Not One of Us(27)

“Rose wouldn’t have done such a thing.”

“I agree.” I walked to the window and lifted the sash. As always, it wasn’t locked. That would change. Outside, the miniature boxwoods and surrounding mulch looked undisturbed. If the intruder had entered this way, he’d covered his tracks well. I clicked the latches shut with a resounding snap.

“He must have sneaked in while I was here,” said Mimi.

“Were you in the house the whole time?”

She nodded her head, then stopped abruptly. “Except for when Rose helped me hang out the wash.”

“We need to start locking all the doors and windows.” I shuddered to think what might have happened if Mimi had stumbled upon him in my room. Would he have hurt her?

“To think it would come to this,” she muttered, shaking her head.

The remark seemed odd. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mimi placed her hands on her knees and slowly stood, looking all of her many years and then some. “Never thought we’d have to lock our doors like city folk.”

“Crime’s as rampant in the country as anywhere. Nobody’s safe.” But Mimi appeared even more upset than me, and I wanted to reassure her. “Maybe this was a onetime fluke, someone who just gets his kicks from scaring folks, but we should be careful.”

I didn’t believe my own words. I’d have felt more optimistic, less violated, if the intruder had stolen items of value. Maybe then I could convince myself it was merely a random crime of opportunity, motivated by greed. But the particularly deliberative nature of his acts, the singling out of my sentimental possessions, and the cruel, disgusting message for me pinned to a dead animal . . . well, it shook me.

But I forced a smile and patted Mimi’s arm. “I’m calling the police to file a report. Try not to worry too much.”

Her eyes darted to the closet. “I want that—that . . . thing out of my house.”

“I’ll take care of it after I talk to the police,” I assured her. “Go back to your gumbo.”

She shuffled from the room.

“Lock the doors first,” I called out, grabbing my phone. Revulsion snaked over my body, but I squared my shoulders and walked to the closet. There it was, bloody and sinister. I snapped a photo. One picture was worth a thousand words when it came to describing this over the phone.

I’d left the officer’s card in my nightstand, so I opened the top drawer and pulled out the plain black-and-white card Deputy Blackwell had given me. My mouth went dry as cotton as I dialed the number and listened to it ring. Doubts swirled through me. Would she laugh it off as a childish prank someone had pulled? Was this important enough to bother her with? After all, she was involved in a murder investigation. I pulled the phone from my ear, ready to disconnect the call, when she answered on the second ring.

“Deputy Blackwell speaking.” Her tone was crisp and firm, but not unfriendly.

I cleared my throat. “This is Jori Trahern. You may not remember me, but—”

“Of course, Ms. Trahern. You were the one who spoke with Raymond Strickland hours before he was murdered. Have you recalled anything else about the conversation you think might help us with the investigation?”

“It’s not about him.” I swallowed hard.

A heartbeat of surprise followed. I could picture her brows rising with interest. “Oh?”

“I’d like to report a break-in at my house.”

“I see. Was anybody hurt?”

“No,” I admitted. “But it was creepy. We’re a little freaked out.”

“Understandable. I can have an officer at your house immediately to investigate.”

“I want you. It’s, um, complicated.” I hurried to my bedroom door, listened to Mimi puttering in the kitchen, and then shut it.

“How so?” she asked. The woman didn’t waste words.

“They didn’t steal anything valuable. It was more of a threat. He—or she—ransacked and vandalized my personal stuff, and then they left a note.”

“What did the note say?”

“Here, I’m texting you a photo. That’ll be easier than trying to explain.” I selected the disgusting photo from my gallery and clicked send.

“Got it,” she confirmed moments later, then added, “Is that a . . . a snake?”

“Yep. Sliced down the middle.”

“What does the note say? The paper’s bent, and I can’t quite make it out.”

“Let dead dogs lie.”

“I can be at your house in ten minutes.”

“Here’s the thing. I’d like to speak with you in private. My grandmother’s already agitated enough about this, and if she overhears everything I want to tell you, she’ll only get more upset.”

“You’d rather come to our office?”

“Yes—only, I hate to leave her and Zach alone. What if the intruder sees me leave and then decides to return?”

“I’ll arrange for a police cruiser to drive by your house while we talk and then sporadically after that for the next few days. If you’re being watched, the presence of the cruiser should act as a deterrent.”

“Thank you,” I said with a rush of breath.

“As soon as you see the cops going by your place, come on down. After I get your statement, I’ll send someone over to get photos and prints.”