Page 7 of Secret Triplets for Christmas

3

Lindsay

It felt like forever before the police arrived. By then, I was shaking like a leaf. Who had been in my house? God, what if the girls and I had been home?

The police finally arrived, and both officers listened as I told them what I'd found, then they went inside to take a look. I didn't need to see that mess again, so I waited outside. A few moments later, one of them came back out, asking me more questions.

"We'll talk to the neighbors to see if they saw anything," he said to me. I couldn't imagine that would provide any useful information since most people were gone during the day. But I nodded anyway.

"We've called in a detective, who will be here shortly. He’ll want to go over your statement again. I know you probably don't want to go back in there, but we need to have some idea of what was taken."

He was right. I didn't want to go in there again. But I would.

"If you’ll just wait here, Detective Donovan will be here in a minute."

Once again, I nodded and leaned against my car as the officer returned to the house.

A few moments later, a car pulled up behind mine. A dark-haired man in his mid-thirties wearing jeans, a button shirt, and a coat stepped out. He approached me, extending his hand. "I'm Detective Flynn Donovan. Are you Lindsay McKinnon?"

I shook his hand. "Yes."

He looked up at the house and then back at me. "I'm just going to run in and take a look and talk to the officers who are here. Then you and I can take a look together so you can let me know what’s missing. After that, I’ll get your statement. Alright?” He was professional, and yet, his eyes were friendly, concerned.

He trotted up to the house and entered it. A few minutes later, Detective Donovan exited, waving his arm for me to join him. “I know it’s unsettling, but we really need to know if something was stolen."

I sucked in a breath and stood up straight, ready to face the destruction of my home. Since we were at the front door, we entered the living area. A part of me hoped that the mudroom, kitchen, and living area were the only rooms hit. That hope died when I entered the girls’ playroom.

“Oh, God.” My hand covered my mouth as shock overtook me. Who’d ransack a playroom? The toy boxes were turned over, their toys strewn everywhere. Art materials were dumped from their bins. Pictures on the walls were on the floor, the glass and frames broken.

“Some sick fucker to do this to a kid’s room,” Detective Donovan quipped.

That was the understatement of the year.

We moved on to the kids’ room, and like the playroom, it was a mess. Even the bunk bed that Georgie and Cassie slept in was knocked on its side. Olivia’s trundle bed was torn apart. To see it struck fear deep into my soul.

“I don’t suppose your kids had anything worth stealing?”

I shook my head. “No.” I swallowed as we moved on.

"Do you have any guns?"

My head swiveled toward him as we moved toward my bedroom. "What? No. Of course not. I have three little girls."

"Drugs?"

I gaped at him. "No!"

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Most people who break into homes are looking for something of value. Money or things that they can sell for money, or drugs and guns."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And you've decided that I don't have money or things that could be sold for money?"

He gave me a sheepish smile. "Do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

We entered my bedroom. My gaze immediately went to the wall that held the art piece my father and Miranda bought for me for my birthday. It too was on the floor, the back of the frame gone, but the picture remained.

I went over to my jewelry box, and while it had been pawed through, as far as I could tell, nothing of value had been taken. Not that I had a ton of expensive jewels, but on occasion, my father had bought me a necklace or earrings that had diamonds or gold.

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