The pale winter sun shone through the kitchen window. I cleaned up the last of the mess from my
adventure. The caper hadn’t gone as
planned. How many do? In my many years of life, most of my plans have
taken an unexpected turn.
Merup.” Robespierre
my Maine Coon cat announced a visitor on the way. He’s almost as good as a doorbell. The firm rap on the door told me this wasn’t
one of my female friends. “Come in.”
Pete Duggan strode across the room and thrust a bouquet of
bright carnations into my hands. A red
hue, almost as vivid as his hair, stained his face. “Mrs. Miller, got to hand it to you. I’ve come to eat crow.”
To hide a smile I buried my face in the flowers and
inhaled the spicy fragrance. “How about
chocolate chip cookies and mint tea instead?”
“Sounds great.” He
straddled one of the chairs at the table and picked up the local
newspaper. “Local Woman Thwarts
Robbers.” His grin made him look like
the ten-year-old who had moved into the corner house on my block. He cleared his throat. “The guys at the station ribbed me about
this. Did you forget the plan?”
How, when the
idea to catch the real thieves had been mine?
A series of burglaries had plagued the neighborhood for months and had
troubled me. Especially when the police
had decided two teenage neighbor boys were the culprits. I knew the pair and had disagreed strongly
enough to set myself up as a victim.
Then I informed Pete.
“Did you
forget?” he repeated. “When I crept up the stairs and saw you
grappling with one of the men, I nearly had a heart attack.”
Heat singed my
cheeks. “How was I to know my date would
poop out early?”
After filling
two mugs with mint tea I opened a tin of freshly baked cookies. How could I admit to a nagging doubt, or tell
him I had wanted to be part of the action?
In July I had turned sixty-five and in September retired from the
nursing staff at Tappan Zee
Memorial Hospital. Six months of placid existence had made me
edgy. Lunch with friends, coffee with
the neighbors and weekly bridge games with old cronies bored me. These events held none of the challenge of
meeting crises at the hospital.
Pete
scowled. “You could have gone to the Prescotts’ house.”
“They’re
away.” I sipped the tea and savored the
cool mint flavor.
“The Randals’
them.” He pulled the other mug across
the table. “The guys insist the two of
us make one perfect cop. Want to hire
on?”
“I’ve no desire
for a third career.” Until my husband’s
death twenty-five years ago I had been the organist and choir director at St.
Stephens Episcopal Church. Needing a way
to support myself and my son, I enrolled in the nursing program at the
community college. “Besides, I’m too
old.”
“Old,
never. You look the same as when we
moved here.”
“It’s the
dye.” His puzzled look tickled me. Dyeing my hair makes me look younger. “I came into the world with red hair and I
intend to leave the same way.”
Laughter rumbled
deep in his chest. “A worthy ambition
you nearly fulfilled last night.” He
touched my hand. “Thanks again. You kept me from making a mistake that could
have ruined those boys.”
I lifted my mug
and inhaled the aromatic steam. The
evidence against the pair had been circumstantial and strong. They had done odd jobs at all the houses that
had been burglarized. “I’ve known them
since they were infants. Nothing I’ve
ever seen in their actions to make me believe they were guilty.”
Pete made a
face. “I’ve known them just as
long. Didn’t stop me from suspecting
them. How could you be sure?”
“Forty years of
living in the same house has attuned me to the rhythms of the neighborhood.”
“Twenty years
hasn’t helped me.”
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