No butterfly she: HELP WANTED

The sun was broiling, burning into my scalp. I punched in the four security numbers and waited. There was no click, no light went out. Something was wrong. I never leave the place without setting the alarm. Why was the pad dark? Backing down the short stairway, I called A T and L Co., explained to a deaf ear what I had found when I came home. Feeling like a Sgt. Major I loudly and sternly told the voice to send a guard to Ms. Campfield’s house immediately. Smart ass told me they can’t do that. It isn’t in the policy. My temper turned red.

‘To whom am I speaking?’ I asked. ‘Basil Greene, Ms. Camble.’ ‘Mr. Greene, it’s Campfield, now you get Mr. Jason on this phone or you will be in a lot of trouble.’

 

While I waited for the boss man my concern and anger boiled thru my veins. He was going to get a peppery mouthful from me. His cheery good afternoon did not assuage my disgust. My fire fell right on him.
‘Mr. Jason, I have paid your exorbitant fee to protect me for over ten years, never called you and now I am suggesting something is not right at my place and I’m not going inside the house until A T & L goes in and makes an inspection. Either my alarm was disarmed by a stranger or two or your company’s lines are on the fritz.  Don’t tell me to call the police. Get your men here. I’ll be waiting outside and it is too damn hot to wait long.’

 

A black van parks in front of my neighbor’s house. Two men in khaki uniforms that have lots of pockets cross the grass, walk up the flagstone path to my house. ‘Whoa. Where are you men going?’ In unison the Bobsey Twins replied, ‘Inside, Lady.’ They alarmed me. I saw no name on their uniforms. ‘I.D. now, Men,’ was all I managed to say. The taller, more stocky one looked me over and apologized, ‘We must be at the wrong number.’ Before I could say what I was thinking, ‘Help, Help, somebody call the cops,’ they got in their van and drove away.

 

‘Get Jason on the line, PDQ, Basil. This is Mrs. Campfield.’ He said, ‘Mrs. Campfield, I’m Larry. Basil is on a break. Hold on, please.’ Irritation in his voice, Jason, asked, ‘What do you want now? I’ll send my men over as soon as they return from a job.’ My worry grew like Gippetto’s nose. It was scary. ‘You mean you didn’t just send two men in a black van to my place?’ ‘No, Mrs. Campfield, I just told you I’ll send them when they get back from a job. Why don’t you call the police?’

 

‘Larry, put Jason on the line again.’ ‘Mrs. Campfield, this is Basil. Hold on.’ I held on. Mr. Jason questioned me as if I were a burglar. Did the police find anything wrong?’ ‘They didn’t because they refused to come over. ‘Is your door or window broken? Did you see a body inside?’ ‘No, No. And I wasn’t taped to a chair either. If I am murdered when I go into my house alone and someone is hiding in my basement, don’t apologize to me. I’m going in now and whatever happens, you will get the blame.’ I heard a little snicker and hung up.

 

The knob turned easily. Nobody jumped out at me. The alarm in the foyer was dark. I saw no mess, no broken vases. The living room furniture looked as I had left it. Only a good copy of two Picasso’s were missing from the wall.  I sighed with relief when I turned on the dining room light. My cherished Stickley furniture was not mutilated.
Then I saw the server door was not closed tightly, opened it and saw an empty hole. All of my sterling silver was gone. Right there, I sat down on the floor and cried. I pulled myself together, went to the kitchen for a an Advil and glass of water and had a fit. ‘Pigs, pigs. They ate all of my fresh fruit and left banana peels on the table and peach pits on the floor. ‘

 

A little voice inside of me said, ‘Don’t go upstairs. Call the police now and stop touching things.’ Within 5 minutes two police cars arrived. I saw their cars plainly marked, checked their badges at the door. They looked around, made notes and asked if my alarm had been on. ‘Of course, of course. I always set it before I go out, turn it off when I get home and re-set it when I am alone. Always.’ Sgt. Aaronson told me not to touch the key pad. ‘In fact, Mrs. Campfield, don’t touch anything. ‘ He guessed right when he said, ‘Too late, huh?’ The officers dusted everything and found lots of prints. All mine. They left.

 

‘Basil, Larry. Mrs. Campfield calling, Get that Jason on the phone.’
‘Mr. Jason. The police just left my house and it had been robbed. The captain told me I was lucky not to have been here.’

 

You, however, won’t be so lucky. Cancel my policy and don’t leave the state. Your firm was negligent and you can expect a call from my attorney tomorrow.’