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“What are you doing?” Calli exclaims when I slow my steps, then pause to pull my gun out of my pocket. “Mine is in the house,” she adds with a curse.
“It’s okay. Just keep aware of our surroundings. If someone is here…”
Nodding, she stays by my side while we make our way between the barn and the house. Relief pours into me to see thehouse and cabin are fine. A large fire burns in the driveway, the hulking shape consumed by flames and unrecognizable at first.
“No!” Calli cries. The dismay in her voice is terrible.
The wooden glider that she restored, and I painted for her is fully engulfed. The faint smell of gasoline hangs in the air. One of my gas cans that I left in the back of my truck lies on its side about ten feet away.
“The hose!” Calli shouts, and I grab her arm as she starts toward the side of the house.
“It’s been put away for winter. It’s too late, anyway.”
“Fuck!”
“I know, Peach, but we need to look around and make sure they aren’t still here.” I doubt it. That fire has been burning for a while. Whoever it was probably watched us leave before dragging the glider from my porch and setting it on fire. For what? What could be the purpose of this shit other than revenge? This is Handleman.
I keep my gun out while we check around the barn. There’s no sign anyone has tried to break the locks or get in. The honey shed is never locked but there’s no one hiding inside. My back door is still secure. We return to the front where the fire is burning down.
“Arlow!” Calli shouts. She runs up the steps onto my porch.
I’m right behind her, and we both stare at the knife jutting from the wood of my front door, a sheet of paper pinned in place by the sharp blade.
In handwriting so messy that it’s almost illegible, is a message.
Send one million dollars to the account below or I’ll make your life a living hell. No cops. Don’t fucking try me. You have one week.
Under that is a string of numbers, separated by spaces that make it clear it’s a bank routing number and account number.
Out of instinct, Calli reaches toward it, but I catch her hand before she can touch it. She looks up at me, her voice hushed as if someone may be listening. “This can’t be real. Nobody could be this stupid.”
“Don’t touch it.”
Calli nods and pulls her phone out. “I still have the officer’s number from last time.”
From last time, not even a week ago. This shit has to stop. While she makes the call, I unlock the front door and we have a quick look around inside before stepping back out to the porch to await the officer’s arrival.
Calli sits on my top step, her shoulders slumped, watching the glider turn to ashes. “It was like they knew what I valued most. They didn’t burn the fucking lawn chairs or tables or anything else. They chose the nicest gift I’ve ever been given.” She blinks away tears, glancing over at me. “Your art. I’m so sorry.”
I sit beside her, rubbing my hand up and down her back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Once this is over, we’ll scour the flea markets and yard sales for another one. Maybe add in some birds or bees this time.”
Her small smile is diplomatic, and her hands tremble as she tucks them between her knees. It’s not the cold. She’s trying hard to be okay, but who the hell would be? As much as I hate it, she had the right idea before. “You were right. You should goto a hotel. I can help you with money if that’s an issue. Or I’ll go with you. We can get a room together until this gets sorted out.” We’ve never talked about her finances. It’s never seemed like an issue for her. When she quit the diner, I assumed she had savings or a plan.
Her reply is quick and overflowing with furious indignation. “And leave your home and studio unprotected? No. Fuck that. They don’t get to do this to either of us. I’m staying. We’re going to catch these assholes.”
Her courage and determination are impressive, but I don’t want her putting herself at risk over my issue. “This is my fault. My problem to solve.”
“You don’t know that.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I know it’s likely the guy you told me about, but there’s someone who harassed me before. I honestly don’t think he could find me now if he wanted to and I doubt he’d want to. But it isn’t impossible. I need to give his name to the officers too, just in case.”
“Who is he?” All this time, she hasn’t mentioned anyone, not even when the cops asked about enemies. “An ex-boyfriend?”
“Not my ex. My mom’s boyfriend. Or he was until she died.” The squad cars pull into our driveway, and she looks over at me. “It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you everything later. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. He bailed so fast that he didn’t even claim her remains. I thought he was gone, and it just didn’t seem relevant, but now that they’re asking for money…”
My mind spins with questions, but I only manage one as the officers approach us. “Do you have that kind of money?”
She sucks her bottom lip in and gives a reluctant nod.
The police take this much more seriously than they did the vandalism and burglary. Maybe because the threat is a more serious crime or maybe because they find out that I have the money to pay such a demand if I chose. Like it or not, moneycommands a respect from authorities that isn’t given to the general population.
