Chapter 7
Tacy
“Someone broke into my house!” I scream at the dispatcher. “There’s shit everywhere! I…I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”
Cammy, Ben, and I are standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. Our front door is wide open. We came home from school, walked in the front door, and noticed our house had been turned upside down. Papers scattered across the living room floor and down the hallway. The end table turned over. A lamp burst.
I ordered the kids outside and called the police. I don’t even know if the intruder is still in the house.
The lady on the other end assures me the police are on their way, after instructing me to get back in my vehicle and lock the doors until they show up. I screech to the kids to hop in the car, and I jump in too, locking the doors and turning the engine back on. Just in case we need to make a quick getaway.
My heart is thumping wildly, and my entire body is trembling. I’m terrified and my adrenaline is pumping, and I don’t know whether I want to cry, scream, or bolt back into the house and shoot the mother fucker who dares to intrude.
I glance at Cammy and Ben through the rearview mirror. Cammy’s openly sobbing, and Ben’s eyes are wide as bicycle wheels. He’s biting the nails of his left hand, while his right hand is clutching Cammy’s. They’re so sweet. Too sweet to be going through something this traumatic. Their father just died for Christ’s sake. Now we suffer a breaking and entering?
This must be the work of the stalker. I should have known better and reported it. Stupid of me.
A minute later, three police cars roll into the driveway, and another follows, parking in the street. Their lights are on as they all jump out of their vehicles, dash up the driveway, and enter my house with guns bared.
Seconds later, the four officers file out of the front door, and into my driveway. The Sheriff walks over to my car window and gives me a thumbs up. His gun is now in its holster, and there’s a look on his face as if everything is okay.
I roll down my window and turn off the car. Three other police cars pull up.
“Is he gone? Is the intruder gone?” I ask, a noticeable wobble in my voice. I gulp.
The Sheriff nods and smiles at me. “Yes, Ma’am. He’s gone. Can you step out the vehicle so we can talk?” He flicks his head at my kids in the back, indicating he wants to talk out of the children’s earshot.
“Sure,” I say and step into the driveway. I stare down at my hands, still quivering with fear.
I shut the car door and walk up the driveway, pausing beside my front porch next to the stocky Sheriff with light gray hair. There’s a damp chill in the air. The kind that swoops in right before a storm.
I pull my sweater tightly around me and face the Sheriff. Three other officers are close by; one is on his phone and the other two are talking low to one another. Too low for me to hear.
“Well, this is a strange situation, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Who do you think it was?”
“I have no clue who broke into your house, Mrs. Rountree. But the fact that they did is concerning. On more than one level.”
“I know what you mean,” I say. “Do you think whoever did this had something to do with Sol’s death?”
The Sheriff scratches his whiskered chin, readjusts his belt, and sighs. Saving himself some time while he thinks of how to answer my question.
“That is a concern, Mrs. Rountree.”
“You can call me Tacy,” I say. “We’re familiar with each other now. We should be on a first name basis.”
“In that case, call me Fred. As far as who broke in, it’s more likely it was some petty thief running through the area. We’ve had two other B and E cases this month. Seems they’re targeting homes they know are empty during the workday. So, while it’s scary to think about the Governor, we can’t jump to conclusions here. Recall, his death was ruled an accidental drowning, Tacy. I need you to go inside and tell me if anything is missing. These serial burglars like to steal gold chains, small electronic devices, and cash. Anything small and valuable they can get their hands on. They probably pocket the stuff and walk out of the house in regular street clothes. As not to alarm the neighbors in the middle of the day. If they wore all black with ski masks and carried out a bunch of televisions and such, they’d draw too much attention.”
I nod. “Okay, I can look. See if anything’s gone. Can you just tell my kids everything is okay? They’ll be happy to hear it coming from you, Sheriff…er, Fred, I mean.”
He nods and tips his hat. “Sure thing, Tacy.”
I still can’t believe we were robbed in the middle of the day. At the same time, I’m relieved they didn’t break in at night.
I walk up the front steps and enter the house. A blanket of ripped papers cover my living room and hallway floors. I crouch down and pick up a torn piece of paper. It appears to be a mortgage statement from last year. I lift another. Tax filings. I kneel and continue reading the papers. The intruder went through our personal files in the office.
I head for Sol’s home office at the end of the hall. There’s a scratchy lump in my throat that I can’t clear, as my mind goes to the safe with our guns, a wad of cash, and a few other personal things. I enter the office, stepping on papers, and hurry to the fire safe in the corner of the room. I kneel and see the number code is still in there from the last time I accessed the safe. Unless the intruder knew the code. I open the safe and suck in a breath of air, expecting it to be empty. But everything is still in its place. The guns. The cash. Vibrators. Handcuffs. A couple other sex toys I don’t care to mention.
My head is pounding. I get the worst headaches when I’m overcome with stress. I approach the filing cabinet next to Sol’s desk. The papers crunch underfoot with each step I take. What a fucking mess. The filing cabinet’s three drawers are wide open, and there’s only a few papers left in the yellow filing folders. The rest are littered throughout the house. I’m so confused. Why would the intruder look through our files, but not take our guns or money?
I hear papers crinkling in the hallway. Then a man’s voice. Sheriff Fred’s.
“Tacy? What did they take?” He calls from the hallway.
“In here, Fred,” I swallow hard and close the door to the safe. I’d rather not explain the BDSM collection within. “I’m in the office.”
He leans in, hands on the doorframe, as if bracing himself for jarring news.
“They left my cash and guns,” I declare. “The safe was unlocked but nothing is missing from it.”
He tilts his head and presses his lips together.
“Really? What about your jewelry? Other small valuables?”
I stand and walk by him. “I’m not sure. Let me look.”
He nods and follows behind me quietly.
I walk throughout the house, examining the kitchen, dining area, bathrooms, and the kids’ rooms. But nothing looks out of place except for the files from the office. I check my jewelry box in my bedroom, and everything is in its place.
I turn to the Sheriff and sigh. “I don’t know, Sheriff. This is so weird. Everything is here. All my jewelry, cash, even my iPad on the nightstand. It doesn’t look like the intruder even robbed us. Just came inside and ripped through our filing cabinet.”
“Could be someone looking to steal identities, then,” he says and shrugs. “Weirder things do happen. And identity theft is highly common these days.”
I lick my lips and begin picking up the papers and stacking them together.
“I guess so.” I freeze in my tracks. The police haven’t collected fingerprints or any photos of the crime scene. I rise from the floor and look at the Sheriff. “Aren’t your men going to gather prints or something? Take photos?”
Fred clears his throat, and his eyes shift to the front door. “Oh, well…we don’t really need to collect prints in this case. It’s pretty cut and dry. Some vagrants, a petty identity thief or two, noticed you weren’t home, break in. Seeks out any files with your personal information then leaves with the info he came for.”
I bite my lip and nearly growl at the guy. But ground myself before I do something stupid. “What about the fact that my husband went missing and turned up dead? Now, a year later, someone breaks into my house and goes through my personal files, and you’re not going to consider this a crime scene?”
Sheriff Fred nervously adjusts his hat and clears his throat again. “Tacy, we do consider this a crime scene. It’s just a waste of time and energy to dust for prints in this case. I think this is a lot simpler than what you’re thinking. I know it seems scary, but whoever did this isn’t going to bother you again. Although I highly suggest calling the credit bureaus and putting it on hold. This way if someone tries to open an account in your name, they won’t be able to.”
I shake my head violently and clutch the arm of the loveseat. The room is starting to spin, and the bile in my stomach is burning my insides. Why doesn’t he seem to care? Am I overdramatizing this? Saliva fills my mouth and my vision blurs.
“I…I need to sit down,” I say and black out.
Seconds later, I wake up on my living room floor with a crowd of police officers, firemen, and paramedics leaning over me. At least I thought it was seconds later.
I sit up and rub my eyes. “What happened?”
“You passed out and hit your head on the coffee table, Tacy,” the Sheriff says as a paramedic with blue gloves shines a flashlight into my eyes.
“Pupils are reactive,” the young paramedic says as another takes my blood pressure and oxygen levels.
“Vitals are stable,” an older female paramedic says.
There’s a knot on the side of my head that’s throbbing. I raise my hand to touch it, when the paramedic grabs my hand and says, “you’re bleeding, Ma’am. Don’t touch.”
I cut my eyes at him and jump to my feet. “I’m fine. Where’s my kids?”
The Sheriff smiles and reaches out to touch my arm gently. “They’re fine, Tacy. They’re outside with my Deputy.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay, good.”
The paramedics are cleaning up their equipment, when the woman looks at me and says, “we’re taking you to the hospital.”
“No, you’re not. I can’t leave my kids. I won’t leave my kids.”
“Tacy, you hit your head hard. We really need to get you checked out. I’m worried you’ll need stitches and maybe even have a concussion. Don’t you have someone to watch the kids while you’re being looked over?”
I groan, “Yes. My mother.”
“What’s her name and number, please?” Fred asks.
I answer then follow the paramedics out the front door, while the Sheriff calls my mother and explains what happened. Or…tries to explain. Because it sounds like my mother is giving him the fifth degree. Typical Judy Beckner. Instead of being worried and agreeing to help, she has to ask a million questions before committing.
“Get the stretcher!” The young EMT calls.
“No!” I say. “I don’t need a stretcher. I can fucking walk.”
Whoops. I cursed in front of the kids. I kneel in front of Cammy and Ben, who are sitting in two rocking chairs on the front porch. Ben’s clutching his stuffed elephant and Cammy’s face is tear stained. My heart sinks seeing them this way.
“Hey, kiddos. Listen. I know things seem scary and weird right now, but everything’s going to be okay. Mommy got a little dizzy and passed out. So, they want to take me to work to get checked out, okay? You’ll stay with Grandma until they discharge me from the hospital.”
“Mom, are you okay?” Cammy asks as tears flow freely down her rosy little cheeks.
I nod and smile at her. “I swear, Cammy. I’m fine. I bumped my head and might need a couple stitches. No big deal.”
“Who broke in the house, Mommy?” Ben inquires. My smart little man always asking questions.
I shake my head, “I’m not sure, Bud. But don’t worry, we’re getting an alarm and cameras.”
Ben jumps up and throws his arms around my neck.
“And maybe a dog,” I say. And that one word elicits a cheer from both kids. Dog . We’ve always wanted one. “A big, ass-kicking canine.”
Cammy and Ben both wince.
“Mom, you said a bad word, again,” says Ben.
“You want a dog or not?”
Four stitches, an empty stomach, and a disgruntled mother. That’s all I have to show for my entire Tuesday. Oh, right. Add to the list a house that was burglarized which the police don’t seem to care to investigate. At least I don’t have a concussion.