She pulled her phone from her bag and dialed 9-1-1. The dispatcher told her to go outside in case someone was hiding in the shop, but she knew from the way the place breathed that wasn’t the case.
Still, she did as instructed and wandered outside on wobbly legs. She had no memory of picking her way through the disaster zone and found herself in the parking lot, breathing cold air that didn’t calm her the way it normally did.
For a moment, she considered calling Rina and Mina, then stopped herself.
By the time the two small-town police officers arrived, the adrenaline inside her had drained away, leaving her feeling weak.
She answered their questions in a fog. Yes, the back door. No, she didn’t keep anything of real value onsite. Yes, there was petty cash. Not much.
The older of the two cops whistled quietly as he inspected the broken lock, while the other entered the building. When he disappeared inside, hysteria gripped Felicity and she imagined the officer finding the intruder lounging in one of the thrifted armchairs, reading a book on how not to get caught committing crimes.If only.
She stood near the back door with the older cop, fingers twisting as she waited for any answer that made sense.
“All clear!” came the call.
The cop watching over her urged her into the shop. God, seeing it the second time was so much worse. Acid coated the back of her tongue.
“Someone really took their time making a mess of your shop.”
She turned to look at the younger of the officers, her eyes flicking to his name badge. Smallwood. Her sister would make some joke about a name like that, but Felicity couldn’t find any emotion besides despair.
She stepped over the bent wire stand that had once held bookmarks and gripped the edge of the counter. Not because she thought she’d fall but because the wood felt like the only solid thing left.
The police moved through the store, photographing everything.
“We’ve had a couple of break-ins like this.” The older one snapped another photo of the petty cash box, open but still filled with money, as if the criminal didn’t care about small bills.
“Oh?” she heard herself say in a hollow voice.
“Rancher toward the west end of the county had trouble last week. Teens, most likely. Grab-and-go stuff they could carry and sell. Tools, small equipment, a little cash.”
“They didn’t take my cash box.”
He glanced toward the rack of gift cards behind her. “Maybe they were looking for those.”
“They don’t activate until they’re sold.” Her voice sounded like it belonged to someone who wasn’t shaken. That couldn’t be her. Not right this minute.
“So they weren’t very bright,” Smallwood said as he picked his way over a pile of books. She cringed as the heel of his boot slipped on a cover, damaging it further.
“Could still be related to the rancher’s break-in,” the older cop went on. “Pattern’s similar. Do you have cameras in the store?”
She pointed to the single orb on the counter that surveilled most of the shop. The lens was spiderwebbed, smashed like everything else.
Smallwood stepped up to examine the camera. “Might have picked up activity before they smashed it. Do you get the feed on your phone?”
She shook her head. It was a small town. “It’s mostly a deterrent. I almost never check the footage. You can check it on the computer.” She waved a hand at the system on the far end of the counter, seemingly unharmed.
He nodded, moving toward it. “We’ll check the cameras up and down the block too.”
“Thanks.” She ran her tongue over her dry bottom lip.
Smallwood turned to her, pulling a notebook from his pocket. “Is there anyone who might hold a grudge against you?”
Her mind stumbled over the question. “No.”
“Any incidents with customers or neighbors?”
“No.”
