More Than a Soldier Read online

  “The part is warrantied for thirty days. Make sure you keep the receipt.”

  “But what about—”

  “Ready for dessert?” He waved their waiter over. “How’s your tiramisu?”

  “It’s excellent, sir. Everyone raves about it.”

  “Good, I’ll take that and some coffee, please. Sassy?”

  She smiled first at Hank, then the waiter. “Same, thank you.”

  The waiter cleared their dishes and left.

  Cindy crossed her arms on the table and leaned in. “Hank, I want to thank you for more than just fixing my car. You went out of your way to shuttle me back and forth to your parents’ house, made me feel welcome this whole weekend, and topped off your kindness by rescuing me from my own stupidity when I fell off the cliff.” A glossy sheen coated her eyes and made them sparkle. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” It was his pleasure, indeed.

  * * * *

  “Hey, Cindy, before you go inside, I wanted to—”

  “My keys are in here somewhere.” Cindy gave her purse a shake and smiled at the sound of metal tinkling against metal. She squirreled through her bag and pulled out a miniature hubcap with a set of keys dangling from it. “I’m sorry, you were saying?” She stuck the key in the lock.

  A porch plank creaked as Hank stepped closer. “I’d like to see you again.”

  The mini hubcap swung from the deadbolt as she let go and turned to face him. “You, you mean like a date?”

  “Would you have a problem with that?”

  “I—” Cindy took a half step back. “Hank, I-I don’t know. I just got my heart broken and—”

  “Maybe I can help glue it back together.” Hank inched forward. “I’m pretty good at fixing things, you know.”

  She gulped as if she were swallowing a brick. “I like you, Hank. I like you a lot, but—”

  “Okay, then. Non-dates. No pressure, no strings attached. Friends first, and we’ll see what happens next?” He turned his palms up and shrugged. “Never know. I might make you fall madly in love with me.”

  She exhaled a breath she’d been holding. “Non-dates. I think I might like that.”

  Hank smiled. “I was thinking we could—”

  Mrs. Baker opened her door and stuck out her head. “Oh, you’re home. I heard voices and thought maybe the cable guy was going back into your apartment.”

  Cindy stepped forward. “Cable guy?”

  “Why, yes. The Able Cable guy. The company logo was big as day, filling the back of his shirt like a walking billboard sign. About an hour after you left, I heard your door close, then heard someone going down the steps. When I peeked through the blinds, I saw him cross the gravel, get into a company van, and leave.”

  “I didn’t order any cable services.” Cindy stared at her door as if the boogey man would emerge. “He was in my apartment? Are you sure?”

  “Well, I didn’t actually see him come out, but I definitely heard your door close. Something squeaks—a hinge, or maybe wood against wood where it rubs the frame. It’s a very familiar sound since I hear it all the time.”

  Hank twisted the key and pushed the door open.

  Cindy stepped in behind him and gasped. “Oh, no! What a mess!”

  Books and knickknacks lay scattered in front of an overturned bookshelf. Couch and chair cushions had been pulled from their spots and left lying on the floor. Kitchen drawers hung open, cabinet doors stood ajar, and the contents of cereal boxes littered the tile floor and countertops.

  Hank proceeded to the bedroom, stopped at the door, looked left and right, and went in.

  Cindy followed with one hand on his arm, the other pressed against his back.

  Mrs. Baker’s voice trailed behind, her words indecipherable, but full of apprehension.

  Dresser drawers lay askew with bras and panties tossed on the bed in a pile. Other clothing was strewn about as if a whirlwind passed through the place. One of the closet’s sliding doors hung precariously by one roller, and inside, a single dress—red with white trim—remained hanging from the bar. Everything else was heaped at the bottom of the closet.

  Hank nodded toward a door to his left. “What’s in there?”

  “Bathroom.”

  He nudged the door fully open, shoved the shower curtain aside, and returned to the bedroom. “What about that one over there?” With a nod of his chin, he pointed to the next door on his left, on the far side of the dresser.

  “It’s the laundry room, and the back door’s accessed from in there.”

  Hank scoped out the laundry room and peeked out into the back yard. Nothing. He came back to the bedroom. “As far as you can tell, is anything missing?”

  Cindy sorted through the underwear on the bed. “I had fifty bucks folded in this bra. I don’t see it anywhere.”

  A jewelry box sat on the dresser with the lid open. Hank pushed stuff around with an index finger. Nothing looked terribly expensive, but what did he know about the value of all the gold and silver doodads? “How ’bout in here?”

  Cindy high-stepped over a few dresser drawers and took a minute to examine the box. “A gold chain with a jeweled cross is gone. It wasn’t worth much, but it was something I really liked and wore often.”

  She picked up a ring with a purple heart-shaped stone. “This was my foster mom’s. I’d always admired it, so she gave it to me when I turned eighteen. The amethyst is genuine, not a lab stone, and the little diamonds on the side are real too. It’s got to be worth at least fifteen hundred dollars. Why would a thief leave this?”

  Mrs. Baker left her hand-wringing spot near the bedroom door and sat on the bed. “Oh dear, this is terrible. Simply terrible. Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  “Mrs. Baker.” Hank stepped over a drawer and stood by the bed’s wrought iron footboard. “Whoever did this had to have made a racket. Did you hear anything?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Did you have the TV or radio on?”

  “No, the house was dead quiet. I’d been sitting on the porch crocheting a baby blanket when the mosquitoes started eating me alive. I went inside, sat at the kitchen table, and was working on it until I heard Cindy’s door.”

  Cindy sat next to Mrs. Baker and looked up at Hank. “This is very strange, Hank. I can’t even sneeze in here without Mrs. B blessing me. The walls are paper thin.”

  Things didn’t add up. Hank ran his hand over his hair. “The backdoor was locked, and so was the front door. There’s no sign of forced entry.” He opened his stance and folded his arms across his chest. “So, where’d the guy get the key?”

  Chapter 12

  Anger percolated deep within Cindy’s core as initial shock sizzled into something closer to rage. She sprang from beside Mrs. Baker and paced to the bedroom door and back.

  Someone had a lot of nerve waltzing into her apartment, wrecking the place, and making off with fifty bucks and her favorite necklace. Not to mention digging through her personal things. She swatted the pile of lingerie, sending panties wafting to the floor on the other side of the bed. “If I ever get my hands on the guy who did this, I’m going to—”

  “Take it easy.” Hank blocked her path as she turned for another lap to the door.

  “Take it easy? Are you crazy? Some creep just—”

  “Sassy.” Hank stood as a pillar of levelheadedness—strong, confident, and unshaken by the intruder’s malevolence. Her pet name flowed from his lips with magical powers, wrapping a cloak of security around her, and infusing calmness into her spirit. As she relaxed, her fingers that had tightened into fists of their own accord, started to uncoil.

  Mrs. Baker finished folding and stacking every garment within reach, then arose from the bed. “Cindy, do you think Oscar could have given the cable guy the key?”

  Cindy palmed her forehead. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Who’s Oscar?” Ha
nk saddled his hands on his hips.

  “Oscar Parnell. He owns and manages all the duplexes in the complex. His office is around the corner, and—”

  “Let’s go talk to him. After we see what he has to say, we’ll call the police. Mrs. B, do you feel comfortable staying alone in your apartment, or would you rather go to the office with us?”

  “You dear, sweet boy. How considerate of you to think of me.” Appreciation oozed from her grandmotherly smile. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll barricade myself inside like gold in Fort Knox.”

  Cindy locked her door and waited on the porch with Hank until Mrs. Baker’s locks clicked into place. A few minutes’ walk brought them into the management office.

  Oscar Parnell peeped at Cindy over half-glasses and returned his attention to the computer screen on his desk. “What can I do for you, Cindy?”

  “Did you give an Able Cable guy the key to my apartment a little while ago?”

  “Yeah, and he hasn’t brought it back yet, either.” He pecked away at his keyboard.

  “I never ordered cable or any other services the company offers.”

  Oscar pulled off his glasses and looked up. “What do you mean, you didn’t—”

  “She means exactly what she said.” Hank stepped up to the desk. “And now her apartment has been ransacked and robbed.”

  “But, but. Oh no.” Oscar slumped in the chair and slicked his hair back with both hands. He stood and looked at Cindy. “The odd couple from building seven, you know, the cowboy wannabe and the hippie chick with the Kool-Aid–red hair, were in here screaming their heads off about a plumbing problem when the cable guy came in. When the pair took a breath, he shoved a clipboard with a service order in my face and said he needed the key to your apartment. I gave it to him and he left.”

  Hank exhaled a loud breath. “What’d he look like? Would you be able to describe him to the police?”

  “He was white, and he—” Oscar shrugged. “Sorry, that’s all I remember. Kool-Aid was cursing up a blue streak, and Hang ’em High was about to tie a noose around my neck and slap the horse out from under me. I didn’t pay much attention to the cable guy, although I did recognize the uniform.”

  Two shades paler than when Cindy entered the office, Oscar leaned his palms on the desk and wagged his head before looking at her again. “I’m sorry, Cindy. My policy has always been to get signed consents from tenants before handing their keys over to anyone. I dropped the ball this time. Have you called the police yet?”

  “No, we wanted to talk to you first. By the way, this is my friend Hank. Hank, Oscar.”

  The men shook hands. Oscar sat and reached for the desk phone. “You want me to call the cops for you?”

  “We’ll call them in a minute,” Hank said. “But there is something you can do, and that is, get Cindy’s locks changed tonight.”

  Oscar opened a desk drawer, pulled out two boxes, and slid them across the desk. “Here’re a couple of brand new locks. I keep a few on hand to change between tenants. There’s no way my maintenance man is going to answer his phone this evening after working on number seven’s sewer pipes all day, but if you want to install these, I’ll pay you for it.”

  “No problem.” Hank picked them up. “Take whatever you would’ve paid me off Cindy’s rent.”

  “Deal.” Oscar shook Hank’s hand a second time. “And Cindy, again, I’m sorry.”

  On their way back to the apartment, Cindy took her phone from her back pocket. “Guess it’s time to make the call to the cops.” She dialed. “Hello, I’d like to report a burglary.”

  * * * *

  Hank sat on the porch rail and didn’t rise when Cindy descended the steps to meet the squad car pulling in. He wouldn’t butt in unless she or the cop asked him to.

  Gangly and smooth-faced, the officer unfolding from the driver’s seat didn’t appear old enough to shave, let alone wear the uniform and carry a sidearm.

  “Hello, I’m Officer Davis. Are you Cindy Giovanni, the one who called about the break-in?”

  “It’s Giordano. And, yes, I’m the one who called.”

  Davis flipped open a spiral pad and thumbed through the pages. “I don’t have a record of an assault being mentioned when you called.”

  “Assault? Why would you think? Oh, this?” Cindy touched the knot on her head. “Unrelated. I had an accident yesterday. Fell and whacked my head. Come on in and let me show you the mess.” Cindy came onto the porch with the cop. “This is my neighbor, Mrs. Baker, and my friend, Hank Fleming.”

  “Mrs. Baker. Mr. Fleming.” The officer tipped his head toward each.

  Cindy entered the apartment with the cop trailing behind.

  Mrs. Baker swatted a mosquito from her arm. “What’d Officer Baby Face say his name was?”

  “Davis.” Hank chuckled and pushed off the railing. He moved inside and stood in the bedroom doorway with thumbs hooked in his pants pockets.

  “...And several tiny stones of different colors are imbedded in the cross.” Cindy’s description of the missing necklace filtered through the open laundry room door.

  “Can you show me where you kept it?” Davis asked.

  “Sure.” Cindy came back into the bedroom, nudged dresser drawers aside with her foot and flipped open the jewelry box. A tiny ballerina popped up as the lid opened. It pirouetted in slow motion to the sound of a few sad notes from the unwound music box, then stood motionless in front of a triangular mirror glued to the inside of the cover.

  Cindy paused for a long, silent moment, her fingertip caressing the dancer’s frilly pink tutu. A shadow of gloom crept over her.

  Something wasn’t right. Hank took a single step toward her.

  She cranked the music box’s winding mechanism until it wouldn’t make another turn and stared while the ballerina danced to the melodious tune.

  “Miss Giuliani, are you okay?”

  Hank shook his head. Would the guy ever get her name right?

  Cindy didn’t respond.

  “Miss Giul—”

  “Davis.” Hank caught the officer’s attention and nodded toward the door. “Give her a few minutes, would you?”

  Hank touched Davis’s arm as he passed. “You might want to talk to Mrs. Baker, the woman next door, and also the landlord, Oscar Parnell. Both of them have information regarding the person who might have made this mess.”

  “All right, I will. Thanks.” The front door opened and closed as Davis departed.

  Music tinkled from the jewelry box as Hank stepped out of the bedroom and pulled the door partially closed. Softly, Cindy began to sing, her words barely audible.

  “I will kiss...your tears...away,

  Love you through...your darkest days.

  I will be...your life’s...romance,

  Shall...we...dance?”

  Raw, painful emotion strained her words, wrenched Hank’s guts, and held him captive. Her melody wrapped its cords around his heart and held fast. He turned to go, but he couldn’t...or wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure which.

  She hummed the next few lines then sang again.

  “I have loved...you since...first glance.

  Shall...we...dance?”

  Cindy closed the box and the music stopped. She stood silent as tears ran down her face, and made no move to wipe them away. Something—music, dance, a memory from the past—had triggered her sudden shift into a melancholic state. But how could he help her when he didn’t even know how to stop the ghosts that haunted him on an increasingly regular basis?

  Hank shut the door without making a sound. Lord, wrap your arms around Cindy and hold on tight. Let her feel your presence, and give her peace.

  He walked outside. Enough darkness had fallen that the automatic sensors had switched on the porch lights.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Baker. If you think of anything else, give us a call.” Davis stuffed his pad and pen in his shirt pocket and turned to Hank. “I see no need to disturb Miss
Giovanni again tonight. If she discovers anything else is missing or has anything else to report, we’re just a phone call away.”

  Hank shook Davis’s hand. “I’ll be sure to tell her that. Thank you.”

  “I’ll drop in on Mr. Parnell and also get in touch with the cable company to check out that lead. Good night to you both.” Davis went to the police cruiser.

  Hank started down the steps. “Mrs. B, I’m going to get a few tools from the Jeep and change Cindy’s locks.”

  The squad car left as Hank stepped back onto the porch. Mrs. Baker shook her head. “I’m not certain it did any good to call the police. I thought they’d at least send someone to take fingerprints and photos of the place.”

  Hank unscrewed the old deadbolt and popped it out of the door. “They might do that on TV, but police departments in townships like these don’t have the money or manpower to process a crime scene where no one was hurt, and a mere fifty dollars and necklace of unknown value has been stolen.” He secured the new lock in place and tested the keys that came with it.

  “Then what good are the cops in these situations if they can’t do anything?”

  Hank shoved a screwdriver into his back pocket. “What if they dig something up when they investigate the mysterious cable guy, or find the necklace at a local pawnshop and get an ID of the guy who fenced it? Either of those scenarios would make the call to the police worth it, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She smoothed a wayward curl of silver streaked hair and readjusted a bobby pin. “I’d better quit yapping and let you install the back-door lock. While you’re doing that, I may as well start sweeping up the mess in the kitchen.”

  “Good idea. I’m sure Cindy would appreciate it.” Hank crossed the living room and listened at the bedroom door. His knuckles barely struck the wood. “Cindy?”

  Silence.

  He cracked open the door.

  Cindy lay coiled on the bed, facing him. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, her cheek rested on the pillow. A waterfall of rich, dark-brown hair cascaded from her head and over the pillowcase, and onto the sheet. The stacks of clothes Mrs. Baker had folded were now on top of the dresser. A wide but shallow drawer had been inserted in the top center slot of the dresser, and the hook-end of a bra hung out, caught between the drawer facing and frame. Not a stitch of lingerie remained on the bed.