As she held her breath and strained one last time, the handle unlatched and then dropped down into a disengaged position. “Jesus,” she said, leaning against the seat for a second while she caught her breath.
A loud rumble from her stomach reminded her that she had not eaten all day. She repositioned herself, buckled her restraint, and pulled away. As she drove out of the lot, she started replaying the meeting in her head. Although she wished she had appeared more self-confident, the response had been nothing short of spectacular. To have so many people show up at a neighborhood gathering with the sole intent of helping her find Michael truly demonstrated the strength of “community” at work.
As Lauren drove down the dark, winding road toward her house, she felt the need to check her rearview mirror. There were no headlights — which brought a sense of relief, the state of mind she had been missing since Michael’s disappearance.
Lauren pulled into her garage and greeted Tucker as she walked into the house. He jumped up, gently placing his front paws on her chest and licking her on the cheek. “I know, you want to eat.” She filled his dog bowl with food, then headed into the kitchen. She unwrapped a frozen pizza and slipped it into the oven.
A moment later, she caught a glimpse of Tucker’s untouched food bowl. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be starving.”
The dog rubbed against her thigh and she patted him on the head. “Well, I’m going to eat, even if you’re not.” She checked on her pizza, then began setting out a couple of plates, glasses of water, and napkins. Then she stopped herself. The euphoria of the community meeting had vanished in an abrupt realization: she was setting the table for two, but only one would be eating.
After finishing dinner, Lauren pulled Michael’s handheld PC from her purse and powered it on. She touch-screened into Microsoft Outlook and retrieved his messages, then configured the device so it could also receive her e-mail as well.
There were no responses yet from Michael’s skiing buddy, “targard.” Lauren selected Amber’s message that was still in Michael’s inbox, and hit REPLY. She wrote Amber a short note asking if she could find out if Cablecast was satisfied with the work Nick Bradley had done for them. She then touched SEND and powered off the unit.
She stood and walked over to the cupboard, grabbed a chamomile tea bag, and filled a mug with the instant-hot faucet. She reached into the refrigerator to add some milk to the tea. But the carton was empty.
Empty?
I just bought this yesterday, she thought. Have I used that much of it? If Michael were here, he would’ve bought a larger size. But she realized that was not the point. How could she have used all the milk?
She took a sip of the hot tea and then spilled it down the drain. She had grown accustomed to drinking it with milk, the way Michael liked it. She shook her head, then folded her arms across her chest. “Michael this and Michael that. It’s time for me to stop being so dependent on him for every aspect of my life.” She looked down at Tucker, whose ears had puckered as if he were listening to her tirade.
She tossed the spoon into the sink, then walked upstairs to the bedroom. She fell back onto their bed and kicked her shoes off. “Where are you, Michael? It’s time to come home!”
She rolled over and grabbed his pillow again, hugging it against her chest and burying her face into the down.
But she didn’t pick up Michael’s scent. She looked at the pillow, then jumped off the bed and backed away. “Oh, my God. Oh my God!” She lunged forward for the Colt she had left on the night table. With trembling hands she grabbed the key around her neck, undid the metal lock, then struggled to pull the weapon from its velvet bag.
“Who are you?” she yelled into the dead air of the house. “Show yourself!” Tucker came running up the steps and into her room. Lauren swung the Colt at him, startled by the approaching noise, and was immediately relieved it was the dog. But upon seeing the gun, he began to bark, which only served to elevate her stress.
She looked down at the bed again and knew something was very wrong. She shoved her hand into her pocket, found Nick Bradley’s phone number, and started dialing.
He answered on the third ring.
“Mr. Bradley, this is Lauren Chambers. I’m gonna take you up on your offer,” she said rapidly.
“Is everything okay, Lauren? You sound—”
“No, everything’s not okay. Can you come over right now?”
“Now?”
“I think someone’s been in my house. He may still be here, I don’t know.”
“I’ll be right there. I’ll call the sheriff on the way and have him meet me there. Can you get out?”
“I’ve got a gun,” she said loudly, hoping the intruder would hear her.
“That’s real good, Lauren,” Bradley said slowly, “but I need you to just calm down or you’re not going to do anyone any good. If you go waving that gun around, the deputy isn’t going to want to help us out, do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Just come.”
“I’m on my way, Lauren. Just hold it together.”
She gave him the address, then sat down on the floor, her back against the wall, the Colt pointed at the doorway.
It took Nick Bradley only five minutes to drive the two miles that separated their houses. The loud rapping at the back door made her jump.
Lauren pushed herself off the floor and moved slowly out of the room, her eyes darting from side to side as she approached the stairs. She cautiously made her way into the kitchen, flipped on the porch light, and parted the lace curtain. Nick Bradley was standing there, eliciting a loud bark from Tucker.
“Are you okay?” he shouted through the door.
Lauren nodded, and the dog began barking. “It’s okay, boy,” she said, stroking his head. “He’s a friend.” She told Tucker to sit, then unlatched the lock to let Bradley in.
“The sheriff should be here any minute,” Bradley said, eyeing Tucker while stepping into the nook. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s the sheets,” Lauren managed to say before sitting down hard in one of the chairs. “I can’t take it anymore…”
Bradley sat down beside her, glancing again at Tucker, whose eyes were fixed on him, the dog’s weight forward, ready to pounce. Bradley gingerly removed the Colt from Lauren’s hands and placed it on the table. “What sheets are you talking about?”
“There are cheap floral sheets on the bed. My mother gave them to us when we got married. We’ve never used them.”
“And you think there were other sheets on the bed when you left.”
“I’m sure of it. And that’s not all. There have been other things, too. It started with the dog. First he was out, then he was in. Then the emergency brake and the milk—”
A knock at the front door sent Tucker running.
“The sheriff,” Bradley said. “I think it might be a good idea to tie the dog up somewhere.”
“He’ll be fine,” Lauren said as she made her way across the room. She told Tucker to sit, then looked through the peephole and saw a deputy standing there. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then opened the door.
“I’m Deputy Matthews, ma’am. Is everything all right?”
“Thanks for coming, Deputy,” Bradley said from behind Lauren. He shook Matthews’ hand. “Nick Bradley. The one who called.”
“Dispatch didn’t give much information.”
“Dr. Chambers thinks that someone may have been in her house. I got here just before you did.”
“Did you see anyone, ma’am?”
Lauren looked down at the carpet and shook her head.
“Did you hear noises or was something stolen?”
“Nothing was stolen, but I’m sure someone was — or is — here.”