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CHAPTER ONE Craig Hightower stood on his porch and scowled at the sight of his daughter climbing the front steps. How could a mere fourteen-year-old who weighed less than a hundred pounds manage to cause him such constant pain and frustration? "Zoey, where have you been? School's been out for two hours, and Mrs. Fitzgerald told me you didn't bother to call to let her know you'd be late. Where have you been all afternoon? What have you been doing?" "I, uh, had to do a science project. I was at Lisa's house working on our homework." She tried to scoot around him, but he held his stance in front of the door. "Don't lie to me, Zoey. Mrs. Fitzgerald called Lisa's house trying to find you, and Mrs. Langdon said Lisa was up in her room doing her homework. Alone. So where have you been?" Zoey was spared an answer by the ringing of a telephone from her backpack. "Um, I better go inside and get rid of this stuff." She tried again to walk around her father, but he stood in her path, blocking her entry to the house. "Not so fast, young lady. What is that ringing? Seems to be coming from your backpack? You don't have a telephone, Zoey." Zoey's façade crumpled and her head drooped. She heaved an audible sign. "I do now," she admitted. She snapped open her bag, pulled out a small black cellular phone, and handed it to her dad. *** Lauren bounced down the steps of the county health department as though she had springs on her feet, her short brown bob tousled by the afternoon breeze. She ripped from her forearm the small ball of cotton held in place by a strip of adhesive tape. Seeing no handy trash receptacle, she stashed it in her purse for later disposal. The blood test had satisfied the last pre-employment obligation on her list, and she was now ready to go to work at the prestigious Grey Oaks Retirement Center. What an awesome morning! With twenty applications for the job of activities director of this very upscale facility, she had been sure someone more qualified than she would be chosen for the job. Her degree in education, plus her last few years of experience as a director of activities for a small Christian day school seemed pale and unimpressive compared to some of the other employment candidates with whom she had spoken. One gentleman, new to the area, had worked at a similar facility in Delaware for over fifteen years. Another of the applicants was a registered nurse who wanted to try her hand at something different. And almost all of the candidates possessed more maturity than Lauren's twenty-nine years. No wonder Lauren was surprised--no, stunned-- when Mrs. Kincaid had announced her choice. And no wonder she still felt herself floating in a misty euphoria. She was to begin next Monday morning. Lauren whispered a silent prayer of thanks. Dear Lord, with You as my helper, I promise to do the best job I possibly can to bring a breath of fresh air and sunshine into the lives of the residents of Grey Oaks. She had parked her bright red compact car just around the corner. As her feet hit the sidewalk, Lauren fumbled in her purse for her keys. Rounding the corner, she spied her car under the oak tree in the shady space where she had left it. She slid her key into the lock but, much to her surprise, she found the door already unlocked. How could she have been so careless? But no! She distinctly remembered pressing the lock when she got out. Warily, her eyes scanned the interior, and she realized at once that her box of CDs was missing. The door of the glove compartment lay open, its contents scattered in disarray about the front seat. Someone had broken into her car while she was away! Who would have dared do such a terrible thing? As initial shock turned into pure raging anger, Lauren felt violated. She mustn't touch anything. She must keep a cool head and call the police. It was this thought that caused her to realize the thing that had been stolen from her glove compartment: her new cell phone! Oh, no! The thief was probably running up her phone bill at that very moment, while she stood frozen beside the car trying to gather her wits and spring into action. She spotted a pay-phone on the corner and hurried to make her call. With shaky fingers, she shoved some coins into the slot. Nine-one-one responded immediately. "We'll send a police officer to the scene as soon as possible," the dispatcher assured her after listening to Lauren's frantic story. "Meanwhile, just wait beside your car until help arrives." Patience was not one of Lauren's virtues, and waiting set her already taut nerves on edge. On an impulse, she inserted more coins into the telephone and dialed the number of her own cell phone. She heard it ring once, twice, then twice again. Crazy idea! No one in his right mind would answer a stolen telephone. But much to Lauren's surprise, a gruff male voice answered after the fifth ring. "Hello! Who is this?" For just a moment, Lauren was speechless. At last, she took a deep breath and replied, "No, the question should be, 'Who are you, and what are you doing with my telephone?'" The tremor in her voice betrayed her anger. Lauren could hear subdued conversation on the other end of the line, as though the thief was consulting with his accomplice--a woman, unless Lauren's ears deceived her. Then the man spoke into the phone again. "Look, lady, I don't know who you are, but I can explain everything. I'll be happy to return your telephone immediately if you tell me where you are." "What about my CDs?" she asked in a voice blazing with obvious irritation. What kind of trick is he up to? Following another long pause filled with muffled conversation between the two thieves, the man replied, "Those too. I'll return your cell phone and your CDs. Just tell me where you live." He must think she was out of her mind. Did this criminal really think she would direct him to her house to set herself up for more abuse? What kind of sinister plot was he hatching? "Where I live is none of your business. Perhaps you would be good enough to give me your name and address so I can make arrangements to have my stolen property picked up." Lauren didn't hold even the faintest hope the man would give her the information she requested, but if she could just keep him on the line until the police arrived. . . "Okay, lady. I understand your concern, so let's do it this way. I'll meet you at whatever public place you choose and return your belongings immediately. I can explain everything. Just tell me where to meet you and when." Lauren thought about his offer. There was a slim chance he might have had second thoughts about his misdeed and truly wanted to make amends. If she could arrange a meeting, she'd have the police accompany her and help get things straightened out. She looked across the street to a building on the opposite corner. "All right, let's meet at the Park Place Café on Fifth and Main. How soon can you be there?" "Fifteen minutes. And listen, please don't discuss this with anyone. I promise your belongings will all be returned in good condition with a full explanation, and you'll get an apology as well. I'm wearing a white shirt, green and gold tie, and tan trousers. How will I recognize you?" "You won't need to," Lauren replied tersely. "I'll be looking for you in fifteen minutes." She slid the receiver back on the hook. The thief is wearing a necktie? What strange kind of scam was this, anyway? Perhaps the police would recognize the clues. Meanwhile, she stood on the sidewalk and waited for the patrol car. She didn't have to wait long. By the time she walked the short distance back to her car, a city police vehicle pulled alongside the curb, and two uniformed officers stepped out. "You the lady who called in with the report of a stolen car?" "Oh, no. It wasn't my car that was stolen. That's it right there. But it's been broken into." "Did you leave it unlocked?" "No, I remember locking it." "Aha!" the officer said, triumphantly lifting a bent coat hanger from the curb. "Oldest trick in the book. Is anything missing?" One officer began taking notes while the other walked around to inspect the exterior of the car. Didn't they listen to their reports? "Yes. About a dozen compact discs and a cell phone. And I need to tell you about a strange conversation I just had with the man who stole my things." The officer almost dropped his pen. He looked at Lauren, struggling to believe what he had just heard. "You talked to the man? Where is he?" The second officer came up to hear what was sure to be an unusual story, and Lauren related her call to her own cell phone number. "If he does what he said he'd do, he should be going into that restaurant across the street in a matter of minutes." No sooner had the words left her mouth than a white SUV rounded the corner, tires screeching, and wheeled into the parking lot of the Park Place Café. As the car doors opened on either side of the big van, all eyes were on the two occupants who got out and made their way to the front entrance of the restaurant. The gentleman--and yes, Lauren had to admit he did look like a gentleman--wore neatly creased tan trousers, a white shirt, and a green and gold necktie. But in spite of his clothing which perfectly matched the description he had given her over the phone, his overall appearance was anything but what she had expected to see. He certainly didn't fit her preconceived idea of someone who would break into her car and steal her belongings. Although his hair was disheveled and his face flushed, he really looked quite respectable, and, well,--handsome too. But what about that child he was holding by the hand and dragging along behind him? On second look, Lauren determined that she was not a child at all, but a young girl in her early teens. Frayed jeans were topped by a too-tight orange tee shirt, and her hair--oh, my, that hair! Orange spikes accented the girl's dark oval eyes, and the glare she aimed Lauren's way was loaded with suppressed anger. Lauren stepped forward to meet the outlandish, mismatched pair, with the two policemen close behind her. Before she even had time to ask about her telephone, the man held it out to her. "Is this yours?" he asked. "The CDs are in my car." "Let us handle this," one of the officers said, stepping in front of Lauren. Still extending the telephone as though he hoped someone would relieve him of it, the man glared at Lauren and raised his voice in a tone laced with hostility. "You called the police after I specifically asked you not to? I told you I'd return your things! I can't believe you'd do a thing like this!" "Sir, could we see your driver's license, please?" the first officer asked. The man fumbled for his wallet and pulled out his license. "Look, there's an easy explanation for all of this. My daughter--um, accidentally--that is, she really meant no harm. She just . . . we're trying to return these things and set things right. Zoey, tell the lady you're sorry." The girl called Zoey said nothing, and if Lauren's guess was correct, the girl's only regret was that she had been caught. The first officer examined the license carefully before returning it to its owner. "Mr. Hightower, we'd like for you and your daughter to come with us down to headquarters to answer a few questions." The second officer handed Lauren a paper secured on a clipboard. "Ma'am, if you'll just sign this report, you're free to get in your car and leave. We're taking this pair in to headquarters, and as soon as we clear things up, we'll return your belongings to your home." "You mean I can't take my telephone with me now?" "I'm afraid we'll need it and the CDs for evidence. But we'll be back in touch with you and see that your things are returned as soon as possible." Lauren looked at the crestfallen faces of the accused and had a momentary feeling of empathy for them. Suppose they really were sorry for an impulsive mistake they had made, and were now trying to do the right thing? The girl was scarcely more than a child. "I want to go along too, to find out what really happened here. Isn't it up to me to decide whether or not I want to press charges against these people?" The two officers exchanged glances with eyebrows raised to reveal their frustration. Then turning their attention back to Lauren, the tallest of them said, "Ma'am, you called to ask for our help. We're going to get to the bottom of this, and in good time, you're going to get your things back. Now, why don't you just run along home and leave us here to do our job?" She wasn't given a choice, was she? In frustration, she watched the officers lead Zoey and her dad to their patrol car and usher them into the back seat. Not until their car was out of sight did Lauren return to her own car and begin the drive toward home. |