Wait Until Dark (32 page)

2

"I'D LIKE TO REPORT A BREAK-IN."

Valerie McAllister cradled the telephone between her head and shoulder, all the while tapping the fingers of one hand impatiently on the steering wheel of her car.

"Yes," she told the officer on the other end of the line, the third one she'd been transferred to in less than two minutes, "I'll hold..."

Her eyes darted from one side of the darkened street to the other, watching for movement in the shadows, but all was still.

"Well, actually, I'm not exactly certain that anything was taken," she said hesitantly. "But I do know that the security alarm was turned off.... Yes, I am absolutely positive that I set it before I left the house this afternoon... No, I didn't go beyond the entry. As soon as I realized that someone had been there . . . you mean, besides the fact that the alarm wasn't working?"

She listened impatiently, her sense of indignation growing. In spite of the officer's skepticism, she knew
s
he'd set that alarm. And besides, once she'd pushed the door open and stepped into the foyer, she had just known that something was not right. It had been as if the air inside her town house had been disturbed – not only touched, but tainted - by an outsider.

There'd been a pricking at the back of her neck, an instinctive warning, even as she'd turned on the small lamp that sat on the table under the alarm. She'd turned slowly, the hair on her arms rising, as she searched the shadows that fell over the living room to her left. To the kitchen at the end of the short hall. Up the stairs, straight ahead, and beyond.

She'd backed out of the open door and snapped it behind her in an attempt to close in anyone who might still be lurking there. With uncharacteristic carelessness, she had waded through the knee-high shrubs that had been planted between her tiny porch and that of the town house next door. She'd leaned on the doorbell, waited, then leaned again, but there'd been no response. Bruce, her neighbor, must have taken his dog, Prudence, for one last evening walk. A glance at the house to her left, where no lights shone from within, told her that her neighbors on the other side were out as well. Seeking safety, she'd hurried back to her car, locked herself in securely, and dialed 911 on her cell phone.

And there she sat, anxiously awaiting the someone from the police department who would be there soon, as the voice on the phone had promised.

Valerie had never been the victim of a crime before. Over the past ten years, as a sought-after print model, she'd traveled from her home in the Montana hills to the most celebrated cities of the world, from New York to London to Lisbon, Paris to Rome, Rio to Hong Kong, without being mugged, robbed, or assaulted in any way. She'd lived in Manhattan for several years without incident. Yet here she'd been in California for barely six months, living in one of those small towns that sat just outside of Los Angeles County that boasted a low crime rate, and already the sanctity of her home had been violated.

Well, it could have been worse, she concluded. I could have been home when the break-in occurred, and no telling what might have happened then.

And, she reminded herself, she still didn't know what, if anything, had actually been taken. She sincerely hoped that whomever had been in her house that night had not had a penchant for photography. She'd left most of her equipment on the dining room table, in plain sight, the night before.

Two shapes appeared in the light of the street lamp. Bruce Miller, her neighbor and an aspiring actor, rounded the corner, holding a long red leash, the end of which was attached to the collar of a large, fluffy dog. With a sigh of relief, Valerie unlocked her door and stepped into the street.

"Hey, Val," Bruce called to her, struggling to hold onto the leash when the dog spied his buddy Val and took off in her direction. "You're late tonight."

"I've been home for awhile," she said as she walked toward him, putting out her hands to greet the bouncing mop of fur that was Prudence, the Old English sheepdog that shared Brace's town house.

"Something on the radio that you just had to hear the end of?" He handed Val the leash, since Prudence was intent upon showering her with affection.

"Actually, I was waiting for the police to get here," she told him as Prudence pranced around her in a wide circle, much like a giant cat. "I think I've had a break-in."

"What?" Bruce exclaimed.

"Someone was in my house. When I came home tonight, I opened the door and stepped inside, and the first thing I noticed was that the security alarm was off."

"Maybe you..."

"Please. Don't say it." She held up one hand as if to halt his words. "I did not forget to set it. It's the last thing I do before I leave. I distinctly remember that I did, in fact, set it this afternoon."

"What was taken?"

"I didn't go past the foyer, so I didn't have a chance to look around. I just knew that someone had been there, but I didn't know if they were still lurking inside, so I came out to the car and called the police. I was just sitting out here waiting for an officer to show up."

As if on cue, a dark sedan rounded the corner and pulled over to the curb, stopping nose-to-nose with Val's car. A tall, densely built man stretched out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk, nodding to Val and Bruce as he did so.

"Is this Thirty-seven Meadow Circle?" he asked.

"Yes. Are you with the police department?"

"Detective Rafferty, ma'am," he replied.

"I'm Valerie McAllister. I'm the one who called about the break-in." She handed the leash back to Bruce. "At least, I think there was a break-in."

"I'll take Prudence inside," Bruce told her as he led the dog in the direction of their door. "Come over when you're finished if it's not too late, and I'll make you a cappuccino and Pru can show you what she learned in doggie school this afternoon."

"Did you see anyone?" the detective asked as Valerie approached him.

"No. I didn't go in. I left as soon as I realized that someone had been in there."

"So you don't know what, if anything, was taken?"

She shook her head.

"That was quick thinking." He smiled at her. "There's always the chance that you surprised someone who was still there."

"I was afraid that might be a possibility."

The detective was tall and good-looking, with light brown hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. His pleasant smile and polite manner immediately put Val at ease.

"Shall we go inside?" Val asked as she headed toward the walk.

"Let me go in first and take a look around." He followed her up the walk.

"Is the door locked?" he asked as they approached the narrow covered porch.

"Yes. I have the key," she said, holding up the key ring to the light to find the right one. She slid it into the lock and turned the door handle, pushed the door open, and stepped aside.

"Just wait here for a minute, if you don't mind," Detective Rafferty told her as he moved past her into the foyer.

"Shouldn't you call for back-up or something?" she found herself whispering.

He drew a gun that had been previously hidden behind a light brown sport jacket.

"I'd be real surprised if anyone was still here after you opened the front door. Is there a back entrance?"

She nodded.

"Just give me a minute to take a look around."

Valerie stood directly in the haze of the overhead porch lamp, and watched as the lights in her town house came on. First the living room, then minutes later, a feint glow could be seen at the top of the stairs.

"Just as I thought," the officer said as he came down the steps. "Whoever was here is long gone. Come on in and we'll see if we can tell what's missing."

Val's first concern was for her camera equipment, and now that the house was safe to enter, she made a beeline to the dining room where she'd left several bags holding expensive cameras and numerous lenses on the table that she rarely used for dining. Relieved to find that all was as she'd left it, she turned her attention to the rest of the house.

Over the next two hours, accompanied by the detective, Val scoured every room. When she stepped into her bedroom, she experienced the same tingling along her spine she'd felt when she'd first opened the front door, though nothing appeared to be disturbed on the second floor. She was beginning to wonder if there had been a break-in after all.

And then she heard the faint crunching sound under her feet.

She bent down and picked up the tiny white grains. "Rice." She held her hand out to the detective. "It's rice..."

"Had you dropped…" he began.

"I don't have rice in my house. I don't eat it." She looked up at him, baffled. "Why would someone leave
rice
on my floor?"

"I don't know." Rafferty picked a number of grains from the steps and dropped them into an evidence bag. "Let's take another look around downstairs."

The first item that she'd positively determined to be missing from the living room was the Limoges wedding cake box made of porcelain that had been sitting in the middle of the coffee table as part of a collection. She was positive of this, she told Rafferty, because she'd placed it there only two days earlier, when she'd brought it back from the jeweler where she'd taken it to have the hinge repaired.

"I'd accidentally dropped it a few weeks ago,
"
she said. "The jeweler called on Friday to let me know it was ready to be picked up, but I was out of town and wasn't able to get there until Monday. Why would someone steal something so insignificant, yet leave all of that expensive camera equipment in the dining room?"

She paused in front of her desk and frowned.

"Miss McAllister?" Rafferty inquired, following her gaze.

"The photos are missing."

"The photos?"

"There had been an envelope of photos there on the desk. I was looking at them this morning, thinking about having a picture of my nephews enlarged and framed as a gift for my sister-in-law's parents."

"Are you sure you didn't drop them into one of the desk drawers, or maybe carried them into another room?"

"No. I left them right there." In spite of her assurances, she opened and closed all the desk drawers to prove that the photos were not there. "Why would anyone steal photographs?"

"With all due respect, Miss McAllister, yours is a pretty well-known face. If someone had taken pictures of you, it really wouldn't be so surprising."

"They weren't all of me. There were pictures of my brother and his twin boys that his wife sent to me. And several that she recently came across that had been taken at her family's home several Christmases ago. And some photos from their wedding. Nothing of any interest to anyone other than family."

"Still, you being a model, I'm not all that surprised that someone lifted pictures of you, though you'd expect that more as an incidental loss, you know, if the TV or the VCR had been taken as well." Rafferty told her as he stood in the open doorway, preparing to leave. "Look, it's pretty late. If it's all the same to you, I'll stop back tomorrow to make a formal report. And maybe between now and then, you'll discover something else that is missing. It's odd that someone would go to the trouble of breaking into your home, disabling your security system, and then not take anything of value."

"I don't have much jewelry." She shrugged. "And I don't keep money in the house, ever. And except for my cameras, there just isn't that much here to steal."

"Well, someone thought there might be."

"Someone went home disappointed."

"Not to make you uncomfortable, but have you noticed anyone following you, or received anonymous phone calls in the middle of the night?"

"No." She shook her head. "Nothing like that."

"It was just a thought. Sometimes, with people like yourself, especially women like you - well-known, beautiful - well, sometimes people follow them...." he said awkwardly.

"You mean like a stalker?" She shook her head again. "No. No, Detective. There's been nothing like that."

"I only bring it up because sometimes that type of behavior can lead to more overt actions, like a break-in. Often there's nothing significant found to be missing, but just as often, there might be something obscure, but personal...."

"I'll take another look around and I'll let you know."

"In the meantime, I'll see to it that a black and white makes the street and the alleyway out back part of his regular run."

"Thank you. I appreciate that," Val said as the detective turned and walked toward his car.

It was just after midnight, too late to take Bruce up on his offer of cappuccino and dog tricks. She locked the door behind her, reset her alarm - for all the good it had done tonight - and reminded herself to call another security company in the morning. The system she had was obviously ineffective and could be overridden with the right code.

She went upstairs and turned on the bedroom lamp. Could she sleep in this room, knowing someone had been there just hours earlier? She didn't think she could.