Alice Sharpe - Multiples Mystery

“But what?” she whispered. Another thought hit. “My office, all my clients’ records…”

“I’ll go look,” he said and climbed the stairs to the turret room, returning a few minutes later, shaking his head. “It’s the same. There’s a blizzard of paper everywhere, though the computer and printer look undamaged.”

“Was the safe untouched?”

“Yes.”

“That’s where I keep most of the important records anyway. Not that there are many left. I had to take a break from bookkeeping when I learned about the quads.”

She stumbled on a broken lamp as she moved and he grasped her arms. “Steady.”

“I want to see the bedrooms,” she said. “Especially the one we used.” It was where she kept keepsakes. Most of Anthony’s stuff had been in boxes in the basement though it might be at the new house by now. She took a few steps, trying to prepare herself for what she’d find.

The door opened onto a room that looked much as it had when she left it, down to her old robe hanging on a hook behind the door. There were broken and misplaced things in here in here, too, but very little as though the search had only gotten started when something or someone interrupted it. Tears rolled down her cheeks and whether they were tears of loss, anger or relief that at least a few of her things had remained unscathed, she didn’t know.

There on the vanity was the ditty box her sea faring father had left her as his oldest daughter, filled with mementos from his youth. Next to it, a shallow box holding Anthony’s spare watch and cufflinks though some of the items had been scattered across the top. A couple of the drawers were open, some of the clothes dumped on the floor, but not bad. On top of the armoire, next to a plaster bell Anthony’s mother had made, were six porcelain dolls she’d bequeathed him. No wait, there were just five now, one was on the floor in a dozen pieces.

She twirled around suddenly, looking for her mother’s old jewelry box and found it where it was supposed to be except the lid was open. She crossed to peer inside. It looked the same as always. The hope chest, filled with linens hand embroidered by her grandmother, remained locked. Peeking through the closet door, Anthony’s clothes, his jackets, slacks, shoes…

“Whoever it was didn’t get far in here,” Zac said.

“They must have been interrupted.” Olivia was confused. Why had Anthony moved nothing out of this house, not even his personal items or hers? They’d discussed all this several times. She wanted to decorate the new house herself, but that wouldn’t be practical at first so Anthony would move things over, then after she got home and somehow found a little time, she’d start furnishing the much larger house.

If he hadn’t moved anything did that mean the new house wasn’t finished? Or did it mean something worse?

“Olivia? You’ve gone all quiet on me.”

“What if Anthony came back here to get our things and walked in on a burglary?”

“Then where is he?”

She looked around frantically. “I don’t know. Maybe they kidnapped him.”

Guilt seeped through her pores, covering her body in a thin layer of sweat. She’d been angry with Anthony for not appearing when he said he would and now she was sure he had been waylaid by evil thugs. She’d misjudged him. She’d been selfish and so caught up in herself—

“Why?” Zac said.

“Why? Why what?”

“If he walked in on them and they bopped him on the head, why didn’t they finish the job and take the jewelry or the computer upstairs or the new television? Why did they leave all the valuable stuff?”

“Because they were afraid someone would come looking for him?”

“Okay, then where is he now? Why didn’t he alert anyone?”

“I don’t know. Maybe someone kidnapped him…”

“I’ll take the basement, you look in the other two bedrooms. Holler if you need me.”

THE BASEMENT APPEARED untouched though it had acquired new furniture since Zac had seen it last. He checked out every closet, bypassing the untouched stack of cardboard boxes marked “Private, Keep Out,” in the corner. Nothing. No one.

It annoyed the hell out of him that Olivia was blaming herself for doubting her husband. The man had done nothing but lie to her and yet she was still trying to give him a break. She’d apparently forgotten he’d been half an hour away the day after their children came into the world. What kind of excuse could pardon that behavior?

And what had happened in this house? Why had it been searched, and that it had was obvious to him. So where was the guy, why hadn’t he reported this intrusion? The police had made a thorough check of every unidentified male victim in the last three days and none of them matched Anthony’s description.

A muffled scream sounded from above. Taking the stairs two at a time, Zac reached the main floor and jumped over an overturned chair, sliding as he landed on a pile of books. His reaction had come straight from his gut, not professional at all, and he slowed down, reaching under his jacket for his gun.

“In here,” Olivia called from the hallway, her voice shaky. She stepped out of the last room, the one before the bathroom. Her face was as white as the plaster wall she gripped. “Come look.”

He joined her quickly and immediately saw what had alarmed her. The room had been ransacked like the others, but unlike the others there were blood spatters against the wall and desk front.

“Stand right here while I check every closet. Don’t move.”

Gun drawn, he made a thorough check of the house. Anthony wasn’t in it, nor was he in the car in the garage or the garage either, for that matter. Zac went back for Olivia, who was standing with her back against the wall, eyes closed.

“We’re calling the sheriff’s department,” he said.

Her eyes flew open. “I can’t just wait—”

“We’ll sit in my car. Come on.”

They carefully threaded their way through the house, trying to retrace their steps and not disturb anything more than they already had. As they left the house she said, “Let me have your keys.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m driving.”

“Driving where? We’re staying right here—”

“Give me your keys. Please, Zac.”

He took his keys from his pocket and handed them over.

“I’ll come back, I promise.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, you don’t have to—”

“Olivia, let’s just do it.” Whatever it was.

Once in the car, she opened the garage door again and sped backward down the narrow driveway, hitting the street and turning east on Queen.

“The sheriff’s department is the other way,” he said as he took out his cell phone.

“Make your call, do what you need to do.”

“Where are we going, Olivia?”

“I’m doing what I need to do.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant, but Westerly was, after all, a small town and it soon became obvious what her intentions were. He called the sheriff’s office, identifying himself to Terry, who always manned the phone on weekends. “I want a crime scene team sent pronto to Olivia Hart’s house, 333 Queen Street.”

“Capri,” Olivia said tersely.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Olivia and Anthony Capri. Be advised there was a break-in, blood in the second bedroom. I’ll check in again in awhile. Call in Hoopes and Dilly.” He hung up before Terry could ask him what he was doing acting like sheriff, assigning duty and all the rest before he was actually sheriff or why he wasn’t sticking around at the scene to meet the cops at the house. He didn’t have answers to those questions.

“You’re going to the new house,” he said as Olivia took a corner too fast and the rear end of the car swerved toward the verge. “Slow down,” he added. “You’ve always driven too fast.”