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The phone went dead before Carter could say hello.
He reached for his cell phone and dialed the police station. Rosie was still in the other room.
“This is Carter Jenkins. I need to speak with Officer Brown immediately,” he whispered so Rosie wouldn’t hear him. The receptionist put him through.
“This is Officer Brown speaking. What can I do for you Mr. Jenkins?”
“I need to know who just called my house. It was a woman’s voice. I think she knows about Rosie.”
Carter told Rosie he was headed into town. Despite his best efforts to keep her at home, she insisted on tagging along to get groceries. He said he was going to hardware store, but he was headed to the station.
The call had been traced to a payphone on Brewery Boulevard, around the corner from McNulty’s, where Rosie worked. But when the forensic team arrived, the phone had been completely wiped clean. The phonebook lay closed on the small ledge, with a sunflower marking a page.
“The phonebook was marked in the J’s,” Carter was told. “It was on the page of your home number listing.”
“Someone is after her,” Carter said to Brown. He had shared this idea with the officer before, but Brown didn’t like his work being done for him. There wasn’t hard evidence that proved Rosie was being targeted or whether she was in any real danger. Burglaries, though rare in town, did happen, but were usually done at random.
“I can’t prove your theory, Carter. It doesn’t connect,” Brown said, sitting down at his desk. “Her house was broken in to, but we have no suspects. You have this mysterious group from the bar and yet questioning of the bartenders hasn’t brought out any suspects there either. I’ve got men working on finding my lost officers, but those imposters Rosie met haven’t proved any kind of connection to the grand scheme of things.”
Carter was growing frustrated with the dead ends Brown laid out. They were missing a link.
“Boss, take a look at this.” A photographer, camera hanging heavy around her neck, interrupted the silence that had taken over Brown’s office. “This is about the Lawrence case. There was a sunflower in the phonebook this evening, right,” she said, showing Brown the image on her digital camera. “I swear there were sunflowers at the break-in.” She put a cardboard box on the desk and pulled out photo enlargements of the scene at Rosie’s house. “Yeah, right on the doormat like someone dropped it on the way out, you see? And here’s another one— in the closet in the master bedroom. I remember thinking this one was a weird place to keep a flower. Who keeps flowers in a closet?”
“Thank you, Becky. Please leave those photos here and print the ones on your camera. I’ll need to add those to the file,” Brown said. He turned to Carter after Becky left the room. “Looks like we might have a case.”
At the same time, Rosie was getting groceries down the street. When she had reached the check-out line, the cashier stared at Rosie for just a second too long.
“Did you forget something?” the cashier said.
“No, I’ve got everything, thanks,” Rosie said, loading her items on the conveyor belt.
“Oh, I just meant because you were here an hour ago. But you were wearing a different outfit.”
“I haven’t been here in a few weeks. You must be mistaking me with someone else,” Rosie insisted politely.
“So you didn’t buy brown hair dye and a bouquet of sunflowers?” The cashier didn’t seem convinced that Rosie wasn’t the woman from earlier.
“I’m sorry, but that wasn’t me. I don’t know who you’re talking about, but I would really like to pay and leave, if you don’t mind.” Rosie was growing irritated.
“Well, then you must have a twin.” And with that the cashier bagged up Rosie’s items without another word.
