Page 4 of Disarming Caine

Chapter 2

Samantha

RhondaandIstoodside-by-side, next to the large table at the back of her office.

Staring.

Number Veelay on the table, a perfectly circular hole through the medium blue stripe.

“You know, Samantha,” said Rhonda through a clenched jaw. “I came to Brenton ten years ago, looking for a slower life than the one I lived in New York. No more Fashion Weeks, magazine spreads, or people with more money than actual taste. No sirens at three in the morning. Peace and quiet.”

I nodded.

“This town’s changed over the last year.”

I’d moved back in the summer after being gone for six years, and I’d heard many times about the uptick in crime. Little things like shoplifting, graffiti, and break-ins for the most part. But things like this and Bobby Scott’s murder were a whole other level. They were not the Brenton I knew.

“Sammy!” came an urgent voice behind me. I didn’t have to recognize Brenton Police Officer Jimmy Slater’s voice to know it was him. My old friend from college was the only one who ever called me Sammy.

I turned toward the door of Rhonda’s office, and he came to an abrupt halt. His normally happy-go-lucky face was ashen, and his hat was crooked.

Panic etched his features, quickly softening when our eyes met. “You’re alright?”

“We’re both alright.” I cast a backward glance at Rhonda, who hadn’t turned from the painting. Voices floated in from the front of the gallery and a whizzing noise started, like the sound of a drill. “Forensics arrived?”

He nodded. “I would have gotten here sooner, but I was working a—never mind, that’s not important. I’m just glad no one got hurt.”

“An officer already interviewed us.” I had another appointment to get to. Had to call Antonio back. Had to file the First Notice of Loss forNumber Veewith Foster Mutual Insurance. Had to schedule an appointment with Ferraro’s Fine Art Restoration and Conservation to get it repaired.

Had to…

I blew out a slow breath, steadying myself. “Can we go?”

Jimmy straightened his hat and pushed it back on his forehead, framing the early gray at his temples. “Yeah, I can take you out.”

“I’m staying,” said Rhonda.

“You sure? The forensics team will be here for a while and it’s awfully loud.”

“No one scares me off my property.” She shifted her gaze away fromNumber Vee, a steel showing through her delicate features. “Besides, I have to make some calls about repairs, apparently. And to my other insurance companies.”

“I’ll come pick up the painting once the police are done with it.”

She nodded and squeezed my arm, whispering, “Thank you.”

I patted her hand and left with Jimmy.

“This town’s going to hell in a handbasket, I tell ya.” He rolled his shoulders as we walked, some of the usual spring returning to his step. “Good thing we got the Brenton PD around.”

“Any hits on the video I sent?” I asked as we rounded the corner into the front room. It was even more crowded than when I’d left it with Rhonda and the painting, and definitely colder. The glass of the two huge windows carpeted the floor and one of the sculptures and its pedestals had toppled over. Officers milled about inside, discussing, taking notes and photographs, while a couple others maintained a perimeter outside.

A car rolled along the street, waved on by a police officer when it slowed too much. My stomach clenched and I scanned the driver. Just a blond woman with two kids in the back.

Jimmy continued, “I talked to one of the guys on my way here who said the video was shaky and the car was a ways off, but they’re pretty sure they’ll be able to grab the license plate.”

“Good.” I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and balled them into fists. Rhonda could have died. Hell, I could have been shot grabbing her.

“I hear you kept Rhonda calm through the interviews, so thanks for that.”