Thursday, December 22 #2
While Angelica shed a fountain of tears, Garrett endlessly questioned, not counting the seconds or minutes. Then he inhaled that damn intoxicating perfume. This was a hell of a lot to take in.
What is it about this woman? The first to put a smile on his face in years. The woman who invaded his dreams. Not confused enough, he was now utterly bewildered.
Angelica stayed in his arms until all the tears had dried from her eyelids.
When she let out her final sigh, Garrett gently brushed aside the stray hairs clinging to her wet cheeks—hairs that hid a four-inch, jagged scar along her hairline on the right side of her face.
Though not recent, it was a gruesome reminder of a traumatic injury. He shook his head.
He peered into her big brown eyes and asked, “Are you all right now, honey?” Why the hell did he call her “honey”?
Through her sniffles, she stammered, “Yes … I’m better.”
Garrett reluctantly released Angelica. If he had a “moment,” the moment was too brief, vanishing as the last light of the day faded into dusk.
* * *
Darkness had fallen when they pulled up to Angelica’s house in separate cars.
An inspection of her quaint home revealed that much of it had failed to remain unscathed.
Even the contents of the desk drawers lay scattered at her feet.
She lifted the displaced blotter, revealing an intact legal-size folder.
She nodded and sank into the desk chair.
As she stared hauntingly into space, Garrett struggled to find a cell signal. He could have been on Mars, given the unreliable mobile service in this backwoods county; he resorted to using her landline on the desk to call 911.
After providing the details and location to the emergency operator, he hung up and turned to Angelica. “Do you think you can tell what’s missing?”
“How can I tell?” she murmured, glancing around and shrugging. “Maybe my jewelry.” Her fingers fidgeted with her hair. He found her actions both suggestive and unsettling.
Moving toward the larger of the two bedrooms, a board on the hall’s hardwood planks creaked under his feet—old-house stuff needing fixing—no man at home. The room reminded him of a war zone, with drawers and clothes strewn across the carpet, the mattress and box spring on the floor.
Despite the room’s condition, the scent of her perfume lingered seductively.
Garrett broke out in a sweat and stepped around the clothes on his way to the dresser.
A multi-layered jewelry box sat empty. He didn’t expect otherwise.
Angelica must have owned beautiful jewelry.
No doubt, gifts. Nothing about her suggested—I’m a costume jewelry kind of woman.
His bucket list for the day didn’t include being the bearer of unwelcome news to her, but meeting up with her again did. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you see it, life doesn’t give us control over the unexpected.
How did Angelica react to the loss of her bling? She didn’t. She nodded. She was too numb.
He placed his hands on his hips. “Since the intruder broke the glass on the kitchen door and entered that way, I can’t leave it like that. Do you have any nails and a hammer, Angelica?” he asked.
She gazed at the window before her, more at the inside glass than out into the dark world. “Try the bottom of the pantry.”
Garrett wasn’t surprised by the kitchen; it was spotless, which he expected. What amazed him was its condition for an older cabin. Although small, it featured a butcher-block-topped island with two stools, and the cabinets were freshly painted. It made his place look like a dump.
He walked around the island and stopped.
The pantry’s contents were scattered across the floor.
He cursed under his breath. This wasn’t a petty thief trying to fence items; the culprit was someone intent on chaos or destruction—an angry person.
Angry like the boyfriend at the Lakeside Inn.
Garrett wished he’d given the guy an instant facelift.
Unless he meant to kick the groceries out of the way, the path—cluttered with IGA’s weekly specials—blocked the way to the elusive tools.
After he put the boxes and cans back on the shelves, he found the tools—a Phillips screwdriver, a hammer, and a small package of nails—in an empty, lidless shoebox.
He was astounded that this elegant woman had any.
He did his best, nailing the door to the frame. That was all he could do without plywood, and it would have to hold for the night. Garrett returned to the living room, straightened the sofa and chair cushions, and repositioned the coffee table.
He crouched beside Angelica. “I secured your door. I also tidied up a bit while I was in the kitchen,” he said in a casual manner. Let her believe her skittish cat, with its dry-food bowl overturned, caused the chaos.
The last comment snapped Angelica out of her daze, and confusion etched her brow. “What was wrong with my kitchen?”
Even in her frazzled state, she probably wouldn’t buy the feline as the guilty party. “Let’s just say, things were somewhat in disarray,” he fudged. “I picked up some items. I’m sure they’re not in the right place. But at least there’s some order now.”
Garrett placed his left hand on the desk to steady himself as his knees begged to return to an upright position. Time to deliver more upsetting news.
“I don’t think this was a robbery. Based on the condition of the rooms, an enraged individual came in, intent on causing serious damage.
They snatched your jewelry while they were here.
My gut tells me your boyfriend is responsible.
Please give the police officer all the information you have about him.
Right now, he’s the prime suspect,” Garrett said, standing and stretching his achy leg.
Angelica may have said nothing, but her scowl spoke volumes. It didn’t seem to Garrett that she was getting any breaks. Break-ins, yes; breaks, no.