Page 45 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
Meanwhile, Ruth was wide awake in the guest room, listening to Jake’s footsteps below. The man meant well, but all that pacing was giving her a headache. What she needed was one of her special Cuban cigars—the ones Edward pretended not to know she kept hidden in her jewelry box.
Slipping on her robe and house slippers, Ruth crept downstairs and carefully disengaged the alarm system. Jake was in the kitchen, probably checking the back door for the hundredth time. Perfect. She could slip out the front door for a quick smoke on the side porch without him noticing.
The December air was crisp but not unpleasant as Ruth settled into the wicker chair on the side porch, well hidden from Jake’s sight lines. She lit her cigar with the practiced ease of someone who’d been sneaking smokes for decades, despite six husbands who’d all disapproved of the habit.
She was just getting comfortable when Faith’s cell phone rang inside the house—that shrill, urgent tone that cut through the night like a blade. Once, twice, three times.
Ruth heard Jake’s heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs, heard muffled voices from Faith’s bedroom. Then Faith’s voice, stronger than expected: “Hello?”
Ruth took another puff of her cigar and settled back to listen. Whatever was happening, Jake had it under control. But then she heard a new sound that made her blood run cold—a scraping noise against the exterior wall, like something climbing up the trellis outside Faith’s bedroom window.
Ruth’s eyes blazed with fury as she spotted a dark figure struggling with the old wooden trellis, trying to reach the second-floor balcony. The decorative structure Jake had recently reinforced was directly above the rose garden, and some perverted fool was using it to try to get to Faith’s bedroom.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Ruth muttered, stubbing out her cigar and grabbing the fireplace poker she’d left by the door.
She marched around to where she had a clear view of the climber. “Hey, you perverted piece of garbage!” Ruth’s voice carried across the neighborhood like a battle cry. “Get down from there before I come up and beat you senseless with this poker!”
A startled yelp echoed from above, then a crash as someone lost their grip and tumbled to the ground below. Ruth continued her tirade at full volume: “That’s right, you coward! Run! But if I see you on my property again, I’ll show you what this ninety-year-old woman can do with a fireplace tool!”
Lights blazed on in houses up and down the street. Dogs started barking. Someone’s porch light illuminated a figure scrambling to his feet in the rose garden, dark clothing torn from the thorns.
Jake burst through the front door just as the stalker reached his feet, vaulting off the porch and tackling the man before he could escape. They went down hard, rolling through Ruth’s prized rose bushes.
“Call 911!” Jake shouted as he wrestled the struggling figure to the ground. “And someone get those floodlights on!”
Ruth was already on her phone, speaking crisply to the emergency operator while Faith appeared on the balcony above, clutching her robe and staring down at the scene in shock.
The stalker was smaller than Ruth had imagined, wiry and pale, with thinning hair and the kind of forgettable face that could disappear in any crowd. Nothing special. Nothing that explained the havoc he’d wreaked on Faith’s life.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Neighbors emerged from their houses in robes and slippers, drawn by the commotion. Mrs. Larsen from next door appeared with a baseball bat, demanding to know “what all the ruckus was about.”
Within minutes, the Victorian’s front yard was swarming with police cars, ambulances, and what looked like half the neighborhood. Detective Webb arrived looking like he’d been roused from sleep, his hair standing on end and his shirt buttoned wrong.
“Well,” Ruth said with satisfaction, patting Faith’s arm as they watched the paramedics check the stalker for injuries before the police hauled him away. “That’s that problem solved. Nothing like a good old-fashioned community effort to catch a criminal.”
Faith stared at her in amazement. “You could have been hurt. He could have had a weapon.”
Ruth snorted. “Honey, I’ve buried six husbands and outlived three wars. One pathetic little man with boundary issues wasn’t going to intimidate me.” She hefted the poker approvingly. “Besides, a lady should always know how to defend herself. My second husband taught me that.”
As the police cars finally pulled away with their prisoner, Faith found herself standing in her front yard at two in the morning, wrapped in Jake’s jacket, surrounded by concerned neighbors and still processing the fact that her nightmare was finally over.
“It’s done,” Jake said quietly, pulling her against his side. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Faith leaned into his warmth, finally allowing herself to believe it. The stalker was caught, her car could be replaced, and her house was safe again.
And Ruth Murphy, armed with a fireplace poker and righteous indignation, had just become Faith’s new hero.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Faith woketo the smell of coffee and bacon drifting up from the kitchen. For a moment, she forgot about the events of the previous night. Sunlight streamed through her bedroom windows, and the house felt peaceful in a way it hadn’t for weeks.
Then she remembered, the stalker was caught. Her nightmare was over.
She found Ruth, Jake, and Gretchen in the kitchen. Gretchen was at the stove, efficiently managing what looked like enough breakfast to feed a small army, while Ruth held court at the kitchen table, still wearing her leopard-print robe but having traded the rhinestone tiara for a more practical headband. Jake looked like he hadn’t slept at all, dark circles under his eyes and his hair standing at odd angles.
“Well, there’s the woman of the hour,” Ruth announced, gesturing to Faith with a coffee mug. “I was just telling Jake that Detective Webb called. Your stalker’s name is Marcus Henley. He worked in the station’s research department—had access to all the archived interviews, background files, everything.”
Faith sank into a chair, the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. “That’s how he knew about Steve. He had access to all my old interviews, the background research Lucy’s team did when I first started at the station.”
