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Chapter 7
At lunch the next day, Lainey went to a different fast food restaurant and chose the drive-thru lane. After ordering a burrito, she set the bag on the floor and drove to the house on Ranchview. She needed to pick up her mail and get more clothes.
Carrying the bag with her burrito, she unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Stopped, goosebumps rising on her arms. The house was damp. Cold. Colder than it should have been. As if a window had been left open.
But she’d made sure all the windows were closed before she left with Brody that night.
Something was wrong.
The bag slipped out of her hand, and she reached into her purse for her gun. Her hand barely shook as she listened intently.
Hearing nothing, clutching the gun tightly, she stepped into the living room, leaving the front door open. Listened hard for several moments, but heard no sounds. No signs of anyone inside the house.
Drawing a shaky breath, she scanned the living room windows. None of them were broken. She stepped into the kitchen. Froze with a gasp. Shards of glass littered the floor beneath the door. One of the door’s panes was broken, leaving behind sharp spears of glass glittering in the sunlight.
Someone had punched out a window, reached inside the door, unlocked it and strolled in.
Forcing herself to walk to the door, she crouched and studied the white linoleum. Several dark red spots splattered the floor beneath the broken window, and Lainey saw the picture vividly. The intruder had been excited to find the house empty. He’d thrust his arm through the door without thinking and cut himself on the glass.
Rising, Lainey swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. She needed to look at the rest of the house. She glanced toward the door that led to the basement and shuddered. God, no. She wasn’t going down there.
Her bedroom was empty, but it had been searched. Drawers stood open, clothes hanging randomly out of them. Her lingerie drawer had drawn extra attention. Pink, violet, blue and green scraps of silk and satin covered the floor and the bed.
A stranger had pawed through her most intimate garments.
Turning away, she moved to the spare bedroom she used as an office. Her desk had been ransacked. Files littered the floor, papers spilling out of the manila folders. It was impossible to tell if anything was missing.
She dug into her purse for her phone. Wrapping her fingers around it, she longed to call Brody.
No. She’d gotten too used to leaning on Brody in the past week. She’d liked leaning on him. But as much as she dreaded talking to the sheriff, she was perfectly capable of dealing with Pete Jacobs. Breathing deeply, she squared her shoulders.
She carefully set her gun on an end table in the living room, then called the Sheriff’s office’s non-emergency number. When a woman answered, she asked to speak to Sheriff Jacobs. The woman asked what it was concerning, and Lainey said it was between her and the sheriff.
“Jacobs,” came his gruff voice a few minutes later.
“Sheriff, this is Lainey Dearborn. I stopped by my house just now, and I’ve had a break-in. Broken glass on the back door, and my bedroom and office have been searched.”
“Why didn’t you call 911?” he asked, irritation in his voice. “What if the intruder was still there?”
“The intruder was long gone,” she said. “The blood on the floor near the broken window is dry. There’s no one in this house. And I didn’t want a repeat of the experience I had with Stu Stevens when I called about a prowler several days ago.”
The line was silent for a long moment. The day after her encounter with the deputy, she’d left a voice mail message for the sheriff, detailing the things Stu had said that night. She’d never heard back from him.
“Sorry, Lainey,” he finally said. “We’ve been busy investigating the fire and Ron’s murder. I should have called you.”
She wanted to say ‘yes, you should have’, but she kept silent. Finally the sheriff sighed. “I understand why you didn’t want to call 911. I’ll be right over.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said, then disconnected.
Five minutes later the sheriff’s SUV pulled up in front of the house. The door slammed, and Pete strode toward her front door.
As he stepped into the house, he said, “You touch anything?”
She wanted to say ‘I’m not an idiot’, but shook her head. “No.” He looked at the broken glass. Studied the blood on the floor. Then he went into her bedroom and surveyed the mess. Turned and surveyed the spill of papers and file folders on the floor of her office.
Bowling out a breath, he said, “I’ll send over the crime scene techs. Have them try to lift prints. They’ll take some of the blood on the floor and we’ll see if we have a DNA match. Once they’re finished, you can go through your papers and your clothes in the bedroom and see if anything’s missing.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate that.” She didn’t want to leave him alone in her house, but she had an appointment in ten minutes. “I have a client coming in a few minutes. If you’d lock the door when your technicians are finished, I’d appreciate it.”
