“Church is casual,” she said as she ran water for tea. “The pastor wears jeans. No need to dress up.”
No time for a cup of coffee on the deck today, just her steam routine, then taming her hair and getting dressed. She tucked jeans into a pair of knee-high boots, pulled a turtleneck fisherman’s sweater over her head, then quickly plaited her hair into a loose French braid.
Conn appeared in the bedroom doorway. He’d shaved the scruff from his chin, combed his hair, and put on a button-down shirt, tucked into his jeans. His shoulders strained against the seams, which tapered nicely to his narrow waist, where his gun, cuffs, and badge were clipped to his belt. Bright sunlight streamed through the uppermost windows, burnishing his hair with a gold light.
“You ready?”
“From the kitchen you looked like you had a halo, like one of the saints in a really old painting.” She rummaged through her jewelry box, then through the top drawer of her dresser.
He snorted. “What are you looking for?”
“My grandmother’s bracelet.”
“The one you wear all the time?”
“Yes,” she said, shifting aside a tangled pile of vintage necklaces and bangle bracelets for the third time. Her heart sank. “It was here when Emily slept over. I’m pretty sure it was on top of the dresser when she left. Now it’s gone.”
“Are you sure? Maybe she took it with her.”
“Emily wouldn’t take it without telling me. She knows how much it means to me.”
Conn stepped into the room as she sank to her knees and flung open the dresser drawers, then went into the closet to ransack the shelves and drawers in the built-in storage unit. The green enamel and winking rhinestones should stand out against the white shelving units. No bracelet. She texted Eve to see if it had fallen off at Eye Candy. By the time an answer arrived, she’d looked through her purse, her coat pockets, the hallway, and the car.
No one turned it in, sweets. I’ll keep an eye out.
“Maybe someone picked it up at the club that night,” she said.
“Maybe. That’s one option.”
Cady glanced at him. His tone of voice was too even, the tone he used in cop mode when he was considering all options and had his guard way, way up. “You think someone took it from my house.”
Disbelief tinged her voice, because the possibility was incomprehensible. She’d worn that bracelet on every tour and gig since she was seventeen years old. It had been to gigs all over Lancaster, and as far away as Munich and Tokyo. Not once in eight years of touring via car, van, bus, limo, and airplane had it gone missing. And now, in her own home, the home only a few people knew she owned, it was gone. Conn held out his hand. “We need to see if anything else is missing,” he said.
She didn’t let go of his hand as they walked through the house until she had to rifle through closets and drawers. “You’re shaking,” Conn said quietly as they stood in the basement, looking at the boxes of things she hadn’t yet unpacked.
“I’m a little freaked out,” she admitted. “They don’t look like they’ve been moved or opened. There’s no point in going through them. I wouldn’t know what was or wasn’t in them.”
“Let’s go upstairs.”
Back in the kitchen Conn ran water into the electric kettle. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making you Cady juice,” he said without turning around.
“Is that standard procedure after a … home invasion? Burglary? What is this?”
“You always have some with you and it will help you feel calmer.” He added honey to her insulated mug, then quirked an eyebrow at her.
“More,” she said. “Right now you can’t add too much honey.”
A thick stream ran from the bear’s head into the mug while he added water and stirred, then brought her the mug. “Why is the honey in a bear?” she asked, hearing the brittle tremor in her voice. “Bears don’t make the honey. Bears steal the honey.”
“Because bees’ butts are too pointy to balance on the counter.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and his legs at the ankle. “A standard burglar is in and out fast. They hit the living room for electronics, the top drawers in the dresser and the closet for jewelry, and they’re out again. Usually the biggest sign of a burglary is a sneaker tread mark on your door where they kicked it open. Only one item is missing from your house, an antique piece of jewelry with no value on the market other than its meaning to you.”
“There were no signs of forced entry,” she said, thinking back to their tour of the house. He’d kept his cool and her close while looking at the doors and windows.
“I checked the locks before we left last night. Whoever got in had a key. Did you have the locks changed after you bought the house?”
“Mom said she would, but to be honest, I don’t know if she did or not.”
“We’ll ask her today. Either way, I’ll call a locksmith and get him out today to change them.”