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“We couldn’t find your purse in the car.”
“Does that mean it is still out in the field she crashed in?” My mom asks but Gareth doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“Not exactly.”
“Gareth, where is my purse?” I don’t mean to be hysterical about it but that bag has everything in it. I’m lost without it.
“Old Man Huxley thought he saw someone take something from your car.” A memory flashes through my mind of the passenger door opening but no help coming. Someone opened my door. He continues on with that solemn voice, “I think it was your purse.”
“Why would someone take her purse?” Thankful it’s coming from Mom and not from me, so I don’t sound like a shrew over this whole purse thing. I slump back in bed at the thought of everything I have to replace or cancel because some asshole took advantage of the situation.
“I…I think…I remember that.” I hold my head because trying to remember hurts.
“But why would anyone take her purse and not stay and help?”
My mom is getting mad at the thought someone would take from me while I was in such a vulnerable position. It doesn’t reflect very well on us humans.
“It gets…stickier.”
Me and my mom both look at him and speak at the same time, “Stickier?”
What the hell does that mean?
“It turns out there was a murder that occurred just before your…accident.”
“Oh, that is unfortunate…but what does that have to do with Birdie?”
“We think it may have something to do with the person or people who perpetrated the murder.”
A chill runs through me at his words and a sense of nausea rises up in my tummy. I reach out with my other hand to grab onto my mother.
“What? How?!”
“If these men think she saw them -even a quick glimpse in the rearview mirror- they will try to keep her from saying anything to anybody.”
A memory tries to float to the surface but doesn’t make it all the way. I could try to recall it but it’s just going to cause me pain. I focus back in on the conversation going on between my mom and Gareth.
“Oh My God! Are you suggesting...?” My mom doesn’t finish her question and I’m glad she didn’t. I don’t want to know the answer.
“Now I have an idea about how to keep you safe…”
“No!” I stop him from going any further. “I’m…I’m not in any danger. My purse is probably laying out in the ditch somewhere and…”
“Birdie,” This time he interrupts me. “Your apartment was broken into about an hour ago."
I sit stunned. When I look over to my mom to find out how to take this, she has big, worried eyes and stands a little closer to me.
“It was ransacked and set on fire.”
“Oh shit!” I barely breathe the word out while my mom squeezes my hand tighter and breathes out her own exclamation.
“Oh My GOD!”
“Mom?! Brownie?”
“He’s still at my house, sweetheart. No need to worry about him.”
I guess that is one thing I can take off my worry list. Still on it, being a target for people who have already killed once, finding out if I have a place to stay once the hospital releases me, and if I’m going to make it to see another Friday night self-defense class with my hot cop instructor.
