Finding Jessie: A Mystery Romance (30 page)

“As gently as I can,” Detective Jacobs said.

Chapter Twenty-six

One Month Later

“That was such a nice dinner at Grandma’s. She’s been so kind through all of this,” Jessie said.

“That was amazing of her to have her attorney file a petition to officially adopt you as her daughter. You lucked out in the grandmother department.”

“Truly. But not so much in the mother department. Grandma loves me. I love her, too. But it’s just me and her left of the whole family. Except for…
her
.”

“Well, Frank and Tansy await their trials, and Frank’s operation to remove the tire iron from his leg was a success, so he’ll be able to stand trial, albeit in a wheelchair. I found out I won’t be charged with any crime, which is a lucky break that I attribute to our friend, Bob.”

“So, it is who you know?” Jessie said.

“Sometimes. On a related topic, I hope the police will find Jessie Alden soon. So you can stop worrying about her.”

“She’s been on the lam for a month. I’m so creeped out that she’s not behind bars,” Jessie said. “The press had a field day with the murder details of poor Virginia Conyers.”

“Rich people. Nobody would care past one day about this press except that it’s the sordid story of a famous television preacher’s dirty family laundry.”

“At least they’ve stopped calling me! I wonder if she’s really left Massachusetts.”

“She’s probably in Tahiti with her soon-to-be ex, Boyd Alden.”

“No. The police searched his house and Grandma’s house, too. They’re watching the airports, and there’s that warrant out for her arrest on multiple charges. Neither Boyd, nor Grandma want anything to do with her, ever again.” She paused. “And neither do I.”

“Jessie.” Sam sighed. “I hate to say it in the middle of a conversation, but I ate too much at your grandmother’s. I’m going to have to excuse myself and go upstairs and put on some pajama bottoms. Then I think I’ll lay down and watch some sports that I DVR’ed. Want to come up and watch ice hockey?”

“No, thanks. I think I want to stay downstairs on my favorite couch and read old books.”

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll miss you.”

She smiled. “I’ll miss you, too. I’m going to engage in some fiction therapy. I’ll be up in a couple of hours. Maybe three.”

“That long?”

“Yes. I’m in the middle of
The Great Gatsby
.”

“Lovely escape, that book. I read it in college. They say it has some of the most beautiful prose ever written.”

“It does. I don’t want to put it down until I finish.”

“Refresh my memory,” he said.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She opened the book to her bookmark and read a passage from the F. Scott Fitzgerald book:

His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch, she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.

She looked up at him. “More? I’ll read it out loud.”

“No, it’s beautiful. But I want to watch my hockey game in bed.”

“All right,” she said, disappointed. “You men and your pucks.”

He laughed. “Do you want me to lay a fire for you before I go up?”

“Would you? You do it so much better than me.”

He got a good fire going and closed the glass-front doors over the flames.

She observed, “Tomorrow, we need to clean up the stairs. The piles of books on each step are getting pretty treacherous. And the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are overloaded.”

“I know. We’re such book hoarders.”

She laughed. “What do you mean,
we
? I have six boxes of books in the hall closet, my eBay auctions. That’s it. You have towers of books everywhere arranged in steps and spirals—the living room looks like an Escher drawing.”

He laughed. “We’ll worry about it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.”

“Okay, Scarlett O’Hara, but I mean it. It’s not just messy on the stairs. It’s dangerous. If we had an earthquake, we would be in big trouble in this house.” She paused. “I do love you.”

“I love you, infinity. I’ll get the piles of books off the stairs tomorrow. I promise.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He kissed her good night and carefully went up the stairs, the cats following him. He fell asleep while watching the hockey game.

With the warmth of the fire and the crackling of the flames, and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s words filling her mind with peace, Jessie fell asleep on the couch, the book spread face down on her chest like a butterfly’s wings.

Because they were asleep, neither Jessie nor Sam noticed when the electricity went off.

Chapter Twenty-seven

A dark figure, dressed all in black—including a ski mask that covered the face—crept in through the back door after cutting a circle from the glass with a glass cutter in order to put a hand through, unlock the knob, and gain entrance to the house.

The prowler walked softly through the kitchen and dining room, sending a spiral-arranged tower of books crashing to the floor.

Jessie’s eyes snapped open. In the darkness, by the embers of the dying fire, she could see a fuzzy shadow moving across the floor toward her.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. And then the hair on her arms stood up. She got a shot of adrenaline that spiked so hard her fingertips hurt.

“Sam?” she croaked out. Her throat was full of sleep. She pinched herself to see if she was dreaming. She wasn’t.

She fiddled with the lamp switch but it didn’t work.

The shadow kept coming closer, piles of books crashing in its wake.

“Sam!” she screamed and clutched the F. Scott Fitzgerald to her chest.

Something crashed upstairs and Sam’s voice came from the top of the stairs. “It’s okay, Jessie. The power just went out. That’s all.”

“No! Someone’s in the house! Help me!”

The shadowy figure stood above her and the last light of the embers glinted off the silver blade that flashed down toward her chest. The hard stabbing motion glanced off the hardback book and the knife went flying.

“Nine-one-one. Nine-one-one!” Jessie screamed.

She leaped off the couch and tried to run, but she tripped over piles of books, too. Books were everywhere and she went slipping and sliding on the pages when she felt someone grab her ankle with both hands and pull her down to the floor on top of a book cover that painfully poked her ribs.

She kicked whoever it was in the face with her slippered foot and struggled to get away. She tried to kick the knife under the couch, but a black-gloved hand grabbed it and tried again to stab her.

She rolled away at the last instant and screamed again.

“Sam, he’s got a knife!”

Sam ran down the stairs with a flashlight and just as the figure rose and headed for her again with the knife, Sam accidentally bumped into one of the tall ceiling-high bookcases and the wall strap at the top broke—hundreds of books spilled over the intruder and knocked the body flat under the heavy oak bookcase.

Sam grabbed Jessie’s hand and they ran outside. He called the police on his cell phone.

They were standing in the icy street when Mrs. Foster came out of her house. “I called the police. What’s happening at your house? What was that big noise?”

“A bookcase fell. There’s a burglar in the house!” Jessie screamed. “He’s got a knife!”

“Get in here! Both of you!” Mrs. Foster shouted. She let them in and locked the door. She grabbed a cast-iron skillet and held it in both hands.

Sam was breathing hard. He hurriedly explained over the cell phone that they had taken refuge in a neighbor’s house and would come out when the police arrived.

He talked calmly to the dispatcher the entire time. Jessie, however, was falling to pieces, sobbing and screaming.

When the police came, that’s when Sam went back outside with one of the officers and turned on the main breaker that the prowler had shut down. The lock that had been on the breaker box was wrenched off and laid on the ground, along with a crowbar.

Their guns drawn, one officer went in through the front door and the other one stepped over the cut-out glass circle on the floor by the back door.

They met in the middle of the first floor and came outside together. One of them carried the F. Scott Fitzgerald book with the big hole in the cover.

“Did this happen tonight?” the officer asked.

“Yes,” Jessie said. “He tried to stab me. I fell asleep with that book on my chest.”

“Thank goodness that it was a
The Great Gatsby
,” said one of the officers.

The other one said, “I like big books and I cannot lie.”

She was shaking and pale. “Thanks for the attempt at humor.”

“Are you hurt, ma’am?”

“Just bruised and scared.”

“Where is he?” Sam said.

“Still under the bookcase and all of those books.
Dead
.”

“Are you sure?” Jessie asked.

“One arm’s sticking out. No pulse on the wrist. The other arm’s sticking out, too, and it has the gloved hand around the handle of a big-ass knife. No pulse there either.”

Sam asked, “Can you see who it is?”

The officer said, “I think we’re going to call for the coroner and let them pick up the books and that huge bookcase. They’ll want to see how everything fell and all that. We shouldn’t move stuff when there’s a body in the room.”

Sam nodded and put his arm around a weeping Jessie.

The officer addressed Jessie. “Ma’am, do you know who might want to break in and stab you?”

Jessie looked at Sam. She knew his facial expressions well. This one was all about keeping silent.

“We’ll just wait for the coroner,” she said quietly.

She turned her face into Sam’s broad chest and was so glad to be able to hide her face. She didn’t want anyone to read what she was thinking. Not even Sam.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Two weeks later, Sam said, “Well, once the coroner released the body, that was a quick funeral for Jessie Conyers Alden. But very small and tasteful.”