“I’m going in.” Brit moved to the back door and found it open. Glass from the shattered window crunched beneath his feet.
“Police.” He held his gun out. Dead silence permeated the home. “Mrs. McKay? Anyone home?”
No answer. Quarles followed him. Brit motioned for his partner to check the rooms off the living room. Then following his instinct, he darted into the dark hall.
“Mrs. McKay?” he called again. “It’s the police. Are you okay?” No one replied. His finger tensed on the trigger. He had a bad feeling. Something about the house felt eerie, off. It even smelled strange.
A few minutes later, Quarles and Brit stood in the middle of the master bedroom. A hospital bed centered the room. Scattered about were all kinds of medical paraphernalia—oxygen tanks, an IV stand. Now he could place the smell he’d noticed earlier—hospital.
Quarles holstered his weapon. “The woman must be sick.”
“Yeah.” Brit swallowed a bitter taste, then noticed Quarles staring at him. “What?”
His partner grinned and touched his face. “Wish I had a camera.”
Brit noticed the soot on his hands and figured he also had it on his face. “He got me with the grill.” Brit heard sirens as police cars stopped in front of the house. “Ah, fuck. Did you call for backup?”
“Yeah. You hurt?”
Brit gazed at his soot-covered clothes. “I’m fine.” Another lie, but nothing was broken, just bruised, like his damn ego. He used his sleeve to clean his face then rubbed his shoulder again.
“Should you be checked out?” Quarles asked.
“Hell, no.” Brit noted a broken lamp on the floor. A few drawers had been yanked out of the dresser and the contents strewn about. “Appears Humphrey was looking for something.”
“You think it was him?”
“The guy was driving a white Chevy. It was him.” Brit raked a hand over his face. “Damn, I wanted to get him.”
“Would have been nice,” Quarles said as Brit headed to the front yard to meet the other officers.
He gave them a quick report. Lights flashed on next door, and he mumbled, “I’m going to talk to the neighbors.” A woman opened the door and took a step back.
“I...thought you....were the police.” She stared at his soot-covered frame.
“I am.” Brit flashed his badge. “Sorry to disturb you. Someone broke into the house next door. No one’s home. Do you know how I could reach Mrs. McKay?”
“Mrs. McKay?” the woman asked. “The owner of the house?”
“Yeah. Do you know how I could contact her?”
“Do you have a good psychic? She died last week.”
~
The next morning, after a shower and her last aspirin, Cali stood in Tanya’s living room and went through her suitcase. She saw the pink dress and remembered the dream. They were just dreams. She pulled out the wrinkle-free dress and gave it a shake. The movement sent pain screaming behind her eyes.
“You want coffee?” Tanya, hand pressed to her head, crept past and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Yes, please.” Cali bit into her lip, remembering it was Thursday. A week since her mom had died. A week since her entire life had turned upside down. Somehow, some way, Cali had to get her world upright again.
Swallowing, she pressed a hand to her forehead. But first she had to get rid of the doozy of a headache.
“Oh, fudge!” Tanya said from the kitchen. “I’m out of coffee.” She appeared in the doorway and collapsed against the wall.
Cali tried not to think about the niggling pain in her heart and head. “Why don’t I go by Starbucks and grab us some on the way in?”
“That would be great. Or we could just ride together. You’re going to stay the weekend, aren’t you?”
Cali shook her head then stopped abruptly when it hurt. “I’ve intruded enough.”
Tanya took a step, moving slowly, as if it caused her pain. “You haven’t intruded. Besides I thought they said you shouldn’t go back to your place for a while.”
“I’ll get a hotel.” Cali tried to smile, but couldn’t.
“You should stay here at least for the weekend.”
Cali held up a hand. Her mouth felt like cotton. “I appreciate it. But you’ve got sex and jewelry scheduled.”
Tanya sent her a dismal smile. “I’ve decided on jewelry. Sex next weekend. You’re welcome to stay.”
“Thanks, but I need to get some order into my life. I need to go to Mom’s and start clearing her house out.” Order, Cali thought, and, she almost . . . almost . . . felt capable of pulling herself together. She inhaled and made some quick decisions. Forget about the dreams. Forget about the rude detective. After she delivered his leather coat, she wouldn’t have to see him again. And for now, she’d stay away from her apartment so Stan couldn’t find her. Making plans gave her a sense of control, even if it was a false sense. What was the saying? Fake it until you can make it. She could do that. Couldn’t she?
“Are you going to move into your mom’s place?” Tanya stepped beside her.
“No. I’m going to sell it.”