Perkins."
The uniformed officer who'd been the first to respond to Max's 911 call was a young, scrubbed-faced freshman cop. Officer Rodman of the rapidly blinking blue eyes, steel-wool cap of carrot-red hair, and nervous shoulder jerk was obviously also a fan. His face flushed as red as his hair. He smelled of gun oil and Mississippi heat.
"You'd be surprised how many break-ins coincide with obituary listings in the newspaper," Rodman continued.
"That's just sick." Max scrubbed a hand over his face as he surveyed the damage.
"Yes, sir," the officer agreed with a slow southern drawl. "There's a criminal element even here in Mississippi that preys on these types of situations. They scan the papers, know the house is empty during the funeral services, and figure they've got easy pickins."
The officer waited for that information to settle, then pulled a notebook out of the breast pocket of his uniform shirt with another jerk of his shoulder. "Can you tell me if there's anything missing?"
Janey hesitated, clearly still grappling with the devastation. Hell, Jase was having trouble grasping it. It looked like a lot more than a break-in. It looked like someone had been good and pissed.
"I have no idea," Janey said, responding to the officer. "I've... this is the first time I've been to my mother's ... to her house."
"Well," Rodman said, glancing around, "it's obvious they weren't going for the bigger items. TVs are still here. So's the DVD player, the stereo system. Would she have kept cash in the house, do you think? Jewelry?"
"I... I don't know. I don't know anything about what she might have kept in the house."
For that matter, it was obvious by the way she looked around, kind of lost and uncertain, that she didn't know much of anything about the way her mother had lived. Jase found that a little sad. And he could see in Janey's eyes that she did, too.
"Officer Rodman," Max intervened, steering the young policeman toward the door. "You must understand. Ms. Perkins has had a difficult day. She's just buried her mother. And now this. Is it possible these questions could wait? Perhaps until tomorrow?"
Rodman nodded, his face flushing red again. "Sure thing.
"Listen," he added with another jerk of his shoulder, "I wish I could let you stay for a while, but we need to get Forensics in here and—"
"Just give her a minute, okay?" Jase said.
Rodman looked uncomfortable, but finally nodded. "Just for a minute, but don't disturb anything."
"Yes. Yes, of course," Max chimed in. "We understand. Let me give you my card. You can reach Ms. Perkins through me or Wilson here, if you have more questions."
Jase had questions. A lot of questions. But he kept them to himself, watching, with a growing concern that he hadn't expected to feel for a bad-girl rocker who suddenly looked as fragile and breakable as a piece of delicate handblown glass.
Chapter 4
The sense of violation was crippling. So was the sense of doom. Janey stood in numb silence, vaguely aware of Max talking to the officer, of Baby Blue's quiet vigilance behind her, and thought, This was where my mother lived.
The small two-bedroom ranch was Alice's home—but it had never been Janey's. She'd never lived in anything remotely this nice as a child. And yet even in the shambles of the break-in, Janey could see the house was modestly furnished—just like the house itself was modest. Small.
She didn't understand. Given the amount of money she'd been sending her mother the last few years, Alice Perkins should have been living like a queen. Another knot of emotion Janey didn't entirely understand balled up inside her.
She heard Baby Blue's voice in the background, reaching her through a hollow tunnel as he asked the officer some questions. She walked numbly across the living room, skirting an overturned end table to get to an open window and the fresh air scented of summer roses
The uniformed officer who'd been the first to respond to Max's 911 call was a young, scrubbed-faced freshman cop. Officer Rodman of the rapidly blinking blue eyes, steel-wool cap of carrot-red hair, and nervous shoulder jerk was obviously also a fan. His face flushed as red as his hair. He smelled of gun oil and Mississippi heat.
"You'd be surprised how many break-ins coincide with obituary listings in the newspaper," Rodman continued.
"That's just sick." Max scrubbed a hand over his face as he surveyed the damage.
"Yes, sir," the officer agreed with a slow southern drawl. "There's a criminal element even here in Mississippi that preys on these types of situations. They scan the papers, know the house is empty during the funeral services, and figure they've got easy pickins."
The officer waited for that information to settle, then pulled a notebook out of the breast pocket of his uniform shirt with another jerk of his shoulder. "Can you tell me if there's anything missing?"
Janey hesitated, clearly still grappling with the devastation. Hell, Jase was having trouble grasping it. It looked like a lot more than a break-in. It looked like someone had been good and pissed.
"I have no idea," Janey said, responding to the officer. "I've... this is the first time I've been to my mother's ... to her house."
"Well," Rodman said, glancing around, "it's obvious they weren't going for the bigger items. TVs are still here. So's the DVD player, the stereo system. Would she have kept cash in the house, do you think? Jewelry?"
"I... I don't know. I don't know anything about what she might have kept in the house."
For that matter, it was obvious by the way she looked around, kind of lost and uncertain, that she didn't know much of anything about the way her mother had lived. Jase found that a little sad. And he could see in Janey's eyes that she did, too.
"Officer Rodman," Max intervened, steering the young policeman toward the door. "You must understand. Ms. Perkins has had a difficult day. She's just buried her mother. And now this. Is it possible these questions could wait? Perhaps until tomorrow?"
Rodman nodded, his face flushing red again. "Sure thing.
"Listen," he added with another jerk of his shoulder, "I wish I could let you stay for a while, but we need to get Forensics in here and—"
"Just give her a minute, okay?" Jase said.
Rodman looked uncomfortable, but finally nodded. "Just for a minute, but don't disturb anything."
"Yes. Yes, of course," Max chimed in. "We understand. Let me give you my card. You can reach Ms. Perkins through me or Wilson here, if you have more questions."
Jase had questions. A lot of questions. But he kept them to himself, watching, with a growing concern that he hadn't expected to feel for a bad-girl rocker who suddenly looked as fragile and breakable as a piece of delicate handblown glass.
Chapter 4
The sense of violation was crippling. So was the sense of doom. Janey stood in numb silence, vaguely aware of Max talking to the officer, of Baby Blue's quiet vigilance behind her, and thought, This was where my mother lived.
The small two-bedroom ranch was Alice's home—but it had never been Janey's. She'd never lived in anything remotely this nice as a child. And yet even in the shambles of the break-in, Janey could see the house was modestly furnished—just like the house itself was modest. Small.
She didn't understand. Given the amount of money she'd been sending her mother the last few years, Alice Perkins should have been living like a queen. Another knot of emotion Janey didn't entirely understand balled up inside her.
She heard Baby Blue's voice in the background, reaching her through a hollow tunnel as he asked the officer some questions. She walked numbly across the living room, skirting an overturned end table to get to an open window and the fresh air scented of summer roses
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