I’ve been here enough times now that she doesn’t wait, going to the kitchen instantly to make tea.
“You didn’t need to come,” she repeats, looking embarrassed as I slide onto a high stool at the kitchen counter.
“Of course I did.”
She places a mug in front of me then steps back, practically hugging hers as she stares at the wisps of steam rising from it.
“There was a note,” she finally admits. “On my windscreen. And…” She trails off, but when she lifts her gaze to meet mine, Ican see how serious she is. How certain. “I think someone was in here.”
“Jesus, Zara. When?”
She shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but this is getting dangerous. “I don’t know. Before I had the new locks installed anyway. There was nothing broken, it all seemed okay, but some of my jewellery was moved.”
When I don’t immediately comment, she chuckles darkly. “I know that sounds strange, but I just know. I could feel it in the air when I came inside.”
There are dark circles under her eyes, her baggy sweater hangs off her rapidly fading frame, and her beautiful blonde hair looks lank and dull.
“Or maybe I’m losing it.”
Sliding off the stool, I walk around to her side of the counter and put my arms around her. “You’re not losing it. You've been through something traumatic. Your nervous system is on high alert, yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re not right. And I’ll sleep better knowing I checked." I keep my tone upbeat, not wanting to scare her, as I let go and give her a reassuring smile. “Let me check all the windows, the emergency exit at the end of the hall. It’ll make us all feel better.”
She goes quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is smaller. "So, you don't think I'm being dramatic?"
Her sister has disappeared without a trace. Nothing she does, says, or feels right now isdramatic.
"I think you're being smart. And I'd rather you call me ten times about something that turns out to be nothing than not call me once when it really counts." I grab my notepad and pen from my purse and click it open, making a note to request more frequent drive-bys at her place. "I’m going to have a look around. Here's what I want you to do in the meantime, think about whatday and time that happened, when you think someone got in here.”
She nods, knuckles white as she grips the warm mug tightly.
“And any time you think someone is following you, take their picture, or just take pictures of whoever’s around you so anyone watching will get spooked. And ask your neighbours to do the same if they see anyone hanging around outside."
If someone really is following her, and has escalated to breaking in, Zara’s in serious danger here. I give her my calmestwe’ve got thissmile before going room to room, heart pounding, checking for any signs of disturbance and testing the windows to see if they’ve been damaged.
Thankfully, there’s nothing, but I still don’t feel good about leaving her here alone when I go.
“I can’t see any signs of tampering or forced entry. All your locks are working. There are no security lights out or anything funny outside.”
With each confirmation that everything is in order, she nods, her shoulders dropping just a little.
"Okay. That’s good." The relief in her voice makes my jaw ache. Nobody should have to sound that grateful just for being taken seriously. "Thank you, Detective. I mean it. Maybe I’m imagining things."
She makes light of her fears, trying to laugh them off, but her expression is still pinched. She’s still afraid.
"Lisa," I correct her for about the tenth time, then pause. “Are you sure you don’t have someone you could go and stay with? Just so you’re not alone.”
There’s another deep sigh. “I just… feel like I need to be here in case she calls.” She sighs. “That sounds crazy, but what if she comes back… and I’m not here…” She trails off.
“It’s not crazy. You’re worried about her. That’s normal. But it’s not good for you to be cooped up either.”
Staying indoors all day can’t be helping her mental health.
“I know. And I’m not. But going to stay with a friend feels so permanent. I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”
Leaving their home is like admitting her sister’s gone forever. Zara blinks rapidly and attempts to hide her sniffles with rapid apologies for wasting my time and making me come out here.
“You’re not. I’m not just a detective Zara, I’m your friend. I’m happy to help.” In a moment of madness, seeing the stress in every line of her body, I dig into my wallet and take out Beau’s business card that was stapled to one of the files. “If you can’t reach me, if you’re ever really scared, call him. He’s a good guy and can definitely handle himself.” Then I add, desperate to reassure her, “You won’t need it, but it’s good to have just in case.”
Clutching the business card, Zara nods. “Thank you.”