Mystery Man(12)

There it was, Camille Antoine, straight-talker. And Camille Antoine, smart girl who had her head screwed on right.

“Well, today has been the day of epiphany. Ginger and The Great MM are history,” I declared grandly.

“Hallelujah,” Cam replied.

Ten minutes later, we hung up. After that, I sat at my table, spooned up dough, ate it and stared at my phone, hoping that I could follow through with my grand statement.

Then I picked up the phone and called Tracy.





Chapter Four


Baseball Bat or Crowbar





I heard the crash and jerked awake, instant adrenalin pumping through my body making my skin and fingers tingle.

Someone was in my house.

I listened and heard not a sound but I knew. I knew.

The Great MM didn’t make noise. Even if I moved something or work was being done on the house, he avoided it and moved silently like he could see any obstacles in the dark.

He did not make a crash. He’d never make a crash.

I turned to reach to the phone and wished I had a weapon. Even a baseball bat. Something that would make me feel less powerless. Less alone. I was happy for the company of an inanimate object if it could inflict injury.

I grabbed the phone and dialed 911.

“Nine, one, one, what’s your emergency?”

“My name is Gwendolyn Kidd,” I whispered. “I live at three, three, two Vine and someone has broken into my house. They’re here, in the house. Send someone. I’m hanging up now and don’t call back. This is not a prank.”

I beeped off the phone, dropped it on the bed and rolled the other way, in the direction of my snow globe. I loved that snow globe. It was a Rosina Wachtmeister snow globe with a happy kitty in it, little flowers dancing around the base and if you turned it over and shook it, glitter danced around the kitty.

And, if I used it to clock someone on the head, they might not be able to rape me.

I snatched it up and ran on tiptoes to the opposite wall where I pressed my shoulder against the wall and stared at the door.

My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears, my entire body was alive and I could feel every inch of it. I was terrified out of my ever-lovin’ mind.

Someone was out there. I couldn’t hear them but I could sense them.

Then I heard them, footfalls in the hall.

Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.

I tried to remember what the response time was supposed to be for cops. Seven minutes popped into my head even though I didn’t know if that was the right number or the wrong number.

I didn’t have seven minutes. He was close.

I silently inched up the wall toward my door staring at it. It was mostly closed. I’d started doing this in an effort to hear when The Great MM arrived. I didn’t close it all the way, I left it open an inch. It wasn’t a noisy door but it did have a creak.

The Great MM never made it creak.

The first thing I saw was the flashlight, not bright, an LED. Then I saw a shadowed hand, a man’s hand, fingers out, fingertips touching my door, slowly the hand pushed it open.

I stopped breathing. I didn’t want him to hear me breathing. If I damaged my Wachtmeister snow globe bonking him on the head with it I wanted to make it count.

I lifted the snow globe and the door kept opening.

Then I heard sirens.

Thank you, God.

The hand stilled then it disappeared. The footfalls were faster and I heard them hit the stairs, thudding down.

Then I heard nothing.

Then I turned my back to the wall, slid down and cradled my happy kitty snow globe.

* * * * *

I was sitting in my kitchen staring into my living room.

I had both heels to the seat of my chair, my cheek pressed to one of my knees, my arms tight around my calves and my nightgown wrapped around my legs.

I was pretty pleased I’d worn my kickass, mocha colored, soft-knit, short bat-sleeved caftan to bed. Caftans weren’t known to be hot but that one was, mainly because it was uber-clingy in all the right places. That caftan rocked and it was the chosen nightwear for when you suddenly found your home filled with macho cops.

This was what I was staring at. The fact that my home was filled with macho cops. They were moving around in my living room looking at stuff while dipping with spoons into the bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough that I unearthed from the fridge for them.

My window by the door was smashed, something I didn’t hear, a lamp in the living room that was under a dust cover was also smashed, what I heard.

Other than that, no damage and the officer who took me through the house was told by me, an authority on the subject, that nothing was missing.

But they didn’t take my statement. Two officers became four, four became six and now there were eight and they told me I had to wait until the detective arrived.

I was not hip on police procedure and I couldn’t say I wasn’t grateful (considering the fact that I was super, double, extra, way freaked out) that they seemed to be taking this seriously and sending a large cadre of officers to stand guard in my living room eating cookie batter and a full-blown detective to talk to me. However, nothing was stolen and although my caller headed straight to the bedroom, and I doubted he was after my Wachtmeister snow globe, it seemed a garden variety break-in that the uniformed officers could cover.