Cancelled by Murder by Jean Flowers

were few safer places than Main Street, North Ashcot, to leave a car unlocked.
    Except not this time. My passenger seat was bare. Someone had taken my shrimp dinner and my files on Daisy Harmon’s murder case. A thief had broken into my car and stolen my property, within sight of the police department. He was either very dumb or very bold. Either way, I was distressed, unsure whether the violation was worth reporting. On any other summer evening, I might not have given it a second thought, but in the vicinity of a crime scene, where my friend had been murdered, it seemed a significant turn of events.
    I did a quick inspection of the doorframe and saw no scratches that appeared fresh. My car had been over some rough terrain a few times, and the scars on its exterior attested to its history. I’d have to wait until daylight tomorrow to get a closer look. The inside hadn’t been vandalized, as far as I could see. The upholstery was intact and any debris was mine. A few napkins from the coffee shop, crumbs on the floor from a quick snack in transit, an old blanket on the backseat for when I transported packages that might soil or tear up the seat covers. All mine.
    I decided to think more about my loss before telling anyone. I drove home with a queasy stomach, running through possible scenarios. Had the thief been a poor person who’d seen the cooler and assumed correctly that it contained food? He might have been hungry enough to break in, thefiles being an inadvertent add-on. In my year back in town, I hadn’t seen anyone who fit this profile, but it was a possibility.
    I hated the alternative—the thought that someone had been following me, seen Cliff give me the file, and then taken the opportunity to steal it when I left my car on the street. The shrimp dinner was then the add-on, an extra perk.
    By the time I reached my driveway, I’d almost settled on a prank theory. School wasn’t in session yet and a couple of bored teenagers decided to cruise Main Street in search of a little mischief. In this scenario, I’d forgotten to lock my car and the kids were happy for the easy pickings, until they opened the box and found gourmet shrimp instead of pepperoni pizza.
    Served them right.
    *   *   *
    I changed into jeans and a CAL BERKELEY T-shirt that Quinn had given me. Trying to balance all the UMass apparel I owned, he’d said. I wasn’t happy about being robbed of my dinner—a continuation of my bad food karma this week—but I decided it wasn’t worth reporting the petty theft. And though I didn’t look forward to it, I could text Cliff and ask for another copy of the file.
    I made the rounds of my house, checking windows and doors. Daisy’s murder had affected me in ways that I couldn’t explain.
    Relieved that I was alone and safe, I dropped a bagel into my toaster, disappointed that I had to be satisfied with thearoma of cinnamon and raisins instead of shrimp and lemon. While I was waiting for the meager meal to pop up, I scrolled through my smartphone for messages.
    How could the list be so long after only about an hour of neglect? Wasn’t it just a short time ago that I’d had to wait until I was in the physical presence of a landline answering machine for this information? Longer ago than it seemed, I realized. Aunt Tess had given me my first cell phone, a flip style, as a high school graduation present, making it nearly twenty years ago. If I wanted to feel anything but old, I was probably better off not checking the timeline of cell phone development and use.
    A text from Quinn said he’d be home Saturday or Sunday.
Good news
.
    Linda still planned to visit for the General Knox parade next weekend.
More good news.
    Cliff wanted to hear my progress in the short time since I saw him.
Not so good news
. I had to gear up to telling him the file was gone, probably in some kid’s wastebasket by now, smelling of fish.
    Sunni