4th of July

Chapter 112

THREE SQUAD CARS HAD pulled up to the curb. Radios sputtered and crackled, and all along Sea View, lights went on in houses, and people came out onto their doorsteps wearing PJs and robes, T-shirts and shorts, hair standing up, fear overriding the lines in their sleep-creased faces.

Cat’s front yard was lit by headlights, and as the cops exited their cars, they conferred with the chief and spread out. A couple of uniforms started collecting shell casings, and a pair of detectives began to canvass the neighbors.

I took Stark into the house, and together we examined the shattered windows, the splintered furniture, and the bullet-pocked headboard in “my” bedroom.

“Any thoughts on who did this?” Stark asked me.

“None,” I said. “My car’s in the driveway where anyone can see it, but I didn’t let anyone know I’d be in town.”

“And why are you here, Lieutenant?”

I was considering the best way to answer that when I heard Allison and Carolee calling out my name. A young cop with ruddy, protruding ears came to the threshold and told Stark that I had visitors.

“They can’t come in here,” Stark said. “Jesus Christ, is someone roping off the street?”

The uniformed cop’s face colored completely as he shook his head no.

“Why the hell not? Number one: Stabilize the scene. Get on it.”

I followed the patrolman as far as the front doorstep, where Carolee and Allison grabbed me in a much-needed two-tier hug.

“One of my kids monitors the police band,” Carolee said. “I got over here as soon as I heard. Oh, my God, Lindsay. Your arms.”

I glanced down. Broken glass had made a few cuts in my forearms, and blood had streaked down and stained my shirt.

It looked a lot worse than it was.

“I’m fine,” I told Carolee. “Just a few scratches. I’m sure.”

“You don’t plan to stay here, do you, Lindsay? Because that’s crazy,” Carolee said, her face showing how mad she was and how scared. “I’ve got plenty of room for you at the house.”

“Good idea,” Stark said, coming up behind me. “Go with your nice friend. I’ve got calls in to the CSU techs, and they’re going to be prying slugs out of your walls and combing the place for the rest of the night.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be okay here,” I told him. “This is my sister’s house. I’m not going to leave.”

“All right. But don’t forget that this is our case, Lieutenant. You’re still out of your jurisdiction. Don’t go all cowgirl on us, okay?”

“Go all cowgirl? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Look. I’m sorry, but someone just tried to kill you.”

“Thanks. I got that.”

The chief patted down his hair out of habit. “I’ll keep a patrol car posted in the driveway tonight. Maybe longer.”

As I said good-night to Carolee and Allison, the chief went to his car and returned with a paper bag. He was using a ballpoint pen to lift the belt into the bag as I wrapped my dignity tightly around myself and closed the front door.

I went to bed, but of course I couldn’t sleep. Cops were coming and going through the house, slamming doors and laughing, and besides, my mind was spinning.

I stroked Martha’s head absently as she shivered beside me. Someone had shot up this house and left a calling card.

Was it a warning to stay away from Half Moon Bay?

Or had the shooter really tried to kill me?

What would happen when I turned up alive?