Page 111 of Surly Sheriff
Gah.
Over her second cup of coffee, she typed out a message.B knows everything, but not your ID. It’s up to you how you proceed.
A few seconds later, she received her reply.
Noted.
*
It was like stepping into a time capsule,Rae thought, crossing the threshold of the front door later that morning. She pulled the door closed and turned the lock, wrinkling her nose as the stale air assaulted her nasal passages.
When Beau informed that he and Kismet lived in the space above the garage, she had not quite believed him.
But it was true.
She wandered from room to room, opening blinds, pulling back curtains, wrestling with stiff hinges while opening windows to let in the breeze. It was hot outside, high eighties, but the warm air circulating through the rooms soon dispelled the staleness.
But it didn’t dispel the deep sadness welling up inside her.
Nothing had changed. Same furniture, paintings, carpeting.
Even the book on the coffee table in the living room was the one she had been reading before leaving. And the large vase on the dining room table, once filled with freshly cut flowers, stood empty.
In the kitchen the clock above the sink showed 8:40, the second-hand not moving. The battery was dead. Rae opened the fridge. The light came on, but it was empty, and a cool, dank smell wafted out. She left the door open. The pantry revealed bare shelves.
With a heavy tread, she climbed the stairs. Needing a bit of relief from the melancholy, she followed the sound of Jack’s voice from one of the two back bedrooms. He had emptied his backpack and strewn the contents across the floor. Several Matchbox cars, the three pebbles from Hermosa Beach they had collected before leaving, a couple of books, the new puzzle, and the collection of dinosaurs he was currently setting out on the empty shelves beneath the window.
Xena lay sprawled across the bottom of the bed, her eyes following Jack’s movements as he filled the shelves.
Kismet wasn’t in the room.
She frowned, tamping down the flare of panic. If something happened to the precious dog under her watch, Beau would never forgive her. She backed out onto the landing. “Kismet,” she called out. “Where’re you, boy?”
A low whimper reached her ears. Main bedroom. She raced across the landing and into the room.
“Arf.” Kismet lay curled up in the pile of throw cushions on top of the large bed.
“How did you manage to get up here, boy?” She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hand over the dog’s side, looking around. As with the downstairs, nothing had changed. Curious, she slid open the top drawer of the bedside table.
And gasped as her old cellphone came into view.
On top of the dark screen lay her engagement ring and wedding band.
She slammed the drawer shut and stood, crossing to the closet.
It was still filled with the clothes she left behind.
Breathing hard, she sprung and raced from the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. Fighting back sobs, she paced the garden, drawing in deep gulps of fresh air.
“Momma?” Jack ran down the veranda steps. “What’s wrong, Momma?” he asked, taking hold of her hand.
“Oh, Jack.” She sank to her knees and hugged her precious son close, inhaling his familiar scent. “Momma made a big mess.”
“Don’t worry, Momma.” His little boy arms wrapped around her neck, and he patted her back. “I’ll help clean it up.”
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