“Sedatives for surgery recovery. Pain medication.” His voice lowers. “Some antibiotics too.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would they take those?”
“I know. I don’t get it either.”
One of the officers walks over holding a small notebook. “Miss Hayes?”
I turn toward him automatically. “Yes.”
The next twenty minutes blur together into questions. What time did we close? Who has keys? Any recent problems with clients? Any angry volunteers? Did we notice suspicious vehicles recently?
I answer everything as calmly as I can while mentally replaying Mama’s car over and over again. Finally, the officer steps away to speak with his partner, and Jules looks back toward me, concerned.
“You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“Maggie.”
I hesitate. Then I realize not telling him is probably impossible anyway because the second he notices my hoodie is missing, he’s going to lose his mind. So, I exhale slowly and lean against the edge of the desk.
“There’s somethin’ else.”
His expression changes instantly.
“What is it?”
“Mama called me before you did.”
Concern flashes across his face. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, but somebody broke into her car last night. Or maybe early this morning.”
Jules straightens so fast he nearly knocks over a stack of folders.
“What?” he asks, clutching at his chest.
“The driver-side window got smashed. They dumped her registration papers everywhere.” I swallow hard. “And they left my shelter hoodie folded on the front seat.”
Every ounce of color drains out of his face.
“Maggie.”
“I know.”
“No, you donotknow because you are standing there way too calm right now.”
“I’m not calm.”
“You have a stalker.”
The words hit me hard enough to make me blink. “What?” I almost laugh. “No. No it’s not possible.”
“Yes.” He points dramatically toward me. “Yes, you absolutely do.”
“Jules—”
“Oh, my word.” He starts pacing immediately. “Okay. Okay, first question. Could it be the Russian hottie man?”
