She unlocked the front door. One step inside before her fingers went numb. Keys hit the polished, blond-pine floor. Courtney’s unbelieving eyes worked their way wall to wall. “What on earth—?”
The first phone call was to the owner.
“No,” said her uncle. “We’ll call the cops. You go over to the neighbors where you’ll be safe.”
Before Courtney could ring the doorbell on the next house, nine squad cars and two vans from the Palm Beach Police Department arrived like they were paid massive bonuses for response time and overwhelming force to protect wealth, which they were. Black helmets dashed in a low crouch through the snapping foliage and took up an eight-point interlocking perimeter with laser sights and flash-bang options.
“Miss, are you okay?”
“Yes, but—”
The leader held up a hand as his walkie-talkie squawked. “Go ahead, Team Indigo? . . .” He listened, then turned to Courtney with a reassuring wink. “Indigo went in and cleared the kill box.”
“Kill box?”
“Office language,” said the commando commander. “Important thing is you’re safe. Come with me . . .”
Courtney decided she was beginning to like the thought of going back to school for her graduate degree. They reached the front of the bungalow, and the commander introduced her to a pair of detectives with mirror sunglasses and clipboards.
“So if I understand, ma’am, a few minutes ago you returned to this unfurnished cottage when something seemed suspicious?”
“Yes, it used to be furnished.”
“Of course,” said the second detective. “And the previous owners took their stuff when they left.”
“No, my uncle still owns it,” said Courtney. “They’re letting me live here this summer after graduation.”
“But they stripped the place down after the season, right?” said the first detective. “Very common here. I can give you statistics.”
“I’m saying it was furnished this morning.” She pointed. “Seventy-inch LED flat-screen in front of that jimmied-open wall safe.”
“But the safe is empty,” said the second.
“That’s the point,” said Courtney. “They got everything. I can’t believe how thorough they were.”
“I see.” The first wrote something on his clipboard. “When was the last time you saw this furniture?”
“About nine this morning when I left.”
“And where did you go?”
“Worth Avenue.”
“Did anyone see you there?”
“Wait a minute,” said Courtney. “I didn’t do it.”
“We’re not saying that,” began the first detective. “Some homes are hit at random . . .”
“. . . Others are targeted,” completed the second. “We’re just trying to determine if someone was watching you to establish your patterns.”
“Seen anyone out of place in the neighborhood?” asked the first. “Maybe in a parked car on your street?”
“No,” said Courtney. “Nobody.”
“What about a suspicious truck from the power company, where a guy is up in a cherry-picker basket supposed to be working on the lines, but instead he’s looking in bedroom windows with a zoom lens?”
“I would have noticed that,” said Courtney.
“You’d be surprised how many don’t,” said the first detective.
The second detective flipped back through his notes. “You said it’s your uncle’s place? So you’re not actually a resident of Palm Beach?”
“No, just the summer—”
The detective wrote quickly. “That changes everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Courtney.
“Nothing,” chimed his partner. “So you were on Worth Avenue this morning. What did you do?”
“I met someone for lunch.”
“What time?”
“Just before ten A.M.”
“That’s brunch.”
“Okay, brunch.”
“Are you changing your story?”
“No,” said Courtney. “Lunch, brunch, what’s the difference? I was robbed blind.”
“Interesting.” A pen pressed against a clipboard. “What was the name of this person you had this so-called brunch with?”
“Gustave.”
“Gustave what?”
“I don’t know,” said Courtney.
The pen came off the clipboard. “You don’t know your friend’s last name?”
The second peeked over the top of his sunglasses. “Do a lot of your friends not have last names?”
“No,” said Courtney. “I mean, when I say I met someone for lunch, I literally just met him.”
“Where?”
“On the sidewalk. He struck up a conversation and seemed nice enough, so we went to grab something to eat.”
Writing on both clipboards now. “Where did you go?”
Courtney opened her mouth, then realized she didn’t know how to say the name of the restaurant, and closed her mouth.
The first detective nodded. “I know that place.”
“Was it a long lunch?” asked the second.
“Pretty long.”
“You probably had a few drinks,” said the first. “How many?”
“Two . . . wait, three. I’m not sure.”
“Hard to remember?” More clipboard writing. “And given the hour, I’m guessing Bloody Marys.”
“Mimosas.”
“You seem to know your way pretty well around a bottle in the morning.”
“What are you implying?” said Courtney.
“Do you often discover vehicle damage you can’t remember?” said the first.
“Have all your relatives stopped lending you money?” said the second.
“No!”
“So you’ve been borrowing large amounts of money lately?”
“No!”
“Can’t keep your facts straight, can you?”
The first detective held an index finger in front of her eyes and slowly moved it side to side. “Just follow it best you can.”
“I am not a drunk!”
“Tell me, how much did you have to eat today?”
“Just one bite. And a shrimp cocktail, but it was the strangest—”
“So you’ve been drinking all morning on an empty stomach.” The first detective glanced at the second. “Gee, that fits no problem behavior model we know of.”
“Look,” said Courtney. “This polite guy asked me to lunch, we ordered— Can you please take your finger out of my face?”
“Is it making you dizzy?”
She just shook her head. “And when we were all finished at the restaurant, he got a phone call, and then he—”
“Stop,” said the first. “He got a phone call at the end of the meal?”
“And went to take it in private?” said the second.
“But he never came back,” said the first. “Sticking you with the check?”
“Probably said he had an expensive car out front?”
Courtney’s head swiveled back and forth like a tennis fan’s. “How’d you know?”
The detectives put their pens away.
Courtney looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll need to get you with a sketch artist.”
“What for?”
“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’ve fallen victim to the dating bandit.”
“Dating bandit?”
“He finds his mark and follows her until he can arrange an ‘accidental’ meeting,” said the first.
“Sometimes they go to lunch right then . . .” said the second.
“. . . Sometimes he makes a date for later,” said the first.
“Depending on whether his crew is in position.”
“Crew?” said Courtney.
“He keeps the target occupied until getting the phone call telling him his crew is clear of the residence. Victims all over the state, from Orlando to Miami to Naples and Sarasota.”
Courtney was astonished. “If he’s done it so many times, how come he’s never been caught?”
“The term dating bandit is generic,” said the first.