“Mugged?” he repeated, eyebrows raising slightly.
“Yes. Mugged. Robbed?”
The officer gave her a slow once-over, gaze flicking from her shopping bags back up to her face. “What was taken?”
“My purse. My wallet.”
“Okay.” He slid a clipboard toward her. “Fill out this form.”
She frowned down at it. “Don’t you want to know what he looks like?”
“Yes. On the form,” he said without inflection. He tapped the center of the clipboard. “Describe him there.”
Kathleen sighed. She’d been having such a good day. She’d let her guard down, and now she was paying for it. She looked at the form again—and groaned. It was entirely in Italian.
“I can’t fill this out,” she said.
The officer glanced up, unimpressed. “Why not?”
“It’s all in Italian. I don’t read Italian.”
He sighed, deep and weary. “Fine. Have a seat. I’ll find someone to help you.”
Kathleen sat down on the hard wooden bench near the desk, setting her bags carefully at her feet. The officer didn’t leave his post. He didn’t pick up the phone. He just went back to reading whatever was in front of him.
Minutes passed. Then more.
“Excuse me,” she said finally.
He didn’t look up. “Yes?”
“You said you were going to find someone to help me, but you haven’t done anything.”
Another sigh, heavier this time. He stood, shuffled into the back room, and disappeared without another word.
Kathleen’s phone rang, the sharp sound startling in the quiet station. She’d forgotten she’d shoved the device into her pocket as she left the boutique. Thank god it hadn’t been stolen as well. She glanced at the caller ID and hesitated. Jamie. She almost let it go to voicemail, but if she didn’t answer, he’d just keep calling. Her brother checked in on her constantly, and she couldn’t really blame him. After everything that had happened—after disappearing for years—they were both scarred in ways neither of them liked to admit.
She answered. “Jamie.” Old habits died hard, including using his nickname when speaking to him directly.
“Kathleen.” His voice was tight. “Why are you in a police station in Lake Lugano?”
She froze. “How do you even know?—”
“Why are you there?” he demanded, concern rippling down the line.
“I got mugged.”
Dead silence.
“Mugged?” His voice was low and sharp now. “What happened?”
Kathleen let out a shaky breath and explained, giving him the short version.
“Why are you in Lugano anyway? I thought you were going to Paris.”
“There were strikes at the Paris airport. The pilot told me that we’d have to divert to Orly. Lugano was easier.”
More silence.
