Page 10 of In the Bones
“Relax,” said Tim, “the crying’s about the tofu. I read it’s a good source of iron and thought we should give it a try. Her Highness disagrees.”
“Good thing I brought steak.” Mac waggled the grocery bag in her hand.
“My hero,” Tim replied, ushering her inside.
Mac found Tim’s wife Shana nose to nose with their daughter at the dining-room table. The kid reached for Mac from the high chair, her tiny fists mashing the air. In a mock whisper, Mac said, “If Mommy and Daddy say it’s OK, you can have some of my sirloin.”
“Not if Mommy gets to it first,” said Shana.
Seeing the three of them together—Shana, Tim, and little Darcy—released a flood of memories. Theirs was a story of missed opportunities and failed connections. While Tim and Shana had attended the New York State Police Academy within months of each other, they only met years later when Shanaquit the NYPD to move north with her former fiancé. Shana had joined the troop as senior investigator, Tim had found himself with a new supervisor, and they’d been working side by side ever since. Mac liked to remind them that, through some unofficial workplace counseling and a few well-timed hints, she’d brought the couple together. And here they were, past traumas and trials overcome for the sake of their shared future.
As Mac unpacked the paper-wrapped sirloins and Tim heated up the cast-iron pan, Shana opened a bottle of California red and poured three glasses. Ten minutes later they were seated at the table tucking into medium-rare steaks and the creamed spinach Tim had prepared before Mac’s arrival. Darcy, who had a shock of copper hair that no one could explain, wasn’t crying anymore, which Mac guessed had something to do with the meat.
“So,” Tim said as he sawed through a bite of steak. “How are we feeling about Monday?”
“Like a boss,” Mac replied, willing it to be true. The Jefferson County Sheriff’s debate was just three days away, and Mac had been devoting every free minute to preparing for it.
“You’ve got this,” said Shana. “And we’ll both be front and center to watch you mop the floor with Bruce Milton.”
That coaxed a smile from Mac, who knew Shana was no fan of the former mayor. Her introduction to Bruce had been during one of Shana’s investigations, when he’d opted not to shut down a lucrative street festival despite the potential threat to attendees. Mac didn’t like to admit that she was nervous about the debate, but knowing her friends would be in attendance did alleviate some of the stress. She wasn’t related to Shana, Tim or Darcy, but theirs felt like a blood bond, her feelings for them nearly as strong as her love for Nicole and the girls.
“What’s the latest at the barracks?” she asked the pair. “All quiet on the northern front, I hope?”
“Actually,” said Tim, “there’s some strange stuff going on in Cape Vincent. Three back-to-back calls with the same MO: random stuff missing from houses, all newly opened for the season. We think we’re looking at a serial burglar.”
“The wine I understand,” Mac said when Tim provided a list of missing items, taking a sip from her own glass as she spoke. The aroma of plum and black cherry tickled her nose. “But who the hell would want to steal somebody’s bathing suit?”
Tucking a tofu-flecked curl back into her ponytail, Shana said, “That’s the question.” Mac got a kick out of seeing her friend navigate first-time motherhood; watching a woman so competent on the work-front stumble through feedings, diaper changes, and naps was fodder for teasing, but it also made Mac respect Shana even more. “These houses sat empty all through the winter,” Shana went on, “when it’s dark by four thirty and there’s no one around for miles. Somebody could have bided their time and cleaned the places out, and the owners wouldn’t even know it for months … and they choose to take natural peanut butter?”
“Seriously, that unprocessed stuff doesn’t even taste good.” Mac laughed as Darcy mimicked her expression of disgust.
“The Greenes’ neighbors on both sides are summer people too, and they haven’t come north yet,” said Tim, “but we talked to a few residents who live close to the other two homes. Nobody saw anything. On top of that, we’ve got no idea how the perp got in. It’s like they appeared out of thin air, took the stuff, and teleported out of there. Whoever we’re dealing with, they’re sneaky as hell.”
“Huh,” Mac said, the rim of the wine glass resting against her lip. It was the dining room in Tim and Shana’s antique home, which they’d painstakingly restored, that resurfaced Mac’s conversation with her sister. “I saw Nicole last night for dinner. She’s got a new client. The house was supposed to be empty—reno job, the owner hasn’t moved in yet—but she heard some noises downstairs while she was working.”
“Did she see anyone?” asked Tim.
Mac shook her head. “The owner was gone, no cars in the driveway. And the house? It’s in Cape Vincent.”
She watched Tim and Shana exchange a look that conveyed volumes.
“An intruder’s the logical explanation,” Mac went on, “especially now that I’m hearing about these other break-ins.”
“Exceptthisintruder didn’t skedaddle pre-high season,” Shana pointed out.
Tim said, “If that’s true, then maybe this is escalating. Our perp started off cautious, hitting only empty homes. What if he’s getting bolder?”
“Why hit an empty home at all, though?” Shana asked. “It’s not like they’ve been stealing high-value items. Did Nicole tell the homeowner what she heard?”
Mac shook her head. “She’s nervous about bringing it up. Doesn’t want to lose him as a client.”
“I get that,” said Tim. “She going back?”
Mac nodded. “Tomorrow.”
“Nicole knows to report any other suspicious activity?”
“I’ll make sure she does,” Mac said, setting down her wine.
