Finding Sarah (4 page)

“I’d say there were always
glitches, but I didn’t pay a lot of attention. David did the bookkeeping.
Afterwards, I assumed I was messing up orders because I was such a wreck. But
you have to understand, things like this happen. It’s part of the business.”

Something more hid in there, and
it was his job to find it. “What else?”

She paused, twisting the ring on
her finger. “Not much—unless you count the fire.”

“Fire?” He flipped to a clean
notebook page. “Tell me about it.”

“It happened in January. It wasn’t
very big. A short in the electrical system—faulty wiring, overloaded circuits.
I didn’t lose much merchandise, but I had to close for almost two weeks while
they repaired the damage. Those two weeks cut into my Valentine’s Day profits.
And then, I had to fight with the insurance company. They didn’t want to pay
the claim.”

“Did they?”

“Yes, but I had to have
inspectors and adjusters come out three or four times. Seems like there was
some discrepancy in the reports. A computer error, they said, once it was
straightened out.”

“Sounds like you’ve overcome some
troubles.”

“I’m sure it will be quiet again
tomorrow. But things should pick up once Easter sales get going.”

“I’m sure they will.” He closed
his notebook. “I think the worst is over. Can I do anything else to help?
Please?”

Sarah filled a large plastic
dishpan with hot water and started cleaning the sculpting tools. “I guess you
can dry. There are towels in that drawer.” She pointed with her chin. “Can I
interrogate you now?”

He laughed. “Fire away.”

“Tell me about yourself,” she
said. “Let me guess. You played basketball in school, right?”

He chortled and shook his head. “Debate
team in high school. I was tall, but totally uncoordinated. Couldn’t get a ball
near the hoop if I was standing on a ladder. Rowed in college. No fancy
footwork required. Just had to be able to count.”

“So you’re a six-foot-something
cop who doesn’t like doughnuts and you don’t play basketball. Any other
surprises?”

“Not really. And I’m six-six.
Nowadays, that’s barely tall enough for pro ball.”

“Why did you become a cop?”

“It felt like the right job for
me. Maybe it’s because my mom always used to say, ‘Why isn’t there a cop around
when you need one?’ Then, when she was killed in a hit-and-run, it seemed like
making another cop available was the thing to do. I found out I liked it and I’m
good at my job.”

“I’m sorry about your mom. Has
she been gone long?”

“Since I was six. I was lucky. My
grandparents lived nearby, so I always had family around, even when Dad couldn’t
be there for us. Until I went away to college, I spent more time at their place
than at mine.” He turned away, fussed with arranging the tools into a straight
line. “When my grandmother died, she left the house to me.” If Sarah heard his
voice shift, she said nothing.

“Brothers or sisters?”

“One older sister. Married, three
kids, lives in Akron, Ohio.”

“I’m an only. I always wanted a
sister.” Sarah gave the room a final inspection and retrieved her coat and
purse from a closet. “That’s it. Thanks for helping.”

“My pleasure. Can I give you a
ride home?”

When she seemed reluctant, he
pressed, telling himself it was his responsibility as a cop to take care of a
citizen. “I insist. It’s dark and getting cold.”

His pulse jumped when she
accepted.

They walked across the parking
lot to his F-150. Twice, he resisted the urge to put his hand at her back to guide
her, finally shoving his fists into his pockets. What would have been perfectly
acceptable in an ordinary social circumstance was forbidden him as a cop with a
victim. He glanced her way, noticing that she kept more than a discreet
distance between them.

What was he thinking? He was a
cop doing his job.

Yeah, right. Which is why you
divulged your entire life history to someone you’ve just met.

Most of his colleagues didn’t
know that much about his past.

And why was he responding,
anyway? Those blue eyes? The way she’d looked at him when he walked into her
store, as if she knew he’d make everything right. Damn. He never got involved
with his cases outside the scope of his job. By the time his mind drifted back
to reality, they’d reached his truck.

“This is it,” Randy said. Sarah
gave Randy a quizzical look.

“What?” Randy asked. “Don’t like
my ride?”

“Oh, no, it’s not that. I guess I
was expecting … you know … a police car.”

“No, those are for the patrol
officers. Took some doing, but I can use my pickup instead of the standard
unmarked cars. Got tired of driving with my knees on my chin.” He unlocked the
door and helped her up, letting himself enjoy the feel of her touch as she
gripped his hand. When he took his seat, he glanced over at her. The animation she’d
displayed when she was working with her class had disappeared. She stared
straight ahead.

He let the cop take over. “I’d
like to borrow your business files. I think I might get a better feel for this
if I looked at the paperwork.”

“I guess so, if you think it
would help.” Her voice was flat.

“It might. Ninety-five percent of
what I look at usually turns out to be nothing. It’s finding which pieces make
up the five percent of useful information that solves cases.”

“You can come by the shop
tomorrow and look at whatever you think’s important. Or should we go there now?”

He saw the exhaustion overtaking
her. “Tomorrow is soon enough.” Randy gave up on his rusty attempts at small
talk for the rest of the drive. He slowed in front of her building, searching
for a nearby parking place. Before he could drive around to the building’s
parking area, Sarah broke the silence.

“You can drop me off here.” She’d
already unfastened her seat belt.

“I’ll walk you up,” he said after
stopping beside a fire hydrant. “I’ll park around back.”

“You don’t have to do that.” She
opened the door and jumped down. “Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow.”

But before she closed the door,
she gave him a smile that had more than his hopes up.
She is a victim—you
are a cop
became his mantra as he drove home.

Sarah picked up her mail and
climbed the interior stairs of her building, thoughts of Randy churning through
her mind. He wasn’t like the gruff, impersonal cops who had investigated David’s
accident. His eyes—they said he cared. And the way he’d worked with her
class—he’d seemed nervous at first, but once he got started, he fit right in.
She thought of his huge, strong hands with their long, slender fingers helping
Mr. Foster’s knobby ones. And the way he joked with Mrs. Evans until she
stopped complaining about everything. Sarah had almost forgotten Randy was a
cop while he was working with her.

But he
was
a cop. Maybe he’d
look into David’s accident report. Maybe he could find something that would
make them reopen the case. She’d almost had the courage to ask him on the ride
home. Almost. Maybe tomorrow.

Sarah unlocked her door, tossed
the mail on the coffee table, and powered on her computer. Tired as she was,
she looked forward to entering the day’s sales for the first time in weeks. A
pop-up on the monitor told her she hadn’t logged off properly the last time she’d
used the computer.

“And it’ll probably happen again,
you nasty little machine. You’re lucky you weren’t replaced five years ago. Don’t
you forget who owns you. I’m Sarah. David doesn’t do this anymore. You do what
I say, understand?” She clicked the window shut and moved on to her data entry.

Her totals looked reassuring
until she opened her mail and saw the bills. Before David died, they’d never
carried a balance on their credit cards, and now she’d been cut off on her
Visa. It would take more than today’s profits to pay the monthly minimum, to
say nothing about the interest that would be added. And the electric company
said she couldn’t be late again.

There was one payment she might
be able to put off. She marched to the phone before she could change her mind.

“Diana? It’s Sarah.” She heard
the breathless way Diana answered, a man’s mumbling in the background. Well,
what else was new? With her sister-in-law preoccupied, Sarah should be able to
slide the robbery in before Diana’s little brain wrapped around it. Sarah
smiled. “Am I interrupting? I’m afraid there’s some bad news.”

* * * * *

After making her deposit the next
morning, Sarah walked the three blocks from the bank to her shop. Clouds rolled
in, high and white. Yet, even as she tightened her coat, the buildings along
the way seemed brighter, the birds in the trees sang more cheerfully, and the
traffic seemed to be flowing smoothly, unpunctuated by honking. Amazing what
one day of good sales could do. And Diana hadn’t seemed to mind delaying her
check, which meant she was going to make it through the month. Sarah rounded
the corner toward her shop, noticing the fresh pink and white blossoms emerging
from the flowering plum trees that lined the street.

When she arrived, Randy was
leaning against the door of the shop, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, one
ankle crossed over the other. That one lock of hair still hung over his brow.
Aviator sunglasses over his hawk-like nose obscured his eyes. She took in the
angular planes of his face. Handsome in a rugged kind of way, she decided. And,
for some reason, he didn’t seem quite as tall as yesterday.

She smiled. “You’re quite the
early bird. I don’t open for another twenty minutes.”

“I figured it’d be better to get
here before you had to deal with customers.”

“Thanks.” Sarah unlocked the door
and led Randy to her office. After hanging up her coat, she surreptitiously
adjusted her sweater and gave her hair a quick finger comb. She went through
the filing cabinet, pulled the folders from the insurance company and extended
them to Randy. He’d removed his sunglasses and yes, his eyes most definitely
had hazel flecks. “These are the insurance files,” she said. “For the merchant
files, we marked the problems in red, but they’re not separated. I’m afraid you’d
have to go through each file.”

“That’s what I do,” Randy said.
He flexed his fingers. “Contrary to popular belief, most detective work is
paperwork.”

Sarah gave him an intense stare. “This
is about more than Gertie and the robbery, isn’t it?”

“Let’s say I’ve expanded my
horizons.”

“If someone wanted to put me out
of business, why waste time with little mix-ups? There’s got to be a more
effective way to do it.” She gestured to the cabinets. “My files are your
files. I can’t imagine you’ll find much, but suit yourself. I told you, things
happen.”

Randy stepped to the file
cabinets and withdrew a batch of folders. Sarah put a pot of coffee on to brew.

“It’s decaf, but help yourself.
There’s a restroom behind you. I’ve got to open up now.”

Randy was already sitting at the
desk, tapping his pen on its surface, engrossed in the files.

Customers trickled in throughout
the morning. As Sarah expected, the novelty of the robbery had worn off, but
business was steady. More spring merchandise would arrive any day now, and she
planned for her new displays, trying to ignore the man working in her office.
The
cop
working in her office, she reminded herself. Last night had been
police business, nothing more.

Shortly before noon, Randy
emerged, hands on his lower back, stretching and twisting. He’d taken off his
jacket, and his turtleneck hugged his chest when he moved. Unsettled by her
attraction, she moved her gaze higher and found his hazel-flecked eyes just as
disconcerting.

“I guess that office wasn’t
designed for someone your size,” Sarah said. “Did you discover anything
interesting?”

“It’s too early to say. I’d like
to borrow some of these files and do some more checking. I’ve made a list of
the ones I’d like.”

“You’ll let me know what you find
out?”

“Of course. You still have my
card, right?”

“I think so.” She checked her
wallet. “Yes, right here.”

“Give it to me a minute.” She
handed it to him, almost dropping it as their fingers touched. He wrote
something on the back. “That’s my personal cell phone number. You call me if
anything happens.” He closed the short distance between them and set the card
on the counter. “Day or night. Understand?”

“Should I be worried?”
Ask
him. Ask him to look at David’s accident.
But the words wouldn’t come. Not
yet.

“I don’t think so, but I prefer
to be cautious. I’m a cop. I see too much of the bad side of things. Keep my
card handy—consider it an ounce of prevention. I’ll check with you tomorrow.”

She watched Randy walk away, his
long stride easy and relaxed. Something told her with him on the case, her life
would get back to normal. For a minute she debated forgetting about the
accident. David was dead and she needed to move on. But she thought of the
biddies who came in from time to time, buying the cheapest thing they could
find, looking at her like she was a black widow spider. They had no idea how
much it hurt. She fingered her wedding band.
David, why? Was it me?

* * * * *

By evening, the clouds had blown
away, and the crisp evening air revitalized her as Sarah walked from the bus
stop to her apartment. When she reached the top of the interior stairs, she saw
Maggie juggling her purse and two grocery bags while trying to fit her key into
the lock.

“Hi, Maggie. Let me help you,”
Sarah said. She took one of the shopping bags.

“Thanks, Sarah. I don’t know why
I never put the bags down first. By the way, is your heater working now?”

“Heater? There’s nothing wrong
with my heater—at least I don’t think so. I haven’t had it on in a while. Why?”

“I saw a repairman coming out of
your place yesterday. He said you’d called him to fix the heater. I meant to
tell you, but things have been hectic and it must have slipped my mind. I
assumed Mrs. Pentecost let him in.”

Someone in her apartment? Not
fixing her heater, Sarah was sure of that. Wearing sweatshirts was cheaper than
heating bills. Mrs. Pentecost would have said something. She heard nothing
beyond a pounding in her ears. Maggie’s voice finally broke through.

“Sarah? Are you all right? You’re
three shades lighter.”

“No, Maggie, I’m not all right.
There was a robbery at the store and now you tell me a stranger was in my
apartment yesterday. I’m having trouble believing it’s a coincidence.”

“A robbery! Why didn’t you tell
me? Oh, dear. How much was stolen? Come in and call Mrs. Pentecost about the
heater man and then tell me what happened.”

Maggie got the door open and
gestured Sarah in. “Put the bag on the kitchen counter. Mrs. P is speed dial
three. I’m going to change out of these exercise clothes.”

Sarah punched in the number. When
Mrs. Pentecost confirmed that she hadn’t called a repairman, Sarah’s mouth
turned dry. She fished in her purse for Randy’s card, called and told him what
had happened.

Sarah tried to relax. She took
comfort in the way Maggie swooshed into the kitchen, now dressed in a flowing
orange and pink caftan, and started taking groceries out of the bags, pouring
water into the teakettle, filling the cat’s food dish and setting a plate of
cookies on the living room coffee table. Sarah shook her head at the woman’s
energy. She knew Maggie was well into her sixties, but she could easily pass
for someone in her mid-forties.

Sarah sat on the couch and
watched Maggie carry a wooden tray holding a blue calico teapot and two
mismatched cups and saucers. Maggie set the tray next to the cookies, poured
two cups of tea, and sat down in the easy chair. The chair’s blue satin stripes
clashed delightfully with the caftan’s orange and pink swirls.

“Now, tell me about the robbery,”
Maggie said. “And what did Mrs. P say?”

Sarah took a deep breath and
relayed the information as succinctly as she could before sipping her tea. “Mmm.
This is good. A new one?”

“Jasmine Pearls. There’s a new
tearoom on Baxter Street. FeliciTea. Don’t tell anyone, but the cookies are
from there, too.” She winked at Sarah.

“My lips are sealed. Randy said
to wait here if possible.”

“Oh, so it’s Randy, is it? Tell
me more.” Maggie’s eyes twinkled even bluer.

Sarah knew she was blushing. “He’s
the detective who’s been trying to catch the old lady who robbed my store.”

“And—?”

“What, ‘and’?”

“He wouldn’t be about
six-foot-thirteen, now, would he? Brown eyes, brown hair hanging in his eyes?
Nice ass.”

“How did you …?” Of course. Maggie
didn’t miss much when she was home. Sarah leaned forward. “Maggie, did you get
a good look at the heater man?”

“Pretty good, I’d say.”

“That’s great. You can describe
him to Randy.”

The doorbell rang. Sarah jumped
up. “I’ll get it.”

Sarah smoothed her hair, forcing
back the grin that insisted on breaking through when she saw Randy through the
peephole. She motioned Randy into the living room and made the introductions.

“Nice to meet you, Detective,”
Maggie said. “May I offer you some tea and cookies?” She pointed to her chair. “Please,
sit down.” Maggie was already up and on her way to the kitchen.

Randy took a seat in the blue
striped chair Maggie had vacated. Sarah watched Randy look around the
apartment, an expression of incredulity on his face. Eclectic was an
understatement. There was a blue lava lamp below a psychedelic Peter Max poster
in the entryway, a beanbag chair that doubled as an ottoman for a Victorian
easy chair, a chrome and glass coffee table and a Shaker dining table with a
Van Gogh sunflower print above the sideboard.

Randy
called out toward the kitchen, “Ms. Cooper, Sarah tells me—”

“Call me Maggie.” She returned to
the living room with another cup and saucer, poured the tea and handed it to
Randy. “Have a cookie, too.” A mass of black fur streaked in from the kitchen
and pounced onto Randy’s lap.

“Othello!” Maggie said. “Shame on
you. You know better than to bother a visitor.” She reached over to pick up the
offending feline.

“I don’t mind. I have two cats
myself.” He scratched Othello behind the ears. The cat kneaded his paws into
Randy’s thighs and settled down, purring with contentment.

Randy took a cookie and set it on
his saucer, then resumed scratching the cat. “Sarah says you saw someone
leaving her apartment yesterday. Can you tell me what time, what he looked
like, anything?” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his small
black notebook. Sarah smiled when he clicked his pen three times before he
wrote something down. Othello looked up once he stopped getting the attention
he expected, then retreated to the kitchen.

Maggie’s expression became
businesslike. All the frivolity left her voice. “It was three-thirty yesterday
afternoon. I know because that’s the time I leave to read to the kids at the
after-school program. I stopped to ask him what he was doing in your apartment,
and he said he was fixing the heater.”