He smiled into the receiver. “Of course. How are you? Is everything okay?”
“Are you finished for the day?”
“I was about to go home, yes.”
It was a struggle not to text Colson, and an ache formed in his chest, knowing it was for the best, but the bleak loneliness waiting for him at home was almost too much to bear.
“I was wondering if you could come over.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure, but I came home from the bank, and something didn’t feel right.” Her voice lowered. “I think I was watched.”
He stood and stuffed his phone, keys, and wallet into his pockets. “I’ll be right over. Do not let anyone inside. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I hope it’s nothing.”
“Me too,” he said grimly.
The streets were crowded—Thursday summer nights tended to start the weekend—and Harper threaded his way around people. He reached Millie’s house and saw her peeking through the lace curtains. She beamed when she saw him on the steps.
“Thank you for coming so quickly.” She peered over his shoulder, then closed the door behind him. “Come into the kitchen. It’s very cozy in there.”
He followed her and sat at the island. A plate of cookies was set in the middle with a vase of fresh roses. It reminded him of his mother—she’d loved baking, and after school or baseball practice, she’d always have something freshly made, either cookies or brownies. Enough for all his friends. Grief threatened to overtake him—the last time he’d had the team over, David had pestered him, and he’d begged his mother to get rid of the brat.
If only…
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” His voice was tight and scratchy.
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No, I’m fine.” From his past encounters with her, Harper knew he’d need to finesse his questioning, as Millie liked to go off on tangents. “Now, about what you told me on the phone? You think you were followed?”
“Yes. I took out money, like I do every week, and came home. I had a feeling…like someone was following me. I would stop occasionally and look around.” She lowered her voice as if someone was eavesdropping. “It was creepy.”
“And? Did you see anything? Anyone?”
“Well…yes. There were a lot of people on the street coming home from work.”
He bit back his frustration and placed a smile on his face. “So why do you think you were being followed?”
She met his gaze. “I’ve always been told I have very good senses.”
“I’m sure you do, but it’s hard to investigate on just your senses. I will look around outside, if you don’t mind, to see if I can find anything to indicate someone was on your property.” The sun hadn’t set yet, so he should be able to see any footprints or other evidence of trespass.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She opened the kitchen door, which led to the yard. “You can get to the garden this way.”
He put on his nitrile gloves and began a thorough inspection of the deck. Nothing. He checked each step and took photos of the footprints, and at the bottom of the steps, in the shadow of an evergreen, he picked up a cigarette butt. Millie had been watching him, her head peeking out the window. He held it up.
“I know this doesn’t belong to you.”
“Definitely not.”
He slid it into an evidence bag he pulled from his suit jacket pocket. “I’ll take it and have forensics run it. Do you have gardeners?”
“Well, yes, but I’ve told them constantly there is no smoking. It’s bad for my roses.”
There went that theory. He’d bet his shield it was a gardener.
