Page 9 of Resurrect Me

“That is a concern, Mrs. Rountree.”

“You can call me Tacy,” I say. “We’re familiar with each other now. We should be on a first name basis.”

“In that case, call me Fred. As far as who broke in, it’s more likely it was some petty thief running through the area. We’ve had two other B and E cases this month. Seems they’re targeting homes they know are empty during the workday. So, while it’s scary to think about the Governor, we can’t jump to conclusions here. Recall, his death was ruled an accidental drowning, Tacy. I need you to go inside and tell me if anything is missing. These serial burglars like to steal gold chains, small electronic devices, and cash. Anything small and valuable they can get their hands on. They probably pocket the stuff and walk out of the house in regular street clothes. As not to alarm the neighbors in the middle of the day. If they wore all black with ski masks and carried out a bunch of televisions and such, they’d draw too much attention.”

I nod. “Okay, I can look. See if anything’s gone. Can you just tell my kids everything is okay? They’ll be happy to hear it coming from you, Sheriff…er, Fred, I mean.”

He nods and tips his hat. “Sure thing, Tacy.”

I still can’t believe we were robbed in the middle of the day. At the same time, I’m relieved they didn’t break in at night.

I walk up the front steps and enter the house. A blanket of ripped papers cover my living room and hallway floors. I crouch down and pick up a torn piece of paper. It appears to be a mortgage statement from last year. I lift another. Tax filings. I kneel and continue reading the papers. The intruder went through our personal files in the office.

I head for Sol’s home office at the end of the hall. There’s a scratchy lump in my throat that I can’t clear, as my mind goes to the safe with our guns, a wad of cash, and a few other personal things. I enter the office, stepping on papers, and hurry to the fire safe in the corner of the room. I kneel and see the number code is still in there from the last time I accessed the safe. Unless the intruder knew the code. I open the safe and suck in a breath of air, expecting it to be empty. But everything is still in its place. The guns. The cash. Vibrators. Handcuffs. A couple other sex toys I don’t care to mention.

My head is pounding. I get the worst headaches when I’m overcome with stress. I approach the filing cabinet next to Sol’s desk. The papers crunch underfoot with each step I take. What a fucking mess. The filing cabinet’s three drawers are wide open, and there’s only a few papers left in the yellow filing folders. The rest are littered throughout the house. I’m so confused. Why would the intruder look through our files, but not take our guns or money?

I hear papers crinkling in the hallway. Then a man’s voice. Sheriff Fred’s.

“Tacy? What did they take?” He calls from the hallway.

“In here, Fred,” I swallow hard and close the door to the safe. I’d rather not explain the BDSM collection within. “I’m in the office.”

He leans in, hands on the doorframe, as if bracing himself for jarring news.

“They left my cash and guns,” I declare. “The safe was unlocked but nothing is missing from it.”

He tilts his head and presses his lips together.

“Really? What about your jewelry? Other small valuables?”

I stand and walk by him. “I’m not sure. Let me look.”

He nods and follows behind me quietly.

I walk throughout the house, examining the kitchen, dining area, bathrooms, and the kids’ rooms. But nothing looks out of place except for the files from the office. I check my jewelry box in my bedroom, and everything is in its place.

I turn to the Sheriff and sigh. “I don’t know, Sheriff. This is so weird. Everything is here. All my jewelry, cash, even my iPad on the nightstand. It doesn’t look like the intruder even robbed us. Just came inside and ripped through our filing cabinet.”

“Could be someone looking to steal identities, then,” he says and shrugs. “Weirder things do happen. And identity theft is highly common these days.”

I lick my lips and begin picking up the papers and stacking them together.

“I guess so.” I freeze in my tracks. The police haven’t collected fingerprints or any photos of the crime scene. I rise from the floor and look at the Sheriff. “Aren’t your men going to gather prints or something? Take photos?”

Fred clears his throat, and his eyes shift to the front door. “Oh, well…we don’t really need to collect prints in this case. It’s pretty cut and dry. Some vagrants, a petty identity thief or two, noticed you weren’t home, break in. Seeks out any files with your personal information then leaves with the info he came for.”

I bite my lip and nearly growl at the guy. But ground myself before I do something stupid. “What about the fact that my husband went missing and turned up dead? Now, a year later, someone breaks into my house and goes through my personal files, and you’re not going to consider this a crime scene?”

Sheriff Fred nervously adjusts his hat and clears his throat again. “Tacy, we do consider this a crime scene. It’s just a waste of time and energy to dust for prints in this case. I think this is a lot simpler than what you’re thinking. I know it seems scary, but whoever did this isn’t going to bother you again. Although I highly suggest calling the credit bureaus and putting it on hold. This way if someone tries to open an account in your name, they won’t be able to.”

I shake my head violently and clutch the arm of the loveseat. The room is starting to spin, and the bile in my stomach is burning my insides. Why doesn’t he seem to care? Am I overdramatizing this? Saliva fills my mouth and my vision blurs.

“I…I need to sit down,” I say and black out.

Seconds later, I wake up on my living room floor with a crowd of police officers, firemen, and paramedics leaning over me. At least I thought it was seconds later.

I sit up and rub my eyes. “What happened?”

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