Chapter 7 #2
Wheeler turned on a small TV monitor mounted on the wall of his office and played the video on it so they could all see.
The screen showed the alley behind the bakery, lit by the orange wash of a sodium lamp at the end of the block.
She knew the brick wall. The metal door.
The little overhang she'd stood under hundreds of times.
The timestamp in the corner said 2:05:08 AM.
Reno said, “I drove down the alley right at two AM., and it was deserted. I then went around front and parked across the street from the bakery in my truck.”
Wheeler fast forwarded until the timestamp said 2:14:44 AM.
Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then a figure walked into the frame.
The man wore dark clothes and a hooded jacket pulled up over his head.
He kept his face down and turned away from the camera, which was mounted to one side of the doorway.
He walked straight to the back door of Buns ’N’ Roses without slowing or hesitating as if he’d been there before.
Given that none of the alley’s back doors were numbered or marked, his unerring approach to her door wasn’t likely to be accidental.
He tried the door handle, which was, of course locked and deadbolted.
He pulled a small leather case out of his pocket, unzipped it, and pulled something about the size of a nail file but thinner. He knelt with one knee on the ground, his face next to the door handle, and went to work picking the lock.
Grace’s breath caught in shock. It was surreal sitting here calmly watching someone break into her bakery.
Wheeler hit pause. "He brought lock picks. Which means his plan was to get inside.”
She blurted, “I deposit the day’s cash at the bank every single day on my way home from work. Overnight, I store the small bills I keep for change in a safe some kid’s lock picks won’t work on.”
Wheeler said grimly, “He's not after the cash drawer. And he's not a kid. Watch what he does next."
He hit play.
The figure worked the deadlock for about ninety seconds.
He stopped. Studied the lock for several seconds.
Then he picked up a different tool from the case and went to work again.
He stopped a second time. Then he did something odd.
He pulled out a small flashlight, shielded it with his free hand and examined the lock plate closely.
Then he zipped his picks in their case, tucked it in his jacket, and walked back the same direction he'd come from.
Wheeler hit pause again. "He's gone for about five minutes. Then he comes back."
He fast-forwarded until the figure reappeared, knelt at the door a second time, worked at it for another several minutes, and finally gave up.
Then the man stood up, looked up at the camera—unfortunately the shadows inside his hood were too deep to make out any facial features at all—and walked away.
"He saw the camera," she said, hollowly. Her voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else.
"He saw it the first time he came in. And he was already wearing a hood to hide his face when he came down the alley. He knew the camera was there before last night, which means he cased the back door at some point."
"Why couldn't he open the lock?" she asked.
"Because the locks were rekeyed last Thursday and their interior hardware was upgraded significantly from a regular door deadlock.
" Wheeler nodded at Reno. "Your guy in Apple Pie Creek is good.
The cylinders he installed are pick-resistant.
They're not impossible, given a few hours and the right tools, a good lock picker would get in eventually, but they're a much harder nut to crack than your old lock. Our friend here figured it out and must have realized he didn’t have the time to open them. "
"Or the privacy," Reno said grimly. "I drove through the alley less than ten minutes after he left."
Grace looked at the still image on the screen. The hooded figure’s face was just a dark shadow under the hood. He could be anyone.
"Sheriff," she said carefully, "is this the same person who came in Thursday claiming to be from the water company?"
"Hard to say. Height and build are in the right range. But Mary said the utility man had a mustache, and this guy doesn’t from what I can make out in this one image of him looking at the camera. Of course, the mustache could’ve been fake."
Wheeler turned off the monitor and turned in his seat to face her. "I lean toward them being the same person. I think Thursday was a walk-through, and Saturday night was the visit. Walk-throughs aren't unusual when somebody's planning a break in."
"To do what if he wasn’t going to rob me?"
Wheeler exchanged a glance with Reno that lasted about one heartbeat too long.
"I don't know," Wheeler said. "I was hoping you might have some idea."
Grace stared at him. "I sell bread and cinnamon buns, Sheriff. And flowers. There's a cash register and an old, rather cranky, espresso machine. There's flour and butter."
"Is there anything personal in the shop? Anything someone might want to find or destroy? Records. Photographs. Mail."
"Receipts. Supplier invoices. I take my laptop with my financial records on it home with me."
"I'd like to take a look at the laptop."
"I'll bring it in tomorrow."
Wheeler leaned forward and stared at her intently.
"I want you to think, not now, take some time, about whether anyone in your life has reason to be interested in something you might have.
An old item that might be valuable to a collector.
Old paperwork. Anything Liam might have left behind that's stored at the shop instead of at home. "
The air in her chest froze at the mention of Liam's name in this conversation.
"Most of Liam's personal things are at the house," she heard herself say. "I have some pictures of him at the shop. A couple of his books behind the counter."
"What kind of books?"
"Cookbooks of his mother's that we used at the bakery. He liked the lemon-poppy seed muffins. I still make them on Tuesdays."
Wheeler nodded slowly, making notes in his little spiral pad. Reno was watching her in a way that made her grateful and uncomfortable at the same time.
"Sheriff," Reno said, "play back the first time the intruder tried to pick the lock."
Wheeler obliged.
The figure reappeared, kneeling in front of her door. He wore some sort of thin, black gloves that looked more like surgical latex that leather or rubber. His hands moved confidently as he tried to disengage the lock pins.
"Right there," Reno said. "He's holding a tension wrench in his off hand. Not his dominant one. He's trained to use both hands when opening a lock. That's not a hobbyist. That's somebody who's done this enough times to be ambidextrous about it."
Wheeler watched it through a second time. "I agree with that assessment."
"Enough to make a few calls?" Reno asked.
"I’ll reach out to the State Police regional office on Monday and ask if they've seen any cases that follow a similar escalation pattern."
“Or that involve a middling lock cracker,” Reno added.
Wheeler nodded, jotting notes down on his pad without looking up.
Grace looked between the two men. They were speaking the same language with full comprehension, but she understood only about half the words.
"Reno," she asked slowly, "How do you know what a tension wrench is?"
He hesitated for half a second. Then he said, easily, "I worked adjacent to law enforcement for a few years. I picked up things along the way."
"What kind of work did you do?"
"Worked on cases going to litigation."
Like some sort of private investigator? She could see him doing that. It would also explain why he studied everyone with clear intent to learn all their secrets. Aloud she muttered, "That's a big jump from rodeo clowning."
"Very long," he agreed dryly.
"I have time," she retorted.
"I don't today. But I will. Soon.”
He held her gaze for a second, the expression in his eyes guarded. Haunted even.
She let it go. For now.
Wheeler took them through the practical pieces of what he could do to respond.
He would have a deputy parked in the alley tonight and tomorrow night and then he would reassess.
Cooper was due back from Arizona within the week, and when he came back, he would want a sit-down with Grace as well.
Wheeler unabashedly remarked that Cooper was the best investigator on the force and better than him.
The bakery was to stay closed Monday. They agreed that Grace would tell anyone who asked why that she was doing inventory. She would bring her laptop and binders with all her suppliers’ information over to the station Monday morning.
Mary and Celia would be told that keeping the back door closed at all times was not negotiable. Also, if anyone unfamiliar walked through the front door, the deputy out back would be informed immediately.
"And one more thing," Wheeler said. "I need you to make a list. People you've had a falling out with. Potential clients you've turned down. Old grudges. Anything at all. Doesn't matter how small or how silly it sounds. Bring me the list with the laptop."
"Sheriff, I haven't had a falling out with a soul in this town."
"Give it some more thought and make the list anyway."
"All right. But I’m going to hand you an empty sheet of paper.”
They all stood, shook hands, and Wheeler walked them to the front door, where he buzzed them out.
In the lobby, Velma looked up from her crossword. "Four letters, blank-P-blank-blank-T. Means small fight."
"Spat," Reno said without breaking stride.
"That's it. Thanks, Hon."
He opened the door for her and touched the brim of his hat in a small salute to Velma on the way out. Grace registered that the courtesy was automatic from him, as if he’d been doing it since boyhood. She added learning about his childhood to the growing list of things she wanted to know about him.
The rain had stopped while they were inside. The line of rain clouds was breaking up, and bands of late-afternoon sun pushed through, making the wet street glitter like a mirror.
Reno didn't say anything as they walked to the car. She was glad. She didn't know what she would’ve said back.
He started the truck and headed for the Lawrence farm. The light pouring through the wet windshield was the color of honey. The lake, when they came back into sight of it, had long streaks of sunlight across it.
"Reno?"
"Mm."
It was such a Dillon sound that she laughed. His mouth twitch upward and he said, "Sorry. I've been around my brother too much recently."
"There are worse people to sound like."
"Speaking as his youngest brother, I have to respectfully disagree."
She smiled broadly, but then asked more seriously, “How worried do I need to be?"
"You should be careful. You shouldn't be terrified."
"There's a man in a hood with lock picks behind my shop at two in the morning, Reno."
"And he didn't get in. The locks held. More importantly, the sheriff takes it seriously and there will be a deputy in your alley tonight. That's a lot more than most people get when something like this starts. There’s no need to panic. It will only cost you sleep and do no good."
"You sound like you’ve said that before."
He glanced out at the water before he answered. "I've said it to a lot of people. I never had to say it to anyone I . . ." He stopped.
"To anyone you what?" she asked, gently.
"Cared about," he said, after a second.
She didn't answer, but something quiet landed between them in the front seat of the truck ,and she didn't want to move or disturb it.
When they pulled into the Lawrence drive, Lily and Loretta were in the front yard. Lily was leading the donkey by thick cotton lead rope draped around Loretta's neck. The donkey was tolerating it with surprising patience.
Tessa was sitting on the porch with a mug of coffee watching the proceedings.
"Loretta has a job now," Tessa called to Grace as she got out of the truck.
"What is it?"
"Lily hasn't told me yet, but she and Loretta apparently talked it over."
"Mommy! Lo-wetta is working!"
"I see that."
"She's letting me lead her."
"That's progress."
"I'm going to wear her down and ride her."
"I have no doubt."
Reno came around the truck and, when Lily caught sight of him, her whole face lit up. She gave the rope a tug and Loretta dutifully followed her tiny taskmaster over to him.
"Mr. Reno, this is Lo-wetta."
"It's nice to officially meet you, Ma'am," Reno told the donkey and gave her a polite scratch on the neck.
Loretta brayed once, at maximum volume, directly at his face.
Reno, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He merely replied gravely, "I appreciate the introduction, Princess Lily."
Lily was beside herself. "She likes you!"
Tessa's eyes, over the porch railing, were on Grace, who gave her back the smallest nod.
Tessa's mouth pressed into a line that meant we'll talk, and then she said brightly, "Lily, why don't you take Loretta back to her pasture and give her a thank you treat from the bin of horse treats in the barn. "
Lily led the donkey across the yard with the imperiousness of a small dictator. Loretta followed, looking rather amused at the whole arrangement.
"Coffee?" Tessa asked.
"I should get Lily home," Grace said.
"Reno?"
"I need to get back to Dillon’s place and get some sleep before I go on duty out front of the bakery tonight."
She pivoted toward her friend. "Thanks for watching Lily, Tessa."
"Any time."
Reno opened the door of her car for her and did the hat touch-salute thing again.
She rolled down the window and waved good bye out it as she headed down the drive. He stood with one hand resting on the top edge of his truck’s bed and watched her drive away.
Lily’s clothes filled the care with the smell of rain and hay and donkey.
"Mommy, Mr. Reno needs a nap."
"I think you're right."
Lily settled back and looked out at the wet pastures going by. "I told Lo-wetta I liked Mr. Reno. She said she does, too."
"Well, then, that settles it."
In her rearview, the figure beside the truck was getting smaller. The donkey was a brown shape in the wet grass, and the porch light in Tessa’s kitchen came on. Behind her, Lily fell asleep with her seal pressed against her cheek and a small piece of straw in her hair.