7 Kills + An Apple

Twenty-Three: A Burglary

Brandon Prince

My phone rings, and I wake up immediately. I fondle the pillows for my phone, searching until I find that familiar hard cover. I look at Caller ID and then the time—almost three o'clock in the early morning. Tanya Johnson, which actually means Tami Young. I answer the call immediately, rubbing at my eyes.

"Tanya," I say, after a short moment. "This is a very bad hour for me to wake up at. What is going on? Why are you calling so late?"

"Kalypso Queen's house has been robbed," she replies, ignoring my yawns. "You need to get to her house right now. Get green tea. She has been stunned by a taser, and she is really, really mad. I need all hands on deck."

"Not a problem," I tell her. With great sarcasm, I add, "Anything for Her Majesty the Queen of anything to do with wines."

Tami hangs up.

I put on my suit and tie, figuring out that I probably will be up for the rest of the day. Then I comb my hair and drive my Fiat to the local café. Green tea to go. They put her tea in a coffee cup, but I doubt Kalypso will really mind about that. If it is her house, I can always exchange the cups.

The police is already there. I find my coworkers from the FBI—all grim-faced and tired. They must be working overtime. Yellow tape surrounds various parts of the house, and I only have to follow the screaming voice to find Kalypso. She sits on the stretcher, agitating the EMTs. Her hair is a mess, and she is not wearing pantsuits for once.

Her gray-black silk top barely covers her dark black lacy bra, and my eyes immediately go to her bare legs. They are slender, dainty, and pale in the moonlight, and I nearly stop to check her out completely when her shrill voice snaps me back to reality.

"Panforte! Give me that!" Her white cotton shorts barely reach mid-thigh, and she is wearing yet another ridiculous pumps with a toothpick-like heel. She hobbles to me and drinks it, downing it like it is hard vodka. Then she spits out over her lawn. "What is this?" She then proceeds to chuck the entire coffee cup at her lawn and stomps off to annoy the detectives.

"What is going on?" I ask, grabbing a passing detective's arm.

"Her house's vault has been cleaned out entirely," explains the detective, shrugging. "I can't say very much, but I hope you get Miss Queen out of here. She has been cranky ever since she woke up."

I look around the mess of black SUVs, police cars, and sedans. FBI, police, even some members of the press are crowding around the gates. They are all here, and I long to join my coworkers and look into her vault.

"Hey!" screams an officer, following Kalypso Queen as she reenters her house. "Hey! You can't go into there! It is—"

"Bore someone else with your stupid rules!" she yells back.

I wince and then quickly follow after her. The police officer—a rather plump man whose body has seen better years—barks orders at me too. I follow Kalypso's footsteps, and I call after her.

"Kalypso! Kalypso! Miss Queen. You can't be in here. Your entire house is a huge crime scene!" I hurry, my footsteps faster now.

She turns into her room, and I open the door after her.

I let my eyes adjust to the dim light. It is her bedroom, and I'm unsurprised to find a huge bed with white silk sheets and comfortable pillows. Kalypso pulls out a black suitcase and opens it up. Quickly, she moves to her closet and starts pulling out pantsuits.

"What are you doing?" I inquire.

"Getting all of my clothes. Apparently, it is a crime scene in my very house," she snaps. "I'm going to stay at a nearby hotel. Or maybe my own office. I don't know and I don't care. All I know is that I lost a rare painting today. Insurance men are now searching through my house and combing through everything. My sister is thankfully already staying over her summer house in Big Bear. Peter is out with his friends and supposedly studying for his law degree. I'm alone. Cara is already at the hotel, and I'm going to need some bodyguards now."