Dead Ringer. Sharon Dunn
Illumination from the porch light spilled over Lucy’s backyard as Detective Hawkins circled around her house. Lucy stood at the kitchen window, gripping the glass of water he had gotten for her. She shook her head. He wasn’t going to catch anyone. He was doing this to make her feel safer. The gesture touched her.
She had breathed a sigh of relief when she’d seen this stranger at her door. It had been an answer to prayer that he was compassionate and not part of the Mountain Springs Police Department she knew. Maybe he would actually catch the thief.
Her emotional meltdown had surprised her. She did not think of herself as someone who needed a fainting couch. She took a sip of the water and set the glass on the counter.
Outside, Detective Hawkins stepped away from the house and out of the light, where all she could discern was his silhouette. He wasn’t a muscular man—more lean and tall. Probably the kind of officer who used persuasion and intelligence instead of brawn. He ambled back into the light and she caught a flash of his brown hair and a focused look on his face, a handsome face at that.
Even though he’d said he needed to process the scene first, she wanted to know what had been taken. She shrank back from the window and headed toward the bedroom. The door creaked when she pushed it open. She scanned the room. Why was her heart racing? The thief was gone. All she had to do was figure out what had been stolen. This shouldn’t be that hard.
She knew enough about police work to not touch anything. She could go through the drawers and closet later to see if anything was missing. A glance at two empty hooks on the wall caused a jab to her heart. Her favorite and most expensive fly fishing rod, broken down and stored in a case, had been taken.
Lucy suddenly felt light-headed. She planted her feet. She’d pulled people out of raging rivers and hiked out of the hills with a sprained ankle. She could handle this. Her stomach tightened. She gripped the door frame.
A stranger had been in here, rifling through her things, her private things. Then she saw the redwood bowl where she kept her jewelry. Her legs turned to cooked noodles as she made her way across the floor. A lump swelled in her throat. Her jewelry was gone.
Eli’s voice came from far away. “It’s me and I’m just coming into the house.”
Lucy’s hand hovered over the empty bowl. Her grandmother’s wedding ring and pearl necklace and the earrings her brother had given her had been stolen.
“Miss Kimbol? Lucy?”
Footsteps pounded on the wood floor. Eli stood in the doorway.
The warm tenor of his voice calmed her. She exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.
He turned slightly sideways, indicating the outside door. “I knocked, but I was afraid that—”
She opened her mouth to speak, preparing to be all business, to let him know what was missing. Instead she bent forward, crumpling.
He rushed toward her before her knees buckled. His grip on her forearms was light but steadying. He must have seen something in her body language and facial expression, something she wasn’t even aware of. No matter how hard she tried, she could not pull herself together by sheer force of will.
The heat of his touch on her forearm permeated her skin. She saw no judgment in his expression and his wide brown eyes communicated safety. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m not normally like this.”
“Reaction to a home invasion takes a lot of people by surprise.” Still anchoring her arm, he set a box with a handle on the floor.
She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, but her stomach was still doing somersaults. “There was a bamboo fly fishing rod in a case and…my jewelry. The rod was worth thousands. It was custom-made. The jewelry wasn’t worth much.” But it had been priceless to her. The earrings had been a precious gift from her brother. She shuddered.
“You really need to let me process the scene first. I’ll dust the area where you kept the jewelry and the windowsill and then take some photos.” Leaning close, he whispered, “You might want to go in the next room.”
“No, I…want to help.” This was so ridiculous. Why did she keep losing it emotionally?
He bent over and flipped open the case. He spoke gently but as though he hadn’t heard her protest. “Tomorrow you can come back in here, but make sure a friend is with you. Look and see if there is anything else missing—make me a list with a description of each item.”
She appreciated the concreteness of the assignment and the wisdom behind it. “Sorry, this is my first robbery. You’ve probably done thousands of them.”
He lifted a camera out of the case. He rose to his feet and looked her in the eyes. “You’re going to be all right, Miss Kimbol.”
Detective Hawkins had been right about everything so far. She needed to trust and quit fighting him in an effort to prove to herself that this robbery wasn’t upsetting her. “I’ll wait in the living room.”
For ten minutes, Lucy sat on the couch listening to him work, determined to stay awake. He seemed to be taking a long time for what had sounded like an easy job. She rested her cheek against a pillow as her eyelids grew heavy.
She stirred slightly when a blanket was placed on her. Relishing the comfort, she pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and drifted off again. Sometime later, the warmth of his voice surrounded her. “Miss Kimbol, you need to lock the door behind me. I’ll wait outside until I hear the bolt click.”
She heard his footsteps and the door swing open and then ease shut.
Still groggy, she rose to her feet, swayed slightly and trudged across the floor to flip the dead bolt. She checked the kitchen clock before falling back asleep. It was nearly 3:00 a.m.
His car started up. The rumble of the engine was loud at first but faded into the distance. Lucy pulled the blanket around her; the sense of security she’d felt while he was in the house vanished. Just as she was slipping into a deeper level of sleep, she’d wake with a start, thinking she had heard a noise. She slept fitfully until the phone rang at six.
Even though the phone was on a table by the couch, she didn’t pick up until the third ring. She mumbled a hello.
Heather’s chipper voice floated through the receiver. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”
The memory of the robbery made her shiver. “Forgot what?” She should tell Heather.
“Your second date with Greg Jackson, breakfast at Lydia’s Café. You told me about it a few days ago.”
Lucy winced. She had agreed to let Heather create her profile on the online dating service, but now that actual dates were involved, she wasn’t so sure it was a good idea.
Heather must have sensed Lucy’s hesitation. “Everything okay?”
Why was it so hard to share with her best friend? Christians were supposed to bear each other’s burdens. “It’s just that—”
“Do you like Greg?”
“He’s seems like a nice Christian guy, but I…” Lucy gathered the blanket around her as the memory of last night invaded her thoughts.
“You only had one date. You do this every time, Lucy. You’ve got to give him more of a chance.”
“It’s not that.” She had no trouble helping other people, but it was so hard to be the one who needed support. She paced through the house. Finally, she stopped, took in a deep breath and blurted, “I was robbed last night.”
“Oh, Lucy, are you okay? Were you hurt?” Heather’s concern was evident even through the phone line.
“I wasn’t hurt or anything.” She stood in the doorway of her bedroom, looking at the dumped drawers, the empty boxes and clothes tossed from the closet. Her hand fluttered to her neck. Detective