“Could they have stolen anything at all?” The police officer asked.
“Not that I am aware of,” I said, my body still shaking.
“You sure?” He asked for at least the fifth time. Like the fact I was a woman was going to change the fact on whether or not a few small town kids had broken into my house. Apparently, the fact I was a woman and could live by myself was a problem.
No, the door was not unlocked. No, I didn’t know them. No, I hadn’t made anybody mad (I had only moved here two weeks ago and still didn’t really know anyone). I had only been gone for ten minutes because I had forgot to buy eggs at the grocery store for the cake I was making. By the time I got back, two young men had broken a window in my front door and were rummaging through a few of the boxes I had yet to unpack.
When I opened the front door they ran like hell out the back door. I wondered if they had been watching the house and had been waiting for me to leave. They must have thought I was going to be gone for much longer than the quick dash to the store. What I didn’t tell the officer was that I had followed them home and knew exactly how I was going to enact my revenge. Revenge, after all, was why I had to leave California.