Pipeline by Brenda Adcock Page A

other vehicles anywhere
and thought maybe Lena had something important to tell me and decided to wait
around until I got home. Shrugging off my unease as paranoia, I got out of the
car and grabbed my bag from the backseat. If Lena was waiting for me, I could
expect a tongue-lashing for keeping her waiting so long.
    From
the foot of the porch steps I could see that the front door was ajar. The light
I had seen wasn't coming from the front room but appeared to be from the window
in my office. I took the steps two at a time and pushed the door farther open,
looking into the darkened living room. Even in the growing darkness, I knew
someone had been there and possibly still was. I was afraid to call out Lena's
name and wished I had a weapon. Setting my bag down inside the front door, I
caught the screen to keep it from slamming shut. Every piece of furniture had
been thrown around the living room. Broken pieces of glass from the end table
reading lamps crunched under my feet. Otherwise, the silence was
overwhelming.
    "Lena?"
    There
was no answer, and I went to the kitchen doorway and glanced in. Dishes and
pots were strewn on the floor. Several beer bottles were sitting on the kitchen
table and appeared to be the only unbroken items in the room. Anger, mixed with
fear, was beginning to work its way into my mind, but by then I was convinced
that whoever had been in the house was no longer there, or I would have already
been attacked.
    Raising
my voice a notch, I called out again, "Lena!"
    Subconsciously,
I knew the rest of the house had also been trashed, but where the hell was
Lena? The only light came from the partially opened door of my office, and I
crossed the living room toward it. Standing to one side of the door, I took a
deep breath and pushed the door open with one hand and scanned the office from
one side to the other before entering. If possible, the office was in worse shape
than the living room and kitchen. Other than the mess, there was nothing else
in the room.
    As
quickly as I could, I searched the rest of the rooms. There was still no sign
of Lena, and I began to hope that she hadn't been able to start her old car and
had gotten a ride home from a friend. Going back into the living room, I
switched on the overhead light and looked for the phone. My hand was shaking
from an adrenaline overdose caused by a combination of fear and anger as I
dialed.
    "Sheriff's
department," a man's voice answered.
    "This
is Joanna Carlisle, out on Route Fifty-four. My house has been broken
into."
    "Do
you know how long ago, ma'am?"
    "No.
I've been out of town for a few days and just got back. But my housekeeper's
car is here."
    "Can
your housekeeper identify the intruder?"
    "I
haven't spoken to her yet. She might not have been here. Look, just send a car
out here."
    "Someone
should be there in ten or fifteen minutes."
    I
hung up and wondered if they had left any beer in the refrigerator. Flipping on
the kitchen light, I went toward the refrigerator, but before I could open it,
my hand froze on the handle. Lena's fabric bag was lying on the floor not far
from the kitchen table. She was still here someplace, but I had already looked
everywhere in the house.
    Going
onto the porch, I went down the steps toward her car. The doors were locked,
but when I looked through the side windows, I didn't see anyone inside. I stood
for a few minutes with my hands on my hips and looked around. Finally, taking a
high-beam light from the rear storage area of the Blazer I walked around the
outside of the house, shining the flashlight into the trees and bushes that
enclosed the yard. By the time I returned to the front of the house, I wondered
whether whoever had been here had taken Lena with them.
    Sitting
down on the porch steps to wait for the sheriff's deputies to arrive, I leaned
back and looked up. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and stars were beginning
to appear, as the sky grew darker. When I was a kid, I had loved to lie in the
grass and look