Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Page 18

  “Hang on.” Jake placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Don’t assume anything. I’ll call her right away, unless you want me to run over to the house and check on her.”

  Laurel drew a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. “Call her, please. I’d do it, but I’m still a little shaky, and I don’t want to scare her.”

  He pulled out his phone again and placed the call. “Hi, Rosemary. Laurel and I are at her place and wanted to make sure everything’s okay there.”

  While he listened, Laurel could hear the faint squawk of her mother’s voice. As Jake briefly explained what had happened, the volume rose in a crescendo.

  “No, no. It would be better if you stayed where you are. It’s messy, but there’s not much real damage. We’re fine. Rufus is fine. And the Sheriff’s deputies are on their way. We’ll call you after they leave.”

  After making a few more calming noises, he ended the call and wrapped an arm around Laurel. “Are you okay?”

  She sniffed back incipient tears. “On top of everything else, I feel so guilty. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her that upset.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Of course, she’s upset. She’s your mother. But everything’s going to be okay, and she’ll be fine as soon as she sees you’re all right.”

  “I hope so.” She leaned against him and closed her eyes for a moment, then straightened reluctantly. “We should look around a little more before the officers arrive.”

  “Right.” Jake stepped away and began a slow inspection of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. “The clothes from your closet are still on their hangers. The sofa cushions are unzipped instead of being slashed. And the kitchen appears to be untouched.”

  “But my bookshelves…nearly everything’s broken.”

  He frowned. “That is odd. Usually, damage like that is the result of rage or vandalism, and the rest of the scene doesn’t suggest either. We’ll see what the cops think.”

  Three firm raps sounded at the door.

  “That must be the deputies.” Laurel headed for the door.

  Two brown-clad Monterey County Sheriff’s deputies stepped inside and surveyed the room. One was solid, middle-aged, and male, and the other was a young woman with the hard eyes and chiseled physique of a mixed martial arts fighter. Laurel suspected her uniform hid an array of tattoos. They introduced themselves as Deputies Carlyle and Gomez.

  Deputy Carlyle gave his partner a quick nod. “Sonia, why don’t you start looking around?” He removed a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and turned an expectant gaze on Laurel. “This is your residence, Ms. McDowell?”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced at Jake. “I assume no one has disturbed the scene.”

  Jake answered. “We haven’t touched anything but the cat.”

  On cue, Rufus meowed and strutted in front of the deputy, flipping the tip of his tail.

  Carlyle’s brows shot up. “Whoa. That’s some cat. He must weight twenty-five pounds.”

  Laurel reached down to rub his ears. “Close to it.”

  The officer shook his head before returning his attention to his notebook. “Let’s start with you telling me as much as you can about what happened here.”

  Laurel relayed the story, but it wasn’t long.

  The deputy looked up from his pad and glanced at the door. “It looks like you have an alarm system. Was it armed?”

  She honestly couldn’t remember. The system was new, so setting it wasn’t a habit yet, and with Sergei back in Seattle, security hadn’t been the first thing on her mind. This morning she’d been excited to see Jake and couldn’t recall if she’d set the alarm when they left. “I’m not sure.” She glanced at him with a question in her eyes. He shrugged and shook his head.

  Deputy Gomez interrupted, pointing to the bronze dolphin sculpture on the floor. “Chuck, come take a look at this. It looks like there’s blood on this statue, and some on the table, too.”

  Carlyle examined both items without touching them then straightened with a barely audible groan. “Better call for a forensics team.” He returned his attention to Laurel and Jake. “We’ll conduct a thorough search, but did you notice any signs of blood elsewhere in the house?”

  “No.”

  Annoyed at being ignored after his ordeal, Rufus decided to insert himself in the conversation. He twined around Laurel’s ankles and purred.

  The deputy eyed him. “Your cat is our only witness. It’s too bad we can’t question him.”

  Rufus looked him straight in the eye then raced across the room and leapt from the floor to the top shelf of one of the bookcases in a single bound.

  Carlyle stared at him. “Did you see that?”

  “He’s a champion jumper,” Laurel agreed.

  The deputy crossed to stand in front of the case, looking up. “That must be eight feet high. Will he be able to get down safely on his own, or do we need to call the Fire Department, too?”

  Rufus dismissed him with a haughty toss of his leonine head then reached a paw behind one of the three remaining books and batted it off the shelf. It barely missed Carlyle’s head.

  “What the—” the deputy sputtered.

  The cat knocked another book down. This time his aim was better, but his intended target stepped back a split-second before the volume would have beaned him.

  Laurel sucked in a swift breath and ran to the man’s side. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” She pointed a finger at the unrepentant feline. “Rufus, stop that!”

  The deputy rubbed his head, as if to reassure himself it was still intact. “Does he do that often?”

  She winced. “Not since he was a kitten, but he’s had a bad day.”

  “Ms. McDowell.” Deputy Gomez stood by the coffee table, eyeing Rufus with speculation. “Where was this statue originally?”

  “Up there.” She pointed to the top shelf in the other bookcase. “You don’t think…”

  She could swear Rufus grinned before shoving the last remaining book from the shelf.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Laurel stared up at Rufus, who hunkered on the top shelf of the bookcase. The cat was big and strong, but could he really have pushed the heavy bronze dolphin sculpture off onto the intruder?

  Deputy Carlyle remained well back, out of range of the feline’s aerial assault. “I hate to say it, but your cat might be responsible for the majority of this mess. The lab will be able to tell us if the substance on the statue is human blood. If it is, we’ll ask the local hospitals to be on the lookout for someone with head or upper body wounds.”

  “You should also tell them to watch for cat bites,” Laurel added. “He’s been known to bite when he gets seriously annoyed.”

  The deputy whistled and made a note. “He’s a regular one-man wrecking crew, isn’t he?”

  With Rufus still watching from his elevated perch, they made their way around the large, open room, asking questions and looking for evidence. A half hour later, a technician from the county crime lab arrived. She swabbed the statue and pronounced the substance on it to be human blood, so she bagged it for transport. Then she took photos of the mess and dusted numerous surfaces for prints. When she finished, she had a brief word with the deputies then departed.

  Deputy Carlyle closed his notebook and slipped it into his pocket. “Except for the broken door lock and items from the bookcase, there doesn’t seem to be much damage, and you say nothing is missing.”

  Laurel shook her head. “Not that I can see.”

  “Probably some meth-head looking for things to convert to quick cash. We’ve seen a lot of that lately. We’ll be in touch in a few days, when we get the results back from the lab.”

  “Thank you, Deputy.” She glanced at Gomez. “Both of you.”

  The female deputy acknowledged her with a curt nod. “No problem, ma’am.”

  After the officers left, Laurel stood staring at the carnage in her living room.

  Jake reached over and massa
ged the back of her neck with one big hand, then stroked it down her back several times, easing the taut muscles on either side of her spine. “It’s not that bad. We can have this cleaned up in an hour or two, but if it’s too difficult to look at, I’m sure Rosemary would be glad to put you up for the night, or you’re welcome to stay at my place.”

  She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Thanks for the offer, but I refuse to let anyone drive me out of my home. Let’s get busy.”

  Jake was right. By five o’clock they had hung her clothes back in the closet, returned the books to the shelves, wiped away the fingerprint dust, and swept the floor clean. Laurel surveyed the scene with satisfaction and relief. The memory of the mess was already beginning to fade. With luck, it would disappear in a few days.

  Jake joined her. “It reminds me of that commercial—Like It Never Even Happened.”

  “You’re right.” She slid an arm around his waist and gave a squeeze. “Thank you so much for helping clean up.”

  “No problem.” He turned her in his arms and lowered his head until their foreheads nearly touched. “Are you feeling better? My earlier offer still stands, or I can stay here tonight, if you would feel safer.”

  His offer was tempting, but she had something to prove to herself. “Thanks, but that would be like letting the burglar win. It’s hard to explain, but it’s important to me to feel safe on my own. Richard made me feel like I wasn’t competent to take care of myself. He might be dead, but I still need to prove him wrong.”

  “I understand.” Jake kissed her. “And I’m not worried. Between you and King Kong over there—” He shot a glance at Rufus, who was lounging on the sofa, washing his face. “—you’re perfectly safe.”

  “I should probably call my mom. I know she’s been worrying.”

  “You can reassure her that you’re fine and everything here is back to normal.”

  Rosemary didn’t try to hide her relief, and Laurel felt much better after talking to her.

  Jake lingered through the rest of the evening. After everything that had happened, Laurel wasn’t hungry for dinner, but she had a wedge of cheese in the fridge and enough crackers and grapes to make an attractive tray. They sat on the sofa, snacking and talking.

  She had grown drowsy and was snuggled up against Jake’s chest, with his arm around her shoulders, when he suddenly asked, “When’s your birthday?”

  She blinked. “February. Why?”

  “That’s not soon enough. I know what I’m getting you for Christmas.”

  Panic jolted her upright. Christmas was only a few weeks away. She hadn’t even thought about getting him a present. “You can’t do that.”

  He laughed. “Of course, I can. Besides, it’s something you need.”

  She needed a lot of things, starting with a nice big roll of copper sheeting and a bandsaw for her future sculpture studio, but he had no way of knowing that. “What?”

  “A TV and a satellite dish.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you crazy? That would cost hundreds of dollars, and I don’t need a TV.”

  “Then how am I supposed to watch the college bowl games, the Super Bowl, and the NCAA basketball tournament?” His eyes sparkled maddeningly.

  She set her lips in a firm line. “On your own TV, with your own dish.”

  “My cabin doesn’t have a dish. Besides, I expect to be here more than there.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  He nodded. “If you’d feel better, we could consider it a gift from me to me.”

  When she sputtered and crossed her arms, he laughed again and drew her back against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. She resisted at first, but not very hard.

  “I want to spend more time with you, Laurel.”

  His words stirred the hair on the top of her head and kindled a fizzy heat under her breastbone. “I hate football,” she muttered against his flannel shirt.

  “You just need the right company to enjoy it. You’d love watching it with me.”

  She untangled herself from his arms and sat up. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

  He grinned. “Some might even say cocky.”

  She laughed and gave an exaggerated eye-roll. “I am so not going there.” Cocky or not, he seemed to know how to draw her out of herself and away from her worries.

  His expression sobered, then smoldered. “Then come here instead.” He pulled her back against him and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Minutes—or hours—later, she surfaced for air. Her hair bore a startling resemblance to Medusa and her sweater seemed to be on backwards, but every cell in her body throbbed with a warm glow. She nuzzled Jake’s neck. “Mmmmm.”

  He gently set her aside. “As much as I’d like to take this to its natural conclusion, I’d better go home. After the day you’ve had, you’re not in the best decision-making condition, and unlike you, I have to go to work in the morning.”

  He was probably right. She was having a little trouble figuring out how to stand up. He pushed to his feet and offered his hand. Problem solved.

  At the door, he kissed her again until her legs started to wobble. With steadying hands on her shoulders, he looked her square in the eyes. “Now, I want you to lock the door after me and go straight to bed. Don’t forget to set the alarm. Got it?”

  Lock, alarm, bed. “Got it.”

  Ten minutes later, as she snuggled under her comforter with Rufus curled up between her feet, her mind drifted to the image of Jake, standing in her doorway with the shadows from the overhead porch light sending the chiseled planes of his face into stark relief. He might not be a cabana boy, but he was something even better—the hottest accountant on the planet.

  She slept like a tranquilized turnip—no dreams, no twitching, no nothing. When she finally stirred and checked the time on her phone, it was nearly noon. She sat bolt upright and spied Rufus, curled up in his nest of covers at the foot of the bed. “Why did you let me sleep this late? Weren’t you hungry?”

  He lazily opened one eye and yawned.

  She peeled back the comforter and shivered when the chilly air hit her skin. “Poor baby. You must be worn out from your adventures protecting hearth and home, but it’s time to get up. I’ve got things to do, and you need to replenish your strength.”

  He stretched and hopped down, heading for his bowl. Laurel followed, and after they’d both eaten, she grabbed a quick shower and threw on jeans and a sweatshirt. She’d slept well and was brimming with energy. After recovering from the initial shock of yesterday’s break-in, she was more determined than ever to forge the life she wanted, one that no one could take from her. She’d taken the first steps, but the biggest piece of the puzzle remained—a space to make art, to create.

  She’d done some research online and made up a list of initial supplies. By one o’clock she and her Beetle were on the road to the big box home center in Seaside. Two hours later she was scrubbing the floor of the garage below her apartment with degreaser and a stiff broom. By five she was exhausted and sweaty, and the floor was much cleaner. A few old oil stains still marked the concrete, but at least it wouldn’t burst into flames if sparks hit the surface. As she finished the final rinse, her mother stuck her head in the side door.

  “I was on my way over to the restaurant, and I just…wow, look what you’ve done!”

  Laurel leaned against the broom handle and brushed her hair out of her face with the back of her wrist. “Hi, Mom. I wanted to start getting it ready for my studio.”

  Her mother beamed. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that—especially after what happened yesterday. I was afraid you wouldn’t feel safe here anymore.”

  Laurel leaned the broom against the wall and joined her mother at the door. “I’ll always feel safe here. No one can take that away. I’m so grateful to you for letting me have this space. If Victor keeps me on at the gallery after New Year’s Day, I’ll be ready to start paying rent.”

  “Oh, psssh.” Her mother dismissed th
e idea with a wave. “Don’t even think about that.”

  “No, I want to pay my own way. I need to.”

  Rosemary gave a skeptical little frown. “Well…if you insist.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay.” She wet her thumb and rubbed a smudge of dirt from Laurel’s cheek. “Come over as soon as you get cleaned up. The special tonight is chick pea stew.” She breezed off with a smile and a wave.

  Laurel finished cleaning up and headed to Earthly Delights for a warm meal in the kitchen where she’d spent so many hours as a child, comforted by her mother’s food and unconditional love.

  The next morning, she sang along with the radio on her drive to work. She hoped the gallery was busy so the day would pass quickly. She had plans to use some of the lumber scraps left over from the work on her apartment to build a workbench in her new studio as soon as she got home. Around one o’clock Martin popped in from next door to pick Victor up for a meeting, and they headed out together, leaving Laurel to manage the gallery alone. How he ever made a penny from his antique shop remained a mystery to her. He didn’t have an assistant, so every time he left—which was often—he simply stuck a hand-printed note on the locked door.

  A few hours later she was showing a middle-aged couple a large seascape and discussing the logistics of shipping it to Indianapolis when the bell over the door tinkled. She automatically glanced over. She tried to keep track of every person who entered the gallery in case someone tried to slip out with a painting tucked under their coat.

  Two men entered and hesitated, their figures silhouetted against the bright light from the courtyard outside. One nearly filled the doorway, but his companion was short and slight. Laurel squinted, trying to get a clearer view.

  “Ma’am?”

  She jerked her attention back to her customers. The newcomers would have to wait. “I’m so sorry. We can arrange to have this delivered next Wednesday. Let me write it up for you.”

  A few minutes later, the couple from Indiana left with the wife chattering happily about how wonderful their new purchase would look above the fireplace in the family room. Laurel took a quick swallow from the water bottle she kept behind the sales desk. She’d been keeping a surreptitious eye on her other two visitors since they entered the gallery. Now, she was alone with them.