Read Online More Than Friends by Erin Dutton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Erin Dutton
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individuality somehow made them all look the same.
She hit the button on her laptop computer that indicated to dispatch that she was on-scene and unavailable for calls, then climbed out of the car. Melanie stood in the driveway next to a white utility trailer.
Evelyn waved and warmth spread through her chest when Melanie smiled. She circled the car and headed down the walk toward her without hesitation. It had been too long since she’d seen Melanie.
When she reached the driveway, Melanie rocked forward on her toes, then back again, and Evelyn realized she’d just stifled the urge to hug her. Melanie’s eyes shifted briefly down her body then back to her face. Kendall didn’t like to be hugged in public while in her uniform. Evelyn didn’t remember ever actually agreeing with her, but she also couldn’t recall a single time when Melanie hugged her while she was dressed for work either.
“Hey, Mel.”
“Thanks for coming down.”
She examined the broken padlock that hung lopsided in the hasp of the trailer door. “Is this your trailer?”
Melanie nodded. “They broke a window in the back door of the house and got inside, too. The owner is pretty wound up. He’s inside.” Her eyes held an apology for the attitude Evelyn was about to get from the property owner.
If Evelyn looked between the two houses across the street, she could see several known drug houses. She already knew what to expect when she went in to make this report. This guy wasn’t the first to purchase and renovate a historic house only a few streets away from a high-crime area. The neighborhood would eventually change, slowly becoming more upscale, safer, and trendy. But the first wave of buyers should expect to make these repeated calls for police assistance.
“I’ll start with him, knock out his report, then we’ll do yours.”
“Let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you.” Melanie led her up the front steps. She pulled open the screen door and called out to the owner before entering.
They passed through the foyer and rounded the corner into an open living room lit by work lights on tripods in each corner. A beefy man with a shaved head wedged a crowbar into a piece of molding around the hearth. The muscles of his shoulders flexed against his sleeveless shirt as he worked it until the strip of wood came free with a resounding pop. In the silence that followed, Evelyn’s boots echoed on the dulled hardwood floor.
He straightened and turned, still holding the pry bar. His eyes dipped to the silver nameplate on the right side of her chest, obviously taking note of her name in case she didn’t handle the issue to his satisfaction.
“Paul Baxter,” he said, as he bent and leaned the bar against the wall.
“I understand you had a break-in last night, Mr. Baxter.” She used her most professional tone. “Was it the back door?”
“Yes. I’ll show you.”
As he strode across the room, Melanie tilted her head indicating she would be outside, and Evelyn nodded.
“Are you doing all the work yourself?” she asked as she followed him. She hadn’t seen evidence of any other workers in the house.
“Everything inside. I’ll need to contract out some projects outside. And of course, I hired your friend out there to do the flowers.”
She didn’t like the dismissive way he talked about Melanie’s work, as if it was as simple as sticking some plants in the ground. But she didn’t comment, focusing instead on the broken pane in the door where the suspect got in. “Do you know what time this took place?”
“I worked late, left about ten, and discovered the broken window at six a.m. Neighborhood thugs, no doubt.”
“Did anyone see the suspects?”
“If they did, they’re not talking to me. But I’m an outsider around here. So that’s how it usually is, isn’t it?” She almost expected a nudge and a wink along with this statement.
“Overnight—it’s not uncommon to not have witnesses. Most people are asleep, and
She hit the button on her laptop computer that indicated to dispatch that she was on-scene and unavailable for calls, then climbed out of the car. Melanie stood in the driveway next to a white utility trailer.
Evelyn waved and warmth spread through her chest when Melanie smiled. She circled the car and headed down the walk toward her without hesitation. It had been too long since she’d seen Melanie.
When she reached the driveway, Melanie rocked forward on her toes, then back again, and Evelyn realized she’d just stifled the urge to hug her. Melanie’s eyes shifted briefly down her body then back to her face. Kendall didn’t like to be hugged in public while in her uniform. Evelyn didn’t remember ever actually agreeing with her, but she also couldn’t recall a single time when Melanie hugged her while she was dressed for work either.
“Hey, Mel.”
“Thanks for coming down.”
She examined the broken padlock that hung lopsided in the hasp of the trailer door. “Is this your trailer?”
Melanie nodded. “They broke a window in the back door of the house and got inside, too. The owner is pretty wound up. He’s inside.” Her eyes held an apology for the attitude Evelyn was about to get from the property owner.
If Evelyn looked between the two houses across the street, she could see several known drug houses. She already knew what to expect when she went in to make this report. This guy wasn’t the first to purchase and renovate a historic house only a few streets away from a high-crime area. The neighborhood would eventually change, slowly becoming more upscale, safer, and trendy. But the first wave of buyers should expect to make these repeated calls for police assistance.
“I’ll start with him, knock out his report, then we’ll do yours.”
“Let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you.” Melanie led her up the front steps. She pulled open the screen door and called out to the owner before entering.
They passed through the foyer and rounded the corner into an open living room lit by work lights on tripods in each corner. A beefy man with a shaved head wedged a crowbar into a piece of molding around the hearth. The muscles of his shoulders flexed against his sleeveless shirt as he worked it until the strip of wood came free with a resounding pop. In the silence that followed, Evelyn’s boots echoed on the dulled hardwood floor.
He straightened and turned, still holding the pry bar. His eyes dipped to the silver nameplate on the right side of her chest, obviously taking note of her name in case she didn’t handle the issue to his satisfaction.
“Paul Baxter,” he said, as he bent and leaned the bar against the wall.
“I understand you had a break-in last night, Mr. Baxter.” She used her most professional tone. “Was it the back door?”
“Yes. I’ll show you.”
As he strode across the room, Melanie tilted her head indicating she would be outside, and Evelyn nodded.
“Are you doing all the work yourself?” she asked as she followed him. She hadn’t seen evidence of any other workers in the house.
“Everything inside. I’ll need to contract out some projects outside. And of course, I hired your friend out there to do the flowers.”
She didn’t like the dismissive way he talked about Melanie’s work, as if it was as simple as sticking some plants in the ground. But she didn’t comment, focusing instead on the broken pane in the door where the suspect got in. “Do you know what time this took place?”
“I worked late, left about ten, and discovered the broken window at six a.m. Neighborhood thugs, no doubt.”
“Did anyone see the suspects?”
“If they did, they’re not talking to me. But I’m an outsider around here. So that’s how it usually is, isn’t it?” She almost expected a nudge and a wink along with this statement.
“Overnight—it’s not uncommon to not have witnesses. Most people are asleep, and
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