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Blue Moon 9.2

by Donna Lamb

Finding the back door of Jo's house standing open when he got back surprised Richard. He'd brought the smaller of his two suitcases, plus his good suit in a garment bag and a briefcase full of some of his old sheet music but he left all that in the Mustang while he investigated.

Anybody inside had surely heard the big V-8 arrive so Richard abandoned stealth in favor of speed. Running through the door, he made a quick check of the rooms on the lowest floor and started up the stairs, calling "Jo! Melody Jo!" all the while.

The second floor door to the street level front yard stood open, too. Richard felt sure it hadn't been so when he had driven down the lane to the parking apron in the back. He made a quick loop through the open rooms of the first floor, still calling for Jo, then dashed out the front door and paused on the wide, cut-stone front porch. Down the street, beyond the curve of the road, he heard a car engine surge then fade as if someone had driven away.

"Son of a bitch!!" he yelped. Turning quickly, he ran inside and started up the stairs, shouting, "Jo!" as loudly as he could.

Jo emerged from the bedroom, holding a cellphone like a weapon, just as he reached the first step.

"Jo!" he shouted.

"Richard!" she shouted back. Her robe fell open at that moment revealing that she had nothing but panties on underneath. Squeaking in dismay, she turned and ran back into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Richard stopped running on the fifth step from the top. He stood there a moment then said, "Damn," quietly. Louder, he called out, "Jo? You okay?" Can't believe how good she looked.

"Yes," came the voice from the room beyond the door. "I'm getting dressed. Can you check the rest of the house, p-p-please?"

"Uh, sure," Richard said. Jo, naked. Jo, getting dressed. Um.

He checked the studio, including the closet there. The third door on the upper floor proved to be another bedroom suite, smaller, with its own bathroom and walk-in. Richard made a note to bring his stuff up and dump it there.

Moving quickly, he checked all the other rooms on the lower floors, including closets, and discovered en route two security panels. A large one hidden behind a wooden decorative panel in the office on the middle floor and a smaller satellite inside the big glass door off the patio on the lower floor. A third panel he found in the garage.

All of the switches on the security panels were set to off, neutral or some other inoperable position. "Shit," said Richard. Probably ten thousand dollars in security here and none of it was on. I should have been looking for it. He stared at the main panel by the desk in the front room office. I've no idea how to set this up. Jo and I are going to a hotel tonight.

He went back to the Mustang, locked it with his stuff still inside then checked the pool building, spotting another probable security panel there, locked in a metal cabinet. Also a locked small gate in the back fence opened onto the brushy bottom of the ravine. Get someone out here to cut this stuff before fire season, he told himself, making another mental note.

He went back to the house and locked everything he could find to lock; though the side door on the bottom floor looked damaged, it still locked. Then he climbed two flights of stairs and knocked on Jo's door. "Land shark!" he called and heard a satisfying squeak.

Jo opened the door wearing an above-the-knee cream-colored dress of some soft drapey knit, off-white hose, bone-colored, buckled half-boots with three-inch wedge heels and several natural wood bracelets on each wrist.

"Wow," said Richard.

"Don't gawp," she ordered, poking him in the middle. "You didn't f-find anyone?"

"No, ma'am," he said. "Nothing except the door to the laundry room damaged. Did you know there's a dumbwaiter in there that goes up to the kitchen?" Jo shook her head. "Nothing taken I could tell, but for all I know your dad's collection of Faberge eggs is missing."

She narrowed her eyes but decided he must be kidding. "Should we call the p-police?"

Richard sighed. "Jo, you're a girl now; being brave is not your department. You should have called the police, or me, as soon as you heard something -- you did hear something?"

"Um," she nodded. "That's p-p-sexist, you know."

He grinned. "Don't care. Call next time. And we've got to get your security system turned back on, probably repaired, too."

"I've got a security system?" she asked then waved away the explanation. "But should we call the p-p-p-cops? Now?"

Richard considered. "Let's find the number for your security people and ask them, and maybe they can get over here and fix things today. 'Cause otherwise, well, I didn't bring my stuff in 'cause we're not going to spend a night here until the burglar stuff works."

Jo chewed a fingertip. "W-we're not going back to the apartment. Those locks are m-made of ice cream."

Richard smiled. Jo looks like a tall vanilla malt with a cherry on top. God, we're in her bedroom. With a bed. What are we talking about? "We'll get a hotel room."

She cocked her head and looked at him sideways. "Room? Suite."

"Sweet," he agreed.