Avrie Swan
Tara raced through the halls of the museum. Her heart thundered in her chest as she skidded around a corner and darted down the marble stairs. Her footfalls echoed in the museum’s massive entryway as she sprinted past the American Revolution exhibit, heading straight for the main entrance. Almost there, Tara. Just a little farther.
“Stop, thief!” The deep voice, normally so calm and collected, was now demanding as heavy footsteps sounded behind her.
So close. The door was within her grasp. Her fingertips brushed against the knob, the cool metal a promise of freedom. But just before she could escape, a strong hand grasped her shoulder and pinned her firmly in place.
“Got you at last.” The voice announced. The voice that never failed to send chills running down her spine.
No! Tara struggled to get free, to no avail. Instead, she was forcefully whirled around, putting her face to face with her pursuer. She found herself staring into her favorite pair of brown eyes, eyes that widened in surprise when they caught sight of her.
“I don’t believe it. Tara?” The hand dropped from her shoulder as the detective took a step back, the revolver at his waist glinting in the overhead lights.
Tara gave the man a tremulous smile, a spark of excitement pulsing through her blood. Would that spark ever fade? She hoped not. “Hello, Michael.”
Michael ran a hand through his rust-colored hair in an agitated manner. “You’re the thief? I … I don’t believe it. Why, Tara? Why have you been doing this?” His eyes shone with a hurt that very nearly broke her heart. Oh, how she hated to disappoint him. “I spent so much time searching for the one responsible for the museum break-ins, so much time interviewing and collecting evidence, and all that time the culprit was right in front of my face. Why?”
Tara took a shuddering breath as she tried to find the words. Words she had practiced so many times in her head but had never truly been able to say aloud. Words that were scrawled on a piece of paper sitting in her dresser drawer at home. “Michael, I know that this will be hard for you to believe, but I was not stealing from the museum. I’ve never stolen anything.” She bit her lip. “The truth is, I’ve … I’ve been returning things. Things that someone else stole. That’s why the so-called thief never really took anything.”
Michael stared at her with such intense scrutiny that she began shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Just as she considered asking what he was thinking, he spoke.
“I want to believe you. I want to believe you’re telling the truth. But if that is the case, who is the real thief? Who are you covering for?”
Tara fidgeted anxiously with her hair, twisting one black lock continuously around her finger. “If I tell you, you must promise to leave her alone. She can’t stop herself, Michael.”
His eyes narrowed in understanding. He had always been quick to solve puzzles, a trait that made Tara adore him even more. “Margot.”
She grimaced. “My sister has always had a tendency to take things that don’t belong to her, a tendency that grew more and more frequent when Lawrence died all those years ago. I’ve been cleaning up her messes and returning the things she’s stolen to their rightful owners ever since.”
“I knew she liked collecting, but this goes beyond a simple appreciation for artifacts.” Michael crossed his well-defined arms over his chest and sighed, his jaw relaxing. “She needs help, Tara. I know Margot is trying to cope, but this won’t help her heal.”
Tara shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. “You think I don’t know that? I confronted her only last week. Margot promised to seek treatment. She told me she was through with this. So imagine my surprise when I came back to her house the next day and found a necklace from this very museum sitting on the counter.”
His dark brows shot up in surprise. “That’s what you were replacing?”
She nodded slowly. “You can go look for yourself if you don’t believe me. I promise the necklace is safe and sound in its display case.”
“I saw it when we ran through,” he confirmed.
Tara wilted in relief, allowing herself a small sigh. “I’m sorry. I know there was probably a better way, but I couldn’t handle seeing my baby sister in prison for something she can’t control.”
Michael studied her for a moment, his eyes softening. Tara loved when he looked at her with that gentle expression. “I wish you had told me sooner. We could have found help for your sister together. I knew she was struggling.”
“But our relationship was still only a few months old. It wouldn’t have been fair of me to ask such a thing of you.”
“Well, regardless of the past, I want to help now. Both to prevent further thefts and to help your sister heal. Will you let me do that?” he murmured gently. “Will you let me take her to a doctor?”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “That would be wonderful. I’d love to have your help. I’ve been doing this on my own for so long.”
He stepped forward and pulled her snugly to his broad chest. She sighed, feeling completely at home in his arms.
“In the future, you can tell me about these things. There doesn’t have to be secrets between us any longer.” Michael’s voice rumbled in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
“No more secrets.” Tara smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
When Avrie is not writing, she is watching old movies, collecting antique books, and hunting for rocks. A native Wisconsinite, she enjoys spending the cold winters indoors with her cat on her lap and a good book in her hand.
You can find her online on Facebook and Instagram.
Spark Flash Fiction 