Chapter Five
In a second-floor bedroom of a Victorian house on the north coast of Washington, one figure stood zipping up pants next to the bed while another skootched upright against the pillows. The standing figure picked a uniform shirt off the back of a chair, “Sergeant Tom Aldrich” stitched over the right pocket, and slipped it on without buttoning. He lifted a corner of the window shade to see a quarter moon kissing the top of Marie’s A Cut Above Hair Studio sign across the driveway. The courthouse clock on the next block bonged midnight. Tom bent down, kissed Marie Marceau, and buckled on his gun belt. He picked up his hat and shoes and kissed Marie again.
“Bye,” he whispered. “I get off at ten this morning, but we’re shorthanded, so anything could come up.”
“Bye,” Marie whispered back. “If you’re not working and still awake at noon, we could have lunch? Oh, except I’m already meeting Jean for lunch.”
“Okay, I’ll come by when I get off. We can make a plan then.”
Marie reached up to ruffle Tom’s hair. “While we’re making a plan, let’s make you an appointment. I know someone who’s really good with hair.”
Tom tiptoed the dark hallway past one bedroom door, his gun belt leather squeaking like an old saddle. A second bedroom door snapped open and a shadow swung at him with a baseball bat. Tom jumped aside, grabbed the wrist with the bat, shoved it behind the shadow’s back, snatched away the bat, and shoved the figure to the floor. The hallway light flashed on to reveal Tom with a knee in the middle of Marie’s son’s back.
“Stop!” Marie shouted. “What’s going on here? James, are you all right?”
Tom stood and pulled James to his feet by the back of his t-shirt.
“I’m all right,” Tom said. “Thanks for asking. Yes, James, what’s going on here?” He tossed the bat back into James’s room.
James tried to shake off Tom’s grip, but Tom held him still.
“I thought you were a burglar,” James said. His voice quavered and cracked. “I thought you were hurting my mom.”
Tom shook his head and let the boy loose. Marie and her daughter, Lucy, looked on in shock.
“You could’ve dialed 9-1-1,” Tom said. “Your mom got you that nifty phone.”
A very pale James stood up straight and said, “Except 9-1-1 was busy sneaking around my house—”
“That’s enough, James!” Marie snapped. “You kids, back to bed! We’ll talk later. Tom has to work, and I have a full schedule tomorrow.”
James stood and glared at Tom. Lucy looked between Tom, his shoes and hat on the floor, and her mom, wrapped in a sheet in the bedroom doorway.
“Mom!” she said. “You and Sergeant Tom?”
“Okay, enough!” Marie said. “Both of you, back to bed!”
Tom picked up his shoes and hat. Both kids slammed their doors. Marie turned up her hands in exasperation, and Tom smiled.
“Busted.”
Marie tried not to laugh and waved him away with, “Oh, go catch a criminal.”