Read Online Mistaken Identity by Diane Fanning - Free Book Online Page B

out the small window in the door. A curly-headed blonde woman looking very much like Gloria from All in the Family stood outside, wringing her hands as her eyes darted in all directions.
    When Lucinda opened the door, the blonde turned her head to face her. Her jaw dropped, her lower lip quivered and she let loose an ear-piercing scream. She stuck her hands in her mouth, spun around and started to run, pulling the yellow tape loose from the column as she fled.
    Lucinda stepped out on to the porch. “Ma’am. Wait. Please, Ma’am. I’m a detective. I’d like to talk to you,” she shouted.
    The woman glanced back over one shoulder with widened eyes and ran even faster. Lucinda watched her cut through the neighbor’s lawn, racing to the next house. I’ve never had a child run from my face in fear, so why is this adult acting like such a ninny? Lucinda heard the loud slam from two houses away. She sighed, locked the front door, refastened the crime tape and walked up the street toward the foolish woman’s home.
    Lucinda rang the doorbell and waited. She heard no sounds from inside the house. She pressed the bell again, clearly hearing the two-note chime echo inside, but still no response. She formed a fist, pounded on the door and heard movement.
    Lucinda paused, listening, then blasted the door with three sharp raps.
    “Stop it!” the woman inside shrieked. “Stop it and go away. Go away or I’ll call the police.”
    “I am the police,” Lucinda bellowed. “I am putting my badge and identification up to the window. Look at it and open this door.” Lucinda counted to thirty in her head. “Ma’am, did you see that?”
    For a moment, Lucinda heard nothing. Then the door creaked as it eased open a crack, privacy chain in place and a wild eye peering through the gap. “I saw it,” the woman said with a whimper.
    “Please open the door and talk to me,” Lucinda asked.
    “What do you want with me?” the woman whined.
    “I just want to talk to you. You can call the police station and verify that I am who I say I am, if you want. But I really need you to talk to me.”
    “And if I don’t?”
    Lucinda sighed. “Ma’am, if you don’t, I’ll have to call for back-up. Then, if you won’t open the door for them, they’ll knock the door down. After that, you get to experience being handcuffed, shoved into the back of a patrol car and stuffed in a cell until I can get there and talk to you. Your choice, ma’am. I’d rather talk to you here, but either way works for me.”
    The door shut, the chain rattled and the door opened halfway, the opening blocked by the woman’s outstretched arm. “My choice? Humph. Like you’re leaving me with any choice at all. What do you want?”
    “How about you let me in?”
    The woman flung the door all the way open. “Please come in,” she said, acid etching each word.
    Lucinda stepped inside, noting that the layout of this home appeared identical to that of the Sterlings’ house but the decor was totally different. Everything here was ruffles and bows and lots of pink floral patterns. The living room and dining room definitely had that lived-in look: stacks of newspapers on tabletops, books folded open straining their spines, toys scattered on the floor and smiling kids’ faces in the photos on the mantelpiece. It was a bit chaotic, but Lucinda had to admit she felt a lot more comfortable in this living room than in the one down the street.
    The woman moved a child’s blue windbreaker, a T-shirt and a baseball glove from the worn, flowery sofa and invited her to have a seat. She herself sat in a chair caddy-corner from Lucinda. Her blonde curls looked relaxed but the rest of her was rigid – ramrod posture, arms in a tight fold and lips grimaced in distaste.
    Lucinda watched her in silence, waiting for the woman to speak first. Every time the woman tried to return Lucinda’s stare, her head jerked violently away as if a mad Pavlovian had administered an electric