Hidden Fire, Kobo (13 page)

She gave Brody a polite hello before
saying, "I want to see what happened."

Brody arched his eyebrows at Randy. "Connor's
inside shooting pictures."

"Sarah," Randy said. "Wait
here one minute. Let me check the scene. Once we've got it photographed, you
can go in and tell us what's been disturbed."

Brody's mouth opened, then closed. When
Randy slipped inside the door, closing it behind him, he saw what had caused
Brody's reaction. His gut twisted as he thought of Sarah coming in here to
check for damage. More like what
hadn't
been damaged. Broken glass, her
fixtures knocked over, piles of merchandise strewn helter-skelter.

Connor emerged from the back office,
camera around his neck. He gave Randy a look that bordered on pity. "This
is a real mess. She's going to take it hard, isn't she?"

Randy looked at Sarah's dreams lying in
shattered ruins all over her shop. He swallowed several times before he could
answer. "Yeah. I'd better get her."

"I've tried to print the desks, the
counter—the big stuff that might give us something, but hell, half the town's
probably been in this place. I concentrated on printing the office, since the
perp was obviously in here and it's got more limited access."

"Smart thinking." Randy picked
his way back through the rubble. He composed his expression and opened the
door. Sarah's blue eyes glistened and she looked at him, hoping, waiting, he
knew, for him to say it was a minor break-in, that he couldn't tell what was
missing, that she'd need to inventory everything to find a few stolen items.
His expression must have betrayed the truth, because her face crumpled.

He covered the last few feet in a single
stride and folded her into his arms. She leaned against him briefly, then
stiffened and pushed away. "Let me see."

With her hand in his, he led her through
the door. Her fingers dug into his palm. He accepted the pain. It couldn't come
close to what she had to be feeling.

"Can I touch anything?" she
asked. "Or do you have to do more fingerprinting?"

"Connor's done for now," Randy
said. "But maybe you should wear gloves, just in case." He searched
out Connor who was packing his kit in a relatively clear corner and got two
pair. Snapping one onto his own hands, he held back, letting Sarah absorb the
chaos around her. She stepped carefully, her fingers pressed over her mouth. No
tears, he noticed.

They'd met under similar circumstances,
when she'd called the police to report being robbed. She'd been scared, but
then she'd had a gun in her face. Now, she seemed dazed. Robotic.

He handed her the gloves. "They're
going to be big on you." She worked her fingers into the tips, pulling the
excess latex past her wrists.

He let her wander. She stopped from time
to time, picking up broken pieces, ferreting out ones that had escaped damage.
She held each item at arm's length, then wiped it tenderly with a gloved
finger. When she struggled to right an overturned library table, he moved to
help her. He set the wooden piece upright, but it was as if he wasn't there—as
if she accepted that the law of gravity had been revoked and the table had
levitated into position. He retreated and watched her group and regroup the
intact pieces. A tiny smile played across her lips as she found an arrangement
that seemed to satisfy her.

Relieved she was coping, at least
outwardly, he crossed to the other side of the room and picked through the
debris for more salvageable items, surprised to find it calmed him as he set
them in a row along the wall.

The chief's words about dissolving the
department rang in his head, knocking back the calm with a roundhouse punch to
his solar plexus. He'd have to show the town council why they had to keep their
police force. On or off the clock, he needed to catch whoever did this,
probably more than find whoever murdered the mystery man. Who might not be a
mystery anymore.

"Sarah?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, her
face void of any emotion again, which threw another load of worry over him.

"Are you up to answering a few
questions?"

She repositioned some figurines, her
fingers playing over the arrangement on the table. "Can we do it here?"

He'd rather go to the station where he
could record it, but he conceded. She seemed to need the comfort of her things,
to see there was merchandise to salvage. "All right. Do you have paper in
your office?"

"I don't know." Her voice was
barely a whisper. "I used to." She crossed the room and he
intercepted her. He rested his hand at her waist. She didn't move away, but he couldn't
tell whether she was aware of his touch. She tensed as they entered her office.
Stepping over empty boxes and piles of Santas, hearts, and bunnies, she went to
her file cabinet and yanked open drawers, flipped through folders. She sank
into her chair. Lowered her head into her hands.

"Problem?" he asked. "Something
missing?"

"I can't tell. It looks normal
enough, but it's possible someone took papers out of folders. Unless I was
looking for a specific piece of paper or file, I might not ever know it's gone."

"Credit card receipts? Stealing
credit card account information?"

She shook her head. "That's all done
electronically. And the account numbers don't print on the receipts."

"Customer data?"

Another head shake. "I keep most of
that at home. Otherwise I'd never get out of here."

"What about these?" Randy
gathered colored papers scattered on the floor into a pile.

She glanced at what he held. "Holiday
fliers," she said. "You can put them on my desk. I stashed them in
the storage boxes, but it would be smarter to file them."

He squared them off and set them on desk,
then rested a hip on the corner. "What about the rest of this?"

"Basically window dressing. We'd
been working on decorating for fall and I was looking for things I could use."

He noticed the neat writing on the
upturned storage boxes. Valentine's Day. Winter. Fall. Easter. He'd never
thought about all the behind-the-scenes efforts Sarah put into her shop. She
went to the center of the room and picked up a headless pottery bird, about
twelve inches tall. Her face went as pale as the white ceramic and she
screamed.

"No! Damn you to hell." Tears
streamed down her face. She threw the bird against the wall, shattering what
was left of it.

He grabbed her, curled her against his
chest and let her sob.

Her sobs turned to hiccups and she
squirmed away. "Sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. "Not you.
That was the center of our first window display. David and I …" She lifted
her tear-stained face to his. "It was … special."

"Hey, don't apologize for loving
David. He was your husband for five years and I don't want you to think you can't
remember him, or talk about him, simply because I'm here." He found a box
of tissues on the floor and handed her one.

She dried her eyes. "I'm all right.
Ask your questions. I want this guy caught. And five minutes alone with him."

From the venom in her tone, Randy didn't
want to be there. Or maybe he did. "You'll have to wait in line."

"We'll decide that one later."
She sat down again. "What can I tell you?"

"Let's start with the obvious. Do
you have any idea who'd want to do this? Think about it. Anyone given you any
trouble lately?"

She nibbled her lower lip for a minute. "No.
Not that I'm aware of. I don't think anyone would do this because I overcharged
him, or shortchanged him, do you?" Her tone had lightened and there was
almost a smile at the corner of her mouth.

He smiled back. "Depends on how
much, I guess."

"Seriously, nobody's given me so
much as a raised eyebrow about my prices. I can't see this being the work of a
disgruntled customer." She paused. "But then, I totally missed Chris,
didn't I?" Her mouth dropped open. "You don't think he could be
behind this, do you? He's in prison in New Jersey. Isn't he?"

The thought had crossed his mind,
although this didn't seem to be the kind of thing Chris would do. The man had
been sneaky. Devious. Subtle. "I'll make the call, but we'd both have been
notified if he'd been released and an escape would have made the news."

"Well, in a way that's too bad,
because if it was Chris, then we'd get him, right?"

"In a heartbeat." He clicked
his pen a few times. "Okay, if it's not a customer, who else could it be?
Your sister-in-law?"

"Diana? No way. She took off with
some Greek kazillionaire and spends most of her time on a yacht somewhere."

He jotted a note to check anyway. "Okay,
how about from your non-work circles?"

Her laugh was more of a snort. "Like
I have a life outside the shop? Aside from the classes I teach at Saint Michael's,
I haven't exactly been in circulation lately. I can't see any of the senior set
capable of doing this. And over what? We have a good time. They tell me about
their grandchildren, or great-grandchildren and I listen. I bring them treats
sometimes. As far as I can tell, they like me, although Mrs. Rasmussen didn't
like that I put walnuts in my oatmeal cookies."

Relieved to see Sarah seemed in control
again, he went on. "Okay, what about the other direction? Not one of your
customers, but someone you have business dealings with."

"Like who? The other shopkeepers?
You think they're jealous and would come over here and do this? For what?"

"I have no idea. Nobody's approached
you with a business deal you turned down?"

"Not really."

She nibbled her lower lip again and he squelched
the desire to kiss her. "You had to think about that one."

"Well, after all the problems with
Chris, Don Farrabee at The Bookworm asked if I wanted to sell. He'd been
considering expanding, but I said no and he seemed fine with it. You can't
think he'd vandalize my shop to get me to sell."

"It's not what I think. It's what I
can prove or disprove. For now, everyone's on my list. Think. Who would be
happier if you were out of business?"

She stared at the ceiling. "My
mother, maybe. She wants me to move back to Indy." She gave a terse laugh.
"You going to add her, too?"

The strain was back. "Okay, Sarah.
That's enough for me to start with. Let's go."

"Where?"

"I was thinking my place."

"No, take me home." She climbed
to her feet.

"Will you be all right? Do you want
to call Maggie, or someone to be with you?"

Her eyes flashed sapphire. "No,
thank you very much. I'm capable of taking care of myself."

"I didn't say you weren't. I thought
you might like company."
Shit
. Where was his brain. Sleep-deprived
and sharing too much blood with lower parts of his anatomy. "Hang on for a
second." He grabbed his cell and went to the other room. Sarah didn't need
to hear this conversation. She had enough to worry about.

Sarah watched Randy bolt out of her
office. With a sigh, she reached for the carton labeled "Easter" and
began setting decorations inside. Unlike the front of the shop, not much here
appeared broken. Great. She'd have gorgeous window displays and nothing to
sell.

Don't think about it. Just clean up. One
piece at a time.

Randy could go do his cop stuff and she'd
work until the office was habitable. Her ears pricked when she heard Randy
giving someone her home address. She dropped a pink bunny into the box and
rushed out front.

"I'll hold," he said. He stood
in the far corner, pacing a tight circle, clenching and unclenching his free
hand.

Her heart broke into a rapid trot. She
held her breath, waiting, listening to what Randy would say next.

"Thanks. Boost patrols to every
thirty minutes. I'll handle the rest." He clipped the phone to his belt.

"Handle what?" she asked. His
silence said he was searching for the right words. "Tell me. I heard you
give someone my address. I have a right to know what's going on. Who were you
talking to?"

He paused, as if deciding how to relay
unpleasant news.

"Oh, for God's sake," she
huffed. "It was
my
shop that was vandalized and it's
my
life
we're talking about. Stop trying to keep me in some kind of isolation chamber.
I'm a grown woman and can take care of myself."

His lips thinned to a white line. "All
right, Sarah. You want it? Someone came in here and for reasons unknown,
destroyed half your merchandise. You haven't been able to give me a motive or a
suspect, so I have to consider all the possibilities, one of which is this
creep is after
you
. I called the station and had them send a patrol car
to your apartment to see if anything was wrong. And to create a visible
presence all night, so if someone planned to do anything, they'd think twice."