Protecting The Single Mom. Catherine Lanigan
the boxwood hedges for any signs of footprints, lost items. Anything Le Grande might have dropped in his haste.
* * *
CATE HAD JUST finished the story for Danny.
“Mom, can I have some water?” Danny asked.
“Sure, pumpkin. I’ll be right back.”
In the kitchen, she took a glass from the upper cabinet next to the kitchen window. She glanced into the yard as she turned on the tap, thinking that she needed to plant more daffodil bulbs. Maybe those Casa Blanca lily bulbs she’d seen in the catalog.
Suddenly, a man’s face was framed by her kitchen window.
She dropped the glass in the sink, and the sound of shattering glass and her scream stung the air.
The man put his palms against the windowpane. He shook his head.
“Mom!” Danny shot into the kitchen carrying his baseball bat. “What is it? I’m here!”
Cate felt as if she’d been socked in the chest. She couldn’t breathe. She was light-headed. She was dying.
She held on to the edge of the sink with one hand and pointed toward the window. “You go away! Get out of here or I’m calling the police. Right now! Go away!” she screamed at the figure on her porch, unsure of the man’s identity. She was so terrified, she could be seeing things.
The man stepped back and disappeared into the darkness. Cate sucked in a breath, holding her hand over her heart. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening, could it?
Then she heard Danny talking. He held her cell phone to his ear. “Hello, 911? Help!”
Cate looked out the window, but the man was gone. Suddenly, the front doorbell rang.
Danny stared at the phone. “Wow. That was fast!” He raced into the living room.
“Don’t open that door!” Cate shouted anxiously as she rushed up behind Danny and shoved him behind her. “You don’t know who it is. What if it’s him?”
“The bad guy?” Danny asked, wide-eyed.
“Absolutely.” She peered through the peephole. He didn’t look like a bad guy. He was dressed in a sport jacket, white shirt and tie. His hair was dark, groomed and he was handsome. But there was no mistaking it. It was the Peeping Tom.
“Go away!” she shouted through the door. “We’ve called the police.”
“Ma’am, I know. I am the police.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Here’s my badge. My name is Trent Davis. I’m very sorry to have frightened you.”
Cate looked at the badge through the peephole. “You’re really a cop?”
“Yes, ma’am. Detective.”
Detective. The man had barely gotten the word out and already Cate’s hands were shaking and her mouth had gone dry. Her next words felt as if they were tumbling out over sand. “What do you want with us?”
“I’m investigating a break-in a few houses away. Again, I’m very sorry to have frightened you. I thought I’d seen someone in your backyard. I’d like to ask you some questions. May I come in?”
“Questions,” she said to herself as she backed up and bumped into Danny.
“Mom, let him in. He’s a policeman.”
“I’m not sure.” She chewed her thumbnail. Cate had woven a perfect cocoon around Danny and herself. No one had invaded their privacy because she hadn’t given anyone a reason to look past the face she presented to the town. When she’d first arrived in Indian Lake on that frightening night, the owners of the mini-mart and the adjacent marina and docks—Captain Redbeard, Redmond Wilkerson Taylor and his wife, Julie—realized her plight, without her saying much at all. They didn’t care that Cate didn’t have a penny to her name. They saw through her anxiety to the honest person she was.
They asked her if she had a place to live. When she’d hemmed and hawed, they insisted she stay with them.
Cate had never seen such unquestioning trust.
They’d offered her a job working the register in the mini-mart and she took it. During the course of one long night, her life spun on that thin dime of fate—and all for the better.
Yet, even they didn’t know the whole truth. She’d never told anyone about the abuse. She’d only said she’d run away.
Questions.
As if someone had thrown a breaker, electricity ignited every cell in her body. She reasoned it was adrenaline. It felt like terror.
Danny circled her and put his hand on the knob. “Talk to him, Mom.”
Cate turned the dead bolt and opened the door. The man was still holding his badge for her to inspect. Gingerly, she took it from him and read the specifics. She returned it, noticing how big his hands were and how his shoulders seemed to fill the doorway. He looked strong and buff under his jacket. She supposed his looks and strength would probably put some people at ease. Instead, her nerves were erratic.
He was a cop. Poking around in her backyard. What if he was one of those cops who’d snapped? What if he’d had some kind of meltdown and was now exactly what she’d thought earlier: a Peeping Tom? Or worse.
“May I come in?”
“No,” she replied with more force than she’d intended.
Danny was looking at him like he’d hung the moon. “Can I see your badge, too?”
“Sure.” Detective Davis handed the badge to Danny.
“Wow. Cool.” Danny traced the brass edges and lettering with his fingers as if memorizing every carving.
“Danny, give the man his badge,” she ordered, folding her arms over her chest, feeling as defiant as she probably looked.
“Thanks,” Danny said.
The detective closed the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar. “I should explain that I’d come to your front porch initially, but I was certain I’d seen someone in your backyard. You should get some motion lights.”
“I have them,” she replied.
“But, Mom,” Danny said. “That light burned out. Remember? We got the new one.”
“Right,” she said sheepishly, and dropped her arms. “I haven’t had time to put the replacement in.”
“I could do that for you,” Trent offered.
“That’s not necessary,” she said curtly. “I’m quite capable of changing a light bulb.”
The detective scratched the back of his head and smiled. “Boy. We’ve really gotten off on the wrong foot. Not only am I trying to apologize for frightening you, but I want to warn you about home invasion.”
“You said there was a break-in.”
“There was. About half a mile from here, there was the report of a home invasion.” He looked at Danny, then at Cate. “Anyway, what I wanted to know was if you’d seen anything unusual. Anyone on the street you’ve never seen before? Strange cars?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
He handed her his card. “I’d appreciate you letting me know if you do see anything. Maybe ask your neighbors to do the same. That’s my cell,” he said, pointing to the last number on the list of contact information.
“Okay,” she said, realizing that her hand was still shaking.
“Look, Mrs. Sullivan. I’m very sorry to have frightened you.”
“I’ll live,” she quipped,