As I continued to prowl around the store, looking for other things out of place, blue and red lights flashed in the windows at the front of the store. A moment later, the detective who had printed me stepped up onto the front porch with a woman I didn't recognize in her wake; her nametag said A. Ramirez. I greeted her, opening the door and thanking her for coming.
She gave me a cool nod. "Detective Ramirez: You must be Max Sayers. Can you tell me what happened?"
I recounted the events of the previous half hour and led her to the desk, then showed her the broken window.
"Was the door unlocked?" she asked.
"It must have been; whoever it was threw the door open and took off. Someone broke in the other night, too, and pulled back part of the bookshelf; with everything that happened on the beach, I forgot to bring it up."
"You forgot," she said in a flat tone, and took a note. Then she inspected the door. "The window pane is right above the lock, but whoever did this must have had a really small hand."
I looked at the hole in the glass; I hadn't noticed it before, but it was a jagged gap not much larger than an apple. "I see what you mean," I said. "Maybe they used a lever or something?"
"Why not just make the hole a little bigger so you could fit your hand through, then?" she asked. "What time did you hear the glass break?"
"I'm not sure," I said, glancing at my watch. "It must have been about thirty minutes ago. It woke Winston and me up. I was about to go back to sleep when I heard more noise, so I decided to come downstairs and investigate."
"Why didn't you call us right away?"
"I should have," I admitted, "but I wanted to see who it was. And I was afraid by the time you got here, whoever it was would be long gone. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen block, just in case." I told her what had happened when the intruder spotted me, and pointed to the glass paperweight that had slid across the floor, coming to rest next to a display of journals. Then I pulled the bag of ice away from my temple to show her where the paperweight had hit me.
"You're lucky a goose egg is all you've got," she said. "You should probably get that checked out though. Make sure you don't have a concussion." She walked over and picked up the glass paperweight. "No blood, and it didn't shatter."
"My head seems to have absorbed most of the force."
"Mmmm," she said doubtfully. "We'll check it for prints, of course."
"You'll likely find mine and Bethany's," I told her.
"Bethany?" she asked.
"My employee," I said.
"Right." She peered at the swelling on my temple. "You really should go to the emergency room,"
"You're probably right," I said, but I'd decided that unless I started having symptoms other than a wicked headache, it would have to wait until tomorrow. I didn't need a $400 emergency room bill at the moment.
"And the desk was like this when you came down?" Detective Ramirez asked, examining the drawer.
"It was," I said. "And whoever it was pulled part of this bookshelf backing away the other day, too. It's almost like they were looking for some kind of secret compartment."
"Secret compartment?" she asked, her tone dubious. "Are you suggesting someone was searching for a secret treasure?"
"I have no idea," I said. "This house is more than a hundred years old; I don't know most of its history. Maybe someone heard an old story about something hidden inside."
"But the desk isn't part of the house," she pointed out.
"It came with the cottage," I told her. "I don't know how long it's been here; it could be original to the house. Like I said, though, I'm just speculating. I have no idea why someone broke in and started rifling through my store."
"Assuming someone broke in at all," she said.
I blinked. "What are you saying?"
"I printed you when you found a dead body. Since that time, you tell me there was a break-in you conveniently forgot to mention. Now you tell me about a break-in that occurred this evening. You didn't call until after the intruder had left, and the hole in the glass seems small."
"Are you suggesting I manufactured the story?" I asked. "What would I possibly have to gain by saying someone broke into my store?"
"I have no idea," Detective Ramirez said. "Publicity? Maybe to throw confusion into a murder investigation? Make it look like someone was after you, instead of Selectman Parker?"
"How would manufacturing a break-in confuse a murder investigation?" I asked. "I can't even see how those two things might possibly be related."
"The murder occurred behind your store. The supposed break-ins occurred at your store."
"Supposed break-ins?"
"According to you, the intruder wore gloves, so there won't be any fingerprint evidence. You conveniently ‘forgot’ to tell me about the first break-in. Tonight, you tell me someone broke a window to let themselves in, but the hole isn't big enough to put a hand through to turn the deadbolt."
"There's a receipt on the floor that wasn't here when I went up to bed." I pointed to the crumpled bit of paper. "It's from this afternoon, at around 4:30."
"Oh?" she asked. "What's it for? Lockpicks? Safe-cracking tools?"
"Mothballs," I said, blushing.
"Right," she said, squatting down and picking up the receipt with gloved hands. "We'll bag it, but it's hardly incriminating."
"I get it," I said. "You're saying I made all this up. Broke my own window to fake an intruder. Upended my desk drawer and messed with one of my bookshelves.
