Libby awoke suddenly, aware of some sort of activity taking place at the foot of the bed. She opened her eyes to see Twilight contentedly gnawing on the toe of her last pair of good panty hose.
“Twilight!” She sat up and swatted at the cat, then moaned as she picked up the tattered remains of the hose. “Dumb cat,” she muttered sleepily, sliding from the bed and heading for the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later she emerged freshly showered and clad in a beige lacy bra and matching panties. She stood in front of the open wardrobe, indecisively staring at the clothes before her. It was so difficult to dress for spring in the Midwest, where the temperature could fluctuate as much as thirty degrees in a single day. She finally settled on a pair of jeans and a lightweight, crew-neck sweater. She added the heavy gold necklace and a pair of earrings. As she applied her makeup, she cast a scurrilous gaze at the errant cat who had returned to his position at the foot of the bed, resuming his task of totally shredding the panty hose.
Then, ready to face a new day, Libby left the apartment. She studiously ignored the Buick and its driver, who was still in the same position as the night before. She continued to ignore his vigilance as she headed her car toward the pawnshop, vowing that tonight she would have it out with Bill. Tonight she would tell him to call off his bloodhounds or else he’d be slapped with some sort of harassment charge. They were legally divorced. She’d tried to be nice, she’d tried to maintain a friendship, but now it was time to cut the umbilical cord.
This issue settled in her mind, she turned on the radio, enjoying the rhythmic mellow rock music that immediately filled the car. The upbeat melody caused an uplifting optimism to course through her veins. It was a beautiful morning, and she was looking forward to what this day in the shop would bring. That was one good thing about owning a pawnshop—no two days were ever the same.
She parked her car in front of the store, in the space reserved for her. A feeling of pride swelled in her heart as she stepped up to the front door, her gaze lingering on the bold black lettering that proclaimed Vinnie’s Pawnshop. When her father had retired almost a year before, she had never considered changing the name. For twenty-five years it had been Vinnie’s, and it was going to remain that way. With a smile, she unlocked the door and walked in.
For a moment her mind refused to assess what lay before her. The entire contents of the shop lay topsy-turvy. Knickknacks and dishes had been smashed and shards of glass littered the floor, crunching and snapping beneath Libby’s tentative footsteps.
Furniture had been tossed helter-skelter, with no respect for age or value. As if in a dream—no, some horrible nightmare—she walked slowly toward the small office door at the back of the shop, cringing at the senseless vandalism that surrounded her.
The scene in her office was worse. Her desk drawers had been emptied and papers were strewn all over the floor. The entire place looked as if a miniature but destructive tornado had swept full force through the store.
My God… Her mind reeled with shock as she leaned weakly against the wooden desk. What had happened here? And why? As shock began to wear off, anger took its place.
The police…she needed the police. They would find out who did this. They would punish the person who had destroyed her shop.
Angry tears blinded Libby as she ran back out into the bright sunshine, seeking the reassuring blue uniform of a police officer. Her tears came faster and faster as she stood helplessly in the center of the sidewalk, unsure where to go for help.
She screamed as a hand suddenly came down firmly on her slender shoulders.
