Chapter 6
The Break-In
The day after Mai and Cobalt visited me, I realized I was almost out of a few pantry staples. So, I headed into town. The walk, as always, was picturesque. I had spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon in town. Nothing particularly exciting had happened. I had picked up a few things I needed, learned about a Market Day happening in roughly a week where I could sell my art, chatted with Cypress while I grabbed something to eat from the bar, and then headed home.
I climbed the porch steps and reached for the doorknob. I froze. The door was already unlocked. I frowned. I always locked the door. Always. Especially after learning about the thefts. I pushed the door open. Stepping inside, the first thing I noticed was the couch. The cushions were scattered around the room.
I stopped breathing. My eyes moved across the room. A drawer from the little table beside the couch was hanging open. My stomach dropped. I set my bags down slowly.
The cottage was a mess. Not destroyed. Not ransacked like something out of a movie. Just disturbed. Someone had been through my things. The cabinet doors were open. Papers were scattered across the floor. Paint jars had been knocked off window sills and broken.
My paintings. My heart started pounding. I carefully hurried toward my bedroom where I kept most of my finished pieces and extra supplies. The closet door was open. I stepped inside and flipped the light on. My canvases were still there. My paints. My brushes. My easel was there, but flat on the floor instead of leaning against the wall how I’d left it. Everything appeared to be there.
I let out a shaky breath. Then I noticed my desk. The drawers were open. Every single one. I walked toward it slowly, my hands starting to tremble. Why? Why would anyone do this? They hadn’t taken my paintings. They hadn’t taken my journal. They hadn’t even taken my laptop. So what were they looking for?
I hugged myself, trying to stay calm. The cottage was just beginning to feel like my safe place. Now it felt violated. I stood there for several seconds, listening. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. No movement outside. Whoever had done this was long gone.
It wasn’t until I went back into the living room that I noticed that something was missing after all. The painting I had just painstakingly finished and planned on trying to sell. Moonwater Lake. I had worked for days on adding in all the little details. “No, no, no.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket with shaking hands. I stared at the screen. For a second, I considered calling Mai. Then I stopped. All she could really offer was sympathy, not that I wouldn’t be grateful for it. No. I needed to be brave.
I dialed the police instead.
The police had come by and taken pictures. The same pink Shade I’d seen from that video. Her name was Astral. Detective Astral Valentine. She tucked a strand of light pink hair behind her ear as she scanned the room. I found myself watching the movement for half a second before remembering I was supposed to be answering her questions.
Had I seen anyone suspicious? No. Had anything been stolen? Just the one painting, that I could tell. Did I have any enemies? I almost laughed at that one. No. Not that I knew of. She told me someone would follow up with me in a few days.
I couldn’t sleep after she left that night. So, naturally, I opened my journal. Hoping that writing down some of my feelings would help me sort them out and get some sleep.
June 25th
Dear Journal,
My cottage was broken into today. I would normally call Mai and talk to her, but it’s the middle of the night. I don’t want to wake her, so you’re the next best thing.
A painting that meant a lot to me was stolen. I don’t know why. Why would someone break into a random cottage and just take a painting, without even knowing if it was worth anything or not? Spoiler, it’s not. Were they looking for something, and took the painting as an afterthought?
I am honestly terrified. I’m terrified to go sleep tonight. I keep imagining what could have happened if the burglary had happened overnight and if I’d been here for it. I’m almost glad it happened when I wasn’t home.
Detective Valentine seems serious about her job. She was very nice when she was here today. I hope she can find my art.
Well, I don’t really know what else to say. I need to try and sleep. I hope I can. I’m going to triple check all the locks first.
Love,
Pearl
P.S. I just had a thought. I’m not going to let this stop me. I’m going to paint the lake again, as soon as I can, and get a new piece finished in time for the Market. That’ll show them.
The next morning, I went into town and headed straight to the police station. I know they had said someone would follow up with me, but I was impatient when it came to this. The station sat just on the outside of town. The little building looked almost painfully ordinary. If it wasn’t for the sign outside, I would’ve thought I was at the wrong place.
I walked through the front door and approached the desk. A Mixed Berry woman with pastel yellow skin, pink hair, and soft lavender eyes looked up. “Can I help you?” She sounded as soft as she looked.
“I’m Pearl Frost. Someone broke into my cottage last night.” The way I said it made it sound like a question.
Recognition crossed her face. “Right.” She opened the folder in front of her. “I was actually just taking a look at it. It was just yesterday, right?”
“Yes. I just…” I hesitated. “I wanted to ask if you’ve found anything.”
She gave me an apologetic smile. “Not yet.”
“Oh.” That answer didn’t make me feel much better.
My face must have been an open book. “We’ll keep looking, Pearl.” She said reassuringly.
I spotted Detective Valentine across the room and felt an odd little flutter of recognition. Which was ridiculous. I’d only met her once. Still, it was nice to see a familiar face.
I thanked her and walked back outside. The morning air was slightly damp against my face. For a moment, I stood on the sidewalk and looked down the street toward the rest of Hearthglen. Everything looked exactly the same.
People walking. A few cars passing. Berries going about their mornings. Normal. Completely normal. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had crossed a line. They had come into my home. They had opened my drawers. They had touched my things. They took the one thing that meant the most to me. And I had absolutely no idea why.
As I started walking home, for the first time, I found myself wondering if I should be afraid of my own home. And I hated that thought more than anything.