Free The Second Man by Emelle Gamble Page A

the living room with three Santa Barbara cops.
    Shit.
    “Officers, this is Jill Farrell, the victim. This is her home.”
    “I’m not a victim,” Jill said. “This is my house, but I wasn’t here when this happened, officers. I’ll answer your questions. Not Mr. Denton. He’s leaving now.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “Yes, you are.”
    The cops exchanged glances.
    Andrew narrowed his eyes. “I’ll wait in the other room, Jill. We still have something to discuss.”
    “Is everything okay here, Miss Farrell?” the taller of the two cops asked.
    “Yes,” she said, sending Andrew a look that should have killed him. “Okay, wait in the kitchen.”
    The cops stayed for less than thirty minutes and did not dust for prints, or take pictures, or seem all that interested once they saw the damage. They said it was most likely neighborhood kids who had broken in looking for cash or jewelry.
    When they checked they found the sliding glass door to her patio ajar, and the lock showed signs of being jimmied. Jill explained that she always kept a piece of doweling in the track to keep that from happening. The officers found it leaning against the inside of the window, as if she had forgotten to put it in place.
    Which was probably the case, she realized. With all her mother’s recent doctor appoints, she could not honestly remember the last time she had secured the door.
    The cops toured the rest of the house with her and found both of her bedrooms were ransacked, and about ten storage boxes in the garage had been ripped open and emptied onto the floor, but as far as she could tell nothing was taken.
    She agreed to call if she found anything else missing, and accepted their scolding about leaving her place locked up securely.
    She closed the door, and immediately panicked over not thinking about something that might have been stolen.
    Dad’s gun!
    It was stowed in the very back of the closet, unloaded, and not worth much to a pawnshop, but certainly would have been of interest to the punks who broke in.
    Jill flung open the closet door and felt around behind the jackets and coats for the peg the revolver and holster hung from. Her hand found the smooth, worn leather of the holster, and the comforting weight of the gun.
    With a sigh of relief, she left it where it was and headed for the kitchen. Her unwanted guest was sitting at the table, the smell of coffee in the air.
    She sat across from Andrew, who had helped himself to a box of cookies from her pantry. There were crumbs on the table in front of him.
    “Okay. What the hell is it you want from me?” Jill said.
    “Are you okay?”
    She folded her arms over her chest, realizing her blouse was unevenly buttoned. “My house was burgled, half the clothes I own are on the bedroom floor, and despite my asking you to stay away, you’re camped out in my kitchen. Why?”
    “I think you might be a touch more grateful I was here to help,” Andrew said. “Anyway, we do have something to talk about.”
    “I’m made it clear a couple of days ago that we have nothing to discuss.”
    “Oh, trust me, we do.” Andrew tented his hands together, his blue eyes bright.
    Jill stood. “If this is about the past, for god’s sake, we were over with a decade ago. I don’t have anything more to say about it. So if you want to rehash the arrest, or our domestic violence, I don’t care to participate.”
    “I’m not here about that,” Andrew said.
    “Then what do you want?”
    He blinked. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother. I understand she’s in a long term care facility.”
    “And how do you know that? Jesus, are you stalking me?”
    “No, of course not.” Andrew sat more upright. “You’ve decided to go to the reunion, I understand.”
    Jill blinked. “Who told you that?”
    “It doesn’t matter. I made inquiries.”
    “Then why did you ask?”
    “Fair enough. Look, I know you don’t want to spend any time with me, but I’m going to tell you something now that you