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“Will miracles never cease,” he mutters, giving me the side-eye.
“You ladies haven’t touched anything?” Drake asks.
“No, nothing, not even the screen door after I knew it was open,” I reply. “I grabbed the screen door and the doorknob before the intrusion, though. The door was definitely locked.”
“Got it. Everybody, please stay here.” Drake shifts his body weight, unstraps his gun, and slowly opens the screen door to enter the house.
Faye starts explaining what happened with Hercules to West. I interrupt because she’s too amped up, making it all sound jumbled and confusing.
I tell him exactly what I heard and why I came by, finishing with, “So, yeah. It was strange to see Herc so riled up, too. He was acting like something scared him. You sure he’s not part guard pig?”
Before West answers, Drake yells from inside the house. “Coast is clear! Come on in, folks.”
“Stay put,” West says sternly, flashing me a blue-eyed warning.
Faye wrings her hands together nervously, her frizzy hair bobbing in the breeze. I take her arm gently and lead her to one of the big rocking chairs on the porch.
I actually wanted her to stay home, but she insisted on following me to Weston’s. We didn’t know if Drake would beat us there or not.
Ugh.
Maybe I should have stayed home, considering the cold shoulder I’m getting from Mr. Snarlypants.
“You don’t have a key hidden anywhere outside?” I hear Drake ask Weston.
“Hell no,” Weston responds.
I move closer to the door to listen.
Just like at Faye’s house, Drake combs over the lock, photographing it in extreme detail for evidence.
“It’s just like last time. No visible marks, but I’d say it was picked with a newer electronic tool. They’re not like your daddy’s crude kits—these damn things only take seconds on old locks and they don’t leave any signs. None that can be detected without a forensics lab looking real hard under a microscope.” Drake stiffens, adjusting his uniform. “You sure everything’s there? Nothing missing at all?”
“Not that I can tell, but I honestly don’t remember what I had in that cabinet,” West says with a sigh. His eyes flash like beams, angry and searching. “I’ve got to admit, a lot of the miscellaneous stuff hanging around is crap my parents left behind when they moved. I never bothered cleaning it out. Think I’ve only opened those bottom cabinets a few times in my entire life.”
“Seems like the perp was looking for something,” Drake says. “He probably hoped there was something more valuable in there than old storybooks.”
Weston nods grimly.
“Guess so.”
“Shit, I have to say I’m stumped. We’ve never had targeted break-ins like this with flashy new tools from polished criminals. Almost makes me want another round of mafia dickheads and escaped tigers,” Drake jokes darkly.
“Yeah, dammit, me too,” Weston says. “I’ve got one theory, though. Aunt Faye and I were the last two targets. What if someone’s after my family? I better give Uncle Grady and Willow a heads-up...”
My heart sinks into a crater.
I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m partly responsible for this mess, for that worry etched on his handsome face like scratches on flawless marble.
If I’d just been a little faster, if I’d spotted a person or license plate or anything, I could’ve saved him so much grief.
I want to help him so much it twists me inside out.
Oh, Weston, just show me how.
16
Hog Chaser (Weston)
