestic side.
I handed him one end of a comforter from the closet. I mean, it could have just been kids, right? We dropped the spread over the sofa bed. The McPherson boys been running with a bad crowd. I wouldnt put burglary past those little juvenile delinquents. Maybe I scared them off when I pulled in with Wila, yowling in the car. Maybe they didnt get the chance to steal anything but the shotgun.
Martinez sat on the pull-out, testing the mattress with one hand. It was just as comfy as any other sleeper sofa, which is to say hed feel like he was resting on a sack of rocks.
Yeah, he said. Its not like the closet is an original hiding place. Any burglar worth his rap sheet knows to check high shelves and closet corners for homeowners weapons.
We each sounded like we were trying to convince the other there was nothing to worry about. It was becoming exhausting.
Listen, Ive gotta be up before the rooster crows. Ill try not to wake you when I leave. I yawned.
No te preocupes
I mean, dont worry about it. Ill probably be awake anyway. I dont get much sleep as a rule.
I wondered whether those sleepless nights began in Miami, after his wife was murdered.
As I started for my bedroom, I spoke over my shoulder, Ive got an extra-large cotton T-shirt if you want something besides that dress shirt and blazer to sleep in.
Is it in that pile of filthy clothes you dropped on the floor?
I would have blushed, but I was too damned bushed.
Just for that remark, I said, I get to wash up first. I turned into the bathroom and slammed the door.
A half hour later, I was in bed, but nowhere close to sleep. Of course, I was worried about who took the shotgunand why. But I also kept thinking about the glimpse I got of Martinez in the hallway. Hed come out of the bathroom and was standing still, looking for a wall switch to turn off the hall light. His skin was the color of graham crackers, and I wondered whether it tasted as sweet. Hard muscle rippled along his abdomen. He had a smooth chest with almost no hair. He wore nothing but boxer shorts. Light blue; intact waistband; no rip near the butt.
Would he slip out of those boxers when he climbed between the sheets?
I glanced at the alarm clock beside my bed. It was scheduled to beep me awake in about four hours. I tossed to my right side, even though I normally sleep on the left. I made a quarter turn, plopping onto my stomach to try to get comfortable. Punching the pillow didnt work. It still felt wrong. Martinezs shoulder would have felt just right.
Stop it!
I grabbed the pillows underside to toss it off the bed. Thats when I felt something I knew wasnt supposed to be there. I shot to my feet, turned on the lamp, and stared down at the pillow. Carefully, I lifted a corner to look underneath.
Detective? I called into the living room. Youd better come in here.
He was beside me in a flash, proof that he hadnt been asleep, either. I pointed at a sheet of folded notebook paper under my pillow. My name, misspelled, was printed in crude block letters between the wide blue lines:
Mase.
A love note from a demented fifth grader.
Should I pick it up?
Martinezs jaw was clenched. His eyes were dark, unreadable. Do you have any tweezers? he asked.
In the medicine cabinet. Be right back.
He used the tweezers to open the note, and then placed it on the nightstand. In the glow of the lamp, we read it together:
You dindt stop. To many questons. See how easy I could kill you? Im coming for you. Your mama to
The printing looked the same as on the note tossed on Mamas porch. The misspellings and bad grammar looked familiar, too.
Get me another plastic bag, would you? Martinez said.
What are you going to do?
Not much I can do, tonight. Or I guess I should say this morning. Im going to take it in later, when I go to work. Well compare it to the other note, and see what, if anything, we can learn from it.
He didnt sound optimistic.
It looks a lot like the note from the mutilated toy dog, I said.
That it does. Unfortunately, theyre both written with pencil on common notebook paper. Finding out who wrote it would be easier if theyd used expensive parchment, or an unusual color of ink. Or a fountain pen. The more distinctive, the better.
What about DNA?
Its possible. But you have to match it to a suspect whose DNA is known. And we dont have a suspect.
We both looked down at the piece of paper. So ordinary. So disturbing.
This puts my burglary in a different category, doesnt it?
Martinezs mouth was a grim line. That vein throbbed in his right temple. Yes, he finally said.
And with that one word, I knew I wouldnt be able to get back into my bed. I knew that whoever had killed Jim Albert had been in my home, standing right here. And I knew I wouldnt get much sleep at all until we found the murderer who was now threatening Mama and me.
Mama? Its Mace.
Well, hello darlin. Im just finishing up my Cheese n Ham Surprise for the church breakfast. Are you on your mobile phone?
Mama still treats each call from a moving car as a miracle, even though cell phones have become as common as cowboy hats in Himmarshee.
I bit back a smart-aleck remark, though sleep deprivation and sheer fear might have given me a pass to make one. Im in Pams car, on my way into town. I wanted to let you know Im running a little late.
My thoughts drifted back to why Id been delayed.
Id finally fallen asleep, for an hour and a half, on the floor of my front porch. The idea of a killer in my house, maybe even in my bed, creeped me out. Martinez wanted to leave the sheets and pillows as they were, to preserve any evidence. Even though Id rolled around in there, the intruder may have, too. He could have left behind skin, hair, maybe even bodily fluid. That last prospect alone was enough to make me grab a sleeping bag, plug in a fan, and hit the porch.
Martinez pulled all the bedding off the sofa and insisted on bunking on the floor next to me. His presence was solely a comfort. Feeling scared and vulnerable effectively squashed any erotic leanings I had earlier.
I know how it feels when you dont want to be inside your own house. His voice was barely a whisper beside me. After my wife was killed, I couldnt use the front door. For months, I entered and left from the back. Finally, I sold the house and moved here. Too many memories.
I didnt know what to say. Im sorry, was all I came up with. Marty would have done better.
I must have finally dozed off, because I dreamed of Patricia Martinezs murder. But everything was confused. She wasnt in the front hallway of their home in Miami. She was in the woods in Himmarshee. Throughout the dream, the faces of her attackers stayed hidden in the shadows. And then finally, just before she was shot, the two men looked up. In my dream, one of them was Sal Provenza. The other one had my granddaddys gun. It was Jeb Ennis.
