Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

Jamila wrinkled her nose. “But she stinks.” Mrs. Murphy was a gray-haired widow who smelled of old lavender.

“Don’t say she stinks,” Jamila’s mother said, her voice calm, but intent. “It’s not polite.”

“I didn’t say it to her.”

“Jamila Williams.” Her mother fixed her with an icy stare. “You know what I mean. I’ve taught you better than that.”

Jamila hung her head. “Yes, mom.”

When Mrs. Murphy arrived, Jamila’s mother squatted beside Jamila and wrapped her arms around her. She could feel her mother’s ragged breath in her ear. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry. Your dad will be fine.”

Jamila got the distinct impression her mother might be talking to herself.

*****

By dinner time, her parents still hadn’t come home. Mrs. Murphy fixed a simple supper of macaroni and cheese. Jamila wasn’t wild about macaroni and cheese, but it masked Mrs. Murphy’s lavender smell.

“I wonder what’s taking them so long,” Jamila said, fishing for possible explanations. Bobby played with his food.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m sure everything’s okay.”

The distant look in Mrs. Murphy’s gaze told Jamila otherwise.

*****

Hours later, her parents still absent, Mrs. Murphy told Jamila she ought to get ready for bed. Jamila balked but did as she was told.

Jamila was in the hazy netherworld between wakefulness and sleep when a squeal roused her fully alert. What was that noise?

She crept out of bed and poked her head out in the hall. “Mrs. Murphy?” she said. No reply.

The house seemed too quiet. Then she heard movement. A scuffling sound.

Could it be her parents, at last? She wondered about the squealing noise, however.

She stepped into the hall and crept toward the living room. “Mom? Dad? Mrs. Murphy?”

Her high-pitched voice seemed to be swallowed in the hush descending upon the house.

With each step toward the living room, her heart beat a little faster. Her breathing increased with it.

Jamila reached the end of the hall and peered into the living room. A chill shot through her when she saw the front door open and Mrs. Murphy on the floor, bleeding from her forehead.

Jamila froze. Her breath caught in her throat. A tall dark silhouette of a hooded figure appeared at the door. She scampered into a nearby room and peeked out.

The hooded figure turned to one side, then the other, then strode into the house. He shoved Mrs. Murphy aside with a booted foot. Another hooded figure followed, then another.

Jamila watched in horror, as anonymous hooded people invaded her home.

Then her mind screamed, Bobby!

Where was he?

What could she do?

Call someone.

Sounds of ransacking came from the kitchen and living room. Jamila took stock of her situation. She was in Bobby’s room—no sign of him. She suppressed a sudden urge to cry. No time for tears. Must get to the phone.